Text by:

JJ Charlesworth t James Clegg t Plastique Fantastique t Norman James Hogg t Neil Mulholland t David Osbaldeston t Andro Seimiko t Ewan Sinclair t Thea Stevens t Emma Tolmie

Illustrated by:

Plastique Fantastique t Norman James Hogg tTorsten Lauschmann t David Osbaldeston t Alex Pollard t Andro Seimiko t Ewan Sinclair tThea Stevens t Emma Tolmie

Edited by The Confraternity of Neoflagellants:

Serjeant- At- Law t Keeper of the Wardrobe t Head Fatrasist t Doctor Mirabilis t Angry Penguin t Falconer General t Almoner t Atilliator t Witch with HP+50.

Layout and design:

Benjamin Fallon

Cover Photography:

Serjeant- At-Law

Embassy Books, June 2010

Licensed to The Confraternity of Neofl.agellants under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoncommercialShare Alike 2.5 UK: Scotland License

'Avalon' Book I, written by Steve Turner, was published by Hewson Consultants in 1984 as a ZX Spectrum game under the title Avalon: The 3D Adventure Movie.


They were a people afflicted by poverty and greed; fashionable animals and white goods vanished from their homes in the dead of night; and the crops in the fields were ruined by the joy riding that spread in the polluted air from the industrial estate. The broadsheet, nailed to a tree, gave you little information, other than that the inhabitants were prepared to pay anyone who could sedate them. A chill passes through you as you realise that what you had taken to be a human skull, beside the fire, is in fact an Atari 2600 ....


THIS is not a story about our modern world, or of one oflong ago, it is a story of a premodern future. As a social actor, your Strength, Greed and Anger have brought you safely through many daunting quests in the past, you will need all these qualities.

Tricks can be presented in the form of riddles, rhymes, illusions, animated GIFs, dialogue, hangings, shoes, unseen messengers, puzzles, anagrams, paintings, etchings, carvings, doors, pillars, idols, fountains, ashes, ceilings, floors, chests, chalk, etc. You may have found a ring of illusiondetection earlier and will be given a chance to see the illusion again.

It is important that you build a map along the way. If you try to read this in numerical order, it will make no sense. You must choose the one true path, if you are given the choice, which section to turn to and which adventures to face.

Personally, we are not in favour of LUCK being included. We see it as an unchanging characteristic; you are born either Lucky or Unlucky. Even in a fantasy world, we do not envisage characters 'becoming luckier' as they go through life. It is not possible to 'practice your LUCK.'

:tR,grulll ~~ y()~ f!'l!>t ap~~ ..-'IDOOf


You will encounter many characters in your quest. Here are a few:


It was the sentinel who first sought out more sophisticated ways of securing geopolitical power. He hired a learned thespian from a small Armenian bear bar in West Hollywood to develop and special pose that would surprise any would be overlord. It is a delightfully simple pose to strike.


These soulless creatures are perhaps the most bizarre victims of circumstance. Only if all of the messages are read by the player will the Instant Messenger reappear and watch the life drain away from its helpless prey as it sucks its labour. It is thought that Instant Messengers inhabit the same plane as SMS.


When Power Tie Wearers gather their undead hoardes into armies to attempt another cataclysmic assault upon the Earthly Plane and the Forces of Good, they choose as their captains the Shrouded Wanderers. Any living being approached by one of these vile creatures does not become a member of CAPITAL themselves, but remains dead forever.


Tables can be used to generate random nightmarish credit derivatives depending on the scenario. Remember that zombie capitalists with special abilities will do more than just speculate! You will have to look them up in Hat Trick Letter reports to find out what their special abilities are and how they take effect. Roll two dice to decide which cadavers will recieve gigantic intravenous injections.


This character is responsible for the introduction of more complicated rules to enable competitive accumulation. The Power Tie Wearer reproduces by redistributing the cells of other creatures, restructuring and dividing them into two perfect copies of itself, like digital amoeba, every three weeks or so. Now, over half a century later, there are many millions of the beasts scattered around the world, wandering the cities in search oflattes.

After a long life, maybe 200 years spent hunting the creatures and tending to the plants of the forests, and worshiping the elven plant goddess, a FOX-OWL will find a busy spot in a the centre of town and die violendy, his body eviscerated by lorry tires and drive-by-uzzi. It is said that concrete covers where a FOX-OWL dies.

10- 10- 10- NOWTURN OVER 10- 10- 10-


You enter into darkness. Sweet murmurs arise from the tower around you, a trembling giant quaking beneath the sweet ohm ..... sweet ohm. You carry on up through the waves of sweet chanting, your cloak rippling behind you like a flying sound wave gusting in the air. Your armour begins to hum, as though magnetised to the enchanted sounds sealed in by the stone walled giants, a tornado vortex erupts around you

as you draw your cloak to one side. Your wand is at the ready .

As you raise your wand to fight, the man undergoes a rapid transformation, and you realise to your horror that you are facing a Werewolf! Do you have wolfsbane and Euros? If so, turn to 299. If not, turn to 89.


You take your Potion of Flying and rise into the air - not very gracefully, but then you haven't done this very often! Once in the air, it is a simple matter for you to unplug the matter transmitter from its harness atop the cathedral spire. Before your astonished eyes Europe collapses down to the size of a biscuit ration. You take it with you, so add it to your list of Possessions. Carefully you descend to the wire-frame baseline before the physics engine reclaims your soul. Turn to 127.


You awake to discover to your horror that the 431 has itself inspired heated debates about the correct rendering of consciousness through the editing ofimages, sounds, smells, touch and taste: Radical NeoCorporate-Buddus (NCB) argue for a multi-aspect interface that disperses consciousness, where extreme Christian groups such as the Independent Texan Alliance (ITA) believe consciousness should be linked to singular experiences, sequenced in relation to allegories oflightness and darkness. You have failed the Trial of Champions.


Being in the European Union, and this being a temporary and scientific endeavour, you experience the room from three alternating viewpoints. The first is an altered first person perspective as iflooking down upon your own body, but with an impossibly long neck providing a certain vantage point. The second is an orbital view circling the room, a wheeling flight over the academic audience proffering a peripheral view of your body in the centre of the room. The third follows the movements of the now Professor Emeritus,]ulia Cooper. She moves forward to inspect your pancreas and teases out some of the purple substance with her scalpel, its smooth surface gives way to a texture like the inside of a pomegranate. Turn to 398.


You thrust your hand into the cold liquid and your fingers grab the handle of a rune encrusted trolley case. The handle expands, but frustratingly, the case itself does not move. No matter how hard you pull, the luggage item will not budge; it is as if it is set in stone. You withdraw your arm. If you reach in again to try to gingerly unzip the side, turn to 86. If you give up fishing for luggage, and return to the parking lot to help Azudraz soak the explosive parchments, turn to 315.


As you approach, you hear low voices complaining about the complaint hotline. Frustrated, you look about the courtyard again. You look up into the cruellest pair of eyes you ever wish to meet. Hell hath no fury like a bureaucrat scorned. This is the infamous BALLON SELLER: a purveyor of the nonhuman condition, very different from the more familiar apes of the New World. As plants are attracted towards the sun, balloon sellers are uncontrollably drawn towards helium. They are the ultimate natural pickpockets. Turn to 209.


You must gather your ingredients to the last letter, failure to do so may attribute in failure of the intended specific effect. Failure to follow the exact formula will welcome failure. Failure to posses any natural ability will result in failure. Failure to arise willpower will inevitably end in failure. Failure makes you a fraud. Return to the previous section and choose again.


THE OFFERING. A hand holds out an object - a GOLDEN commodity: 'do you want this?" a voice asks. And then: 'well, do you want it??' And then: you need it - take it?'. You hesitate, understanding only too well that this is a test and to fail is to become just another body-facing-the-market. You take the object and read the instructions that appear on its tiny screen: there is a war going on, a terrible, terrible war. And you, YOU know. You KNOW who started it. Pick up the charcoal and write a name on the parchment. Then, pick

up the sand and sprinkle it on the floor. Now, draw a face in the sand. Stop. Take the brush, sweep up the sand ... You follow the instructions until you no longer know who you are or why you have come here. The offering has increased your Strength by three points. Turn to 138.


You throw the chrome Maxell Compact Cassette into the bowl, and it rolls around for a long time, before finally coming to rest on a segment marked with a letter symbol. A plume of blue smoke begins to rise from the bowl, and slowly forms itself into a gigantic INSTANT MESSENGER. Its vectors glisten in the torchlight as its banal retorts flicker, GPSing your location; it draws back its head, its deadly face LOL-ing. You draw your biro, ready for battle - turn to 114.



Heraldic patterns flicker in the blue electric light as you hover slowly. Time feels thick, logos flash and rumble through your mind. Tiny pinpricks permeate your skin and subtle liquids drip from pores onto the golden floor. Images form from the intermingled juices. Rocks are rolled by Giant unknowns. Static bubbles fizz and burst. Death Metal chalices collide in violent ritualistic hangovers. Now you crawl and grovel, clinging to harsh realities; choking on tar stained dogends and the last of the tonic wine. Your fingers tear. Bone and flesh blend with machine. You tie your laces, Velcro, Buttons, Zips, Belts, Fasteners, Tighteners and other bondage to prepare for the next level. The bottle of tonic wine itself is of fine workmanship, and must be of some value, so you put it in your backpack together with the Rubidium slab. Turn to 122.


Trembling with fear, the Shadow Monster tells you that he spends nearly all of his time playing a game in which he imagines he lives in a maze of dungeons underneath a fortress. The entrance to the dungeons is down a hidden staircase in the storeroom. You ask him where the storeroom is and he points frantically to the North, trying to squirm away from your hessian carrier bag. You step back from the cowering Shadow Monster, wondering whether to believe him. Turn to 542.


Affects can be utilized to open up the commodity overlord and extricate a living zombie flesh. Keystrokes no longer operate digital functions; you must now rely on your analogue reserves. Media rips open over sense surface pressure camera technology slows down turning rate and all the rest of the functions stutter. Image spins splits and replicates. Drop shadows are compulsory. Little chef repeats on itself Little shelf holds customary feedback. Sellotape. OXO. Davenport. Small microprocessor helps helping helped. Nothing new comes to mind. A form of control or lack of it - other things bend. Breakbeat. You struggle to regain some purpose of understanding but the Yukka plants have sunk and the long red yellow and black cables begin to bleed into one and other. Will you:

Throw a pebble into the well? Turn to 284

Climb down into the well? Turn to 830


You have no faith in what you perceive. If you never knew hunger, you would take no pleasure in being full. If there were never any war, you would not appreciate peace. And if there were no winter, you would never see the spring. You remember what the miniature Action Man told you about the location of Julia Cooper, so you look at this book first - turn to 945.


When you do return, some six weeks later, only one crewmember remains alive. The cargo had been ransacked. The bodies of three less fortunate crewmembers lay around the shore, mutilated beyond comprehension. As the only surviving crew member, you are in a state of shock. Your rantings make no sense to anyone, but one word continually punctuates your account of what happened: Ribbon-Head ....


Golems congregate in the large open plan work spaces gossiping and scheming against un-named tax avoiders while Ercinee queue in an orderly manor glowing brightly in the gloom; waiting to receive the emaciated remains discarded by the large Ekimmu sitting at its desk, its pale skin stained with drips of blood, its head occasionally lifting to rearrange the mesh of wires entangle in its bull like horns or to answer the phone in its low rumbling growl. Invisibility serves you well here and you can easily move about to observe the spectacle of this gruesome horde. The Ant-lions are doing battle over the last of the instant coffee while the barnacle-geese begin to hatch unsupervised by the micro management team that appears to be bemoaning the fact that they have no arms.

The only other door out of the room is in the North wall, and you cautiously try it - turn to 735.


THE YAGE-CAT -DEMON. Opening the door you are confronted by something that approximates a face. Never have you seen anything more horrifying and yet so banal ... the face articulates a mouth (of sorts), a voice querulous and awful, a terrible question is put to you: Have YOU ever in YOUR darkest nights seen a demon appear and tell YOU that this life YOU live now YOU will live again, and again - over and over for all eternity?! 'NO NO NO NOOOO!'YOU will cry! 'I would rather choose death!' BUT have YOU for a moment ever drunk-of-the-yage and thought: 'Oh cat-demon you are an ANGEL and never have I heard anything more beautiful!'Your adventure ends here.


As you move swiftly through the throng you pick up a selection of post-it notes, obviously written by dwarves, judging by the scrawling, stuttered handwriting. The information quickly allows you to realize

that You still have one Business Space instance configured and you have a need to create another instance

of the service endpoints in your environment, you must configure Business Space so that the widgets can display data from the multiple service endpoints. You must edit two files: the endpoints file, which registers endpoints with Business Space, and the widget catalog file, which contains definitions of widgets. Suddenly everything shuts down and you feel your body being lead out-with your control. If you are still alive, will you:

Leave the business park? Turn to 141

Try the door in the East wall of the business park? Turn to 140


SHADOW MONSTER: This creature is not alive in the ordinary sense of the word but is a product of insider trading. Shadow monsters are generally used by powerful and malevolent necromancers such as the Independent Texan Alliance (ITA) as hauntic guardians of their seats of power, but not everywhere, as their spells only work in those exciting, changing, dangerous, deadly places where the sun's rays fall.

Win, turn to 24

Lose, turn to 83


The pilgrims are having a story-telling competition and at the moment are in fits oflaughter as a rather gaunt looking neotribal elder is just concluding a lewd tale about a bent blacksmith. His story over, the competitors invite you to join the gaming group Flagellation Nation. If you can win it, there are 60 Euros for the taking. Do you want to join this group (turn to 118), or will you continue to enter today's battle statistics (turn to 679)?


Having severely depleted your reserve store of miniature Action Man dynamite sticks, you emerge from

the manhole into a cobbled allegory of an alleyway. Following it down, you see a small mustard-coloured door with the proclamation 'Sisters of Christ'. It stands ajar, and you push it open. You blink dusklight in

a cloister of absurdly miniscule proportions. A sky-blue-pink pilot light winks in the centre amongst some wimpled conifers, adjacent to a set-piece of gladiatorial trophies (which you suspect to have been illegally imported). You edge closer, and a whirl of incense-spiced dry ice reveals a one-armed bandit. You pull the lever and it grinds into half-life. A revolving mechanical bird rises up from the top: it squawks and proceeds to devour a metallic earthworm which performs a quaint jig as it is ingested. The bird, metallically jubilant, raises its tail feathers and excretes two large denarii pieces. One is embossed with the head of a demonic nun wearing a laurel wreath, the other smells lightly of shit. The bird cocks its leg in the direction of a coin slot and looks at you enquiringly.

You insert the coin with the head of the demonic nun: turn to 259

You insert the coin, which smells lightly of shit: turn to 132.


THE CRYSTAL WORLD. You open the door and immediately before you a world actualizes itse1£ Looking closer you begin to see details: a hill (man made), a figure {drawn in chalk) ... a landscape stretching below but not as you know it (all is still- frozen). Suddenly you are on the hill. You look up with a feeling of intense foreboding. A pair of mournful eyes look back at you: the hill figure doubled by a second giant, scarred and mute - a club in one hand a crystal scepter in the other. A third figure wrapped in black felt, dark flowers sprouting from mouth and anus, slowly approaches. He points towards a distant horizon and to the hole that all at once gapes open at your feet: it is your choice.

Have you asked a Radical Neo-Corporate- Buddus about the location of the Mappa Mundi?

If so Turn to 165

If not Turn to 66


You arrive at the bench of the Leviathan Monopod with other pilgrims and pray for the hopless inebriate's soul and the successful completion of your quest. As you leave, you may place as many Euros as you wish in the plastic cup beside his rotting sandle. (Make a note on your Adventure Sheet of how great a donation you give.) You leave the temple and go back down the hill to the Walmarket Square. Several ale houses

are situated at the edges of the square. The healng well is at the top of the hill to the north but you are compelled to enter a tavern instead. How many Euros do you want to spend on ale?

None. Turn to 29

Half Turn to 125

All. Turn to 340


Frozen you stand beneath the giants as they command you in worship before them. Your armoured skeleton basking in the light of the three fountains, as they glow before you like shimmering golden suns. Conjure sweet giant, take out your wand and allow its power to surge through you. Stand steady your cloven grasp, as the feathers grow golden piercing through your steel guard. You are wonderment, as your armour stands strong, weighted against the shape shifting power of the fountains. You cannot know what lies ahead, but you can be sure that, whatever happens, with a demon in your backpack it will not be dull!


You pass through the arch and find yourself on the north side of a stone cloister, hexagonal in shape and set around a manicured lawn open to the sky, at the centre of which a fountain, heavily carved in black marble, spouts continuously, water falling into a surrounding basin below. The carving represents two rampant monstrous fish, scaly bodies intertwined, water bubbling from their twin snouts. These are set on the back of a large tortoise, which holds in its polished beak an ornate key made of a dull silver metal. At each angle of the cloister hands a large brass pendulum bob, the point of each reaching to just a few inches above the flagstones, moving in small circles in the faint draught that moves around the cloister. Two other archways lead out of the cloister, leading southwest and southeast. You walk cautiously around the cloister, noticing that beneath each pendulum someone has marked a number of ellipses in red chalk. All is quiet, until the distant sound of a bell, somewhere beyond the rooftops, breaks the stillness. The bells continue to toll slowly. Do you: leave quickly by the southwest archway (go to 203); or the southeast exit (go to 640); step onto the lawn to inspect the fountain more closely (go to 181); check your pistol, hide yourself behind a pillar and wait to see what happens (go to 1205)


This is a stunningly bad move. You find yourself flying downwards into a huge ring of burning mainframes and, after a few moments of intense agony, you are just a large cinder. Your dinner is in the dog. Your adventure is over.


You braved the submarine menace of the First World War! You are in a hospital in Hawaii where yours sins are stubborn, your contrition lame; you want your scruples to be worthwhile. You hear a lot of hullabaloo outside. You walk out of the hospital and find that combat aircraft are doing battle with fighter planes. They are very low to the ground, so low that you can see pilot's moustaches and hear the bitter laughter of beaten men. One of the planes crashes and you can see smoke boiling up from the ground. Blood drips on your head and big toe. You reach out to touch the pilot and he pulls a gun on you. Your adventure ends here.


EKIMMU need to feed on genetically modified soy products to continue their dreadful half-life. They spend much of their time lurking beneath the surface, awaiting the passing of carnivores. When one happens, they will burst out, attacking with a dream catcher or their breath. The fetid odors surrounding them can also be a hazard. Dexterity 2 Strength 9. If you win, turn to 878.


Small checkered oblongs with coded borders and longer symbol covered pillars float in ambient strips

all around you. It takes time for your mind and other senses to adjust to this new, very flat and vertical surrounding. Your movement is limited to up, down, left and right but it seems that any perception of depth alludes you. You must negotiate this new terrain with the aid of the transform and magic wand tools, removing parts of the scenery and altering the size and shape of objects will enable you to rearrange two dimensional plains into three dimensional actualities through which you will be able to escape this otherwise endless terrain. Do you re-size the giant, rasterize the goblins (Turn to 738) or save for web to escape (Turn to Ill)?


The travolator whisks you through the conference enclosure for many miles before branching off towards Landfill Heights. You stumble and trip through the suicidal service drones stretched across the path almost as if they had been placed there to obstruct you. A voice with an unfamiliar accent screams a diabolical message inside your head:

!4M61 PillEbI'il!ntio@i}h&lb}s(!id'Jifu$9qLj$wheiihsjd&&eeG Pjl'h! hhnhehgs/l] h!tt!6trs,tk&sliaisi!!!!!!

Startled, you leap upward and are sucked into an anti-grav pod lined with sharpened stakes. Manikins crowd around the lip of the pit, furiously typing on keypads, and your broken body is lowered in a net. Human stew for supper tonight!


THE INVERSION. Upon opening the door you find yourself bound and inverted. Upside down you see you are surrounded by a masked group of figures. Two hold sticks with shoes dripping oil and glitter, others hold the ropes that suspend you, or stand motionless, heads turned towards your slowly swinging body. Suddenly, you understand that you have been chosen. There is a terrible plague called CAPITAL that has been visited upon this house ... and a sacrifice has been called for .... Your adventure abruptly ends.


Take stance and get ready for your look onto your future. As the roar of the lions howl in the wind rises up like a wicked gust of wind sent to rattle your steel case. Dig your shield into the earth for the earth rises around you with every roar. Draw back your cloak for it is no use to you now. The Duel begins. Turn to 177


Your mungofolic senses are too gross with tonic wine and virtue. Disaster comes in only twenty years. Top scientists find that the confusion of the verbal and the visual is but one aspect of confusion of a stylistic category the size of Europe, being pulled right at the planet (the core of which is one big modish magnet.) People are ordered to build underground cities with an avowed contempt for decency and order. And they do. With three weeks to spare, the whole planet is underground, hoping not to be the one the stylistic category hits. Unfortunately, your outdated armour is stripped of its pan-dimensional abilities. Thus, with your head and arms protruding from a metal rod and bombarded by neutrons, your adventure ends.


Your vision clears: you pick up your possessions and peer into the luminous membrane. You are gaping open-mouthed at an impossible scene. Before you stretches out a vast panorama of marsh and jungle,

plains and forest, with snow-capped mountains lining a distant horizon. Your too-human mind cannot comprehend how all this can exist in the cellar of the Hungarian Parliament Building; and then you realize that the digital skin is a gateway to another world. This is not Europe: the sky is a different blue, the sun a different yellow. Some of the schizoid ideologues you have seen before, scouring the forest floor for organic produce; this other world teems with these. Like mobile mountains, gigantic armoured tee-pees lumber across the grasslands; flocks of sharp-billed investors soar in the skies. Somewhere in this landscape lurks the Warlord of Deadpan Wrath. Will you pass through? - turn to 315. Or take another bite from the sausage roll? - turn to 251


THE SHRINE. And from the purple cloudless sky an object of sort becomes apparent, a box with no inside and no outside, no this-way nor that-way .. .it hangs above you in the increasingly darkening sky. You take the glitter and sand and mark out your parameters, a circle with a gap to let the forces in and out. Shrines have been called for and you are their fabricator! Crossed legged you repeat each of the mantras as they are written on the black stones at your feet ...

You puzzle over this for some time, realising it must be an anagram of some kind. Can you solve the anagram?

If so Turn to 171

If not Tum to 178


You are ducking next to a Christmas tree; a record is playing Russian children's song "Chunga-Changa". The song ends and mysterious silence engulfs the room and you hear ticking of the clock from the mantelpiece. Two giants in armour with kind faces approach you; they look you in the eye and ask something. You do not understand them. One of them strokes you on the head, and they leave.

The Kindle burns your hands badly, giving off choking black smoke, before you manage to drop it. Lose two Dexterity points, and turn to 128.


You are lying down in the busy central hub of the Walmarket. Your group begins to sweat profusely and are overcome with dizziness, and red weals start to break out all over your skin. The plague is entering its final stages, and if you cannot stop it now, it will prove fatal. If you have a Universal Heal-all, turn to 64. If you do not, your merry band and everyone else on the planet will die in torment from the plague.


You are squatting down in the bushes with your friend. She has invited you here. With a cheeky smile on her face she asks you to pass to her a little twig lying next to your feet. While you reach for it, she has already made a little excrement. She instantly pokes it with the stick and offers it to you as a lollypop. Will you:

Examine the lollypop? Turn to 4

Leave the strange lollypop alone and climb out of the bushes? Turn to 122


You have to except the realization of ideas in signs as satisfactory enough. However, it is not an actual satisfaction. This realization is artificial and is not tied to the realm of your needs. If it was, then there would be some kind of saturation reached and full satisfaction would occur. But it doesn't, so you continue to consume more and more. What you are actually offered is the system of objects with ever-disappointed projects. The dynamism, which makes you want to consume things one after another, is implicit within this disappointment. The 'God' and 'will to live' gets signified in an object and then abolished and signified again in the next object and abolished again, and so on. The whole system of consumption comes to signify the reason oflife as a flagellating crusader.

One of the ideas buttons is black and the other is white. Will you press:

The white button? Turn to 744

The black button? Turn to 127


Having your body opened effordessly out in front of you - watching the Academy members leaning forward to catch a whiff of the bilious purple substance that has made it such an interesting specimen - has put

you in a profoundly abstract state of mind. Indeed, your life-long leaning towards a corporeal philosophy has been severely complicated since Julia Cooper's feature in Transcendent Science, that ominous article,

the coming of the state of the continuous mind. Little did you realise, however, that your own body

would literally end up in the centre of a rounded wooden lecture theatre like the flesh of a cadaver as your consciousness operates from a small digital device linked to a Tazhou Sensorium 431.

Did you look at the "Make your own Monster" book in the Academy?

If so turn to 66

If not turn to 666

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Its fingers are tipped with suckers that it uses to drain life forces, becoming progressively tougher as the fight continues. Your soul is dragged down to the nether regions, while your mortal remains are dissolved in the corrosive slime that the POWER TIE WEARER secretes from a cluster of globules on the lower part of its tie pin. You lapse into unconsciouness, never to awaken again.


THE VOID. It seems like days, but it has only been seconds ... the door opens into a planetary abyss.

From the void something begins to cohere, take shape. Form emerging from formlessness, complexity from chaos: an entity, a being, a nameless slab of so-called space-time ... a machine of infinite parts, whirring and squealing. You sense a different tempo, a new rhythm has come. It is as if you had been subtracted from the universe, a hole in the very order of things. An image comes to you of extreme deceleration: two hooded figures, motionless, victims perhaps of a slow and protracted cold death ... each guards a further door, the one on the left marked with a circle with a line through it, the one on the right with a crude eye with the pupil scratched out ... you must make a choice. Will you now:

Leave the void? Turn to 258

Or look at the bookcase? Turn to 4



You enter the small armourers. The Hag lurches forward like a hag, dribble cascading out of her mouth. "I've come to straighten your leg vice, how do you want it calibrated?" you ask in a steady, pseudo-heroic voice.

As you await response you hear a Lute player strike up outside. The 26 strings, likely plunked with a quill for greater resonance, establish a rhythmic pulsation. Even though the player is emulating Barrious White, you can still recognise that it, albeit highly stylised, is a rendition of Thomas Campions' early 17th Century "When to her Lute Corinna Sings."

The Hag tilts her ugly face to the side, though you might not have known it if you hadn't seen it move, so haggard is she. She grunts as salaciously as is possible, "I want the Jaw Opening by at least six inches". She moves in front of the vice and delicately pushing her rags to the side exposes her rag, behind which, in Clarden speech, she reveals her rag. But you don't have much time, so you gently push her down into the straw.

If you want to use Farriers tongs to repair the leg vice, go to 111.

If you want to use the Box tongs to repair the leg vice, go to 21.

If you want to use duck bill tongs to repair the leg vice, go to 468.


You are in an open space, looking for THEM. The dumb weight of the hastily moulded helmet is heavy.

An obtuse will has been hit, banged, hammered, forged, bent and shaped as if its rudimentary form was the same as your own. You are tired, tired, tired and the edges of the rough iron cylinder that make it fit begin to cut into your shoulders with a burning pain, yet those fuckers will not, will not.

You feel a strange mixture of both invincibility and vulnerability. You are slow, unable to act upon impulse * you MUST think ahead; de-lib-er-ate upon your next move, it could be your last. The breathless cacophony of your own being rings around its interior walls, Mary, Mother of God, you find you are talking to your-self again, all sound internal and external is amplified to paranoid levels. In your right hand you clasp a pistol, in your left is gripped a long thick knife. It's approaching nightfall and you know they are out there, waiting.

BEHIND you, you become suddenly aware of a sound of movement from inside the roughly built structure where you have chosen to make your stand. This is immediately followed by a strange, unearthly BLAST! The BLAST projects you forward * into an indeterminate yet familiarly reshaped future that forges both time and memory in ways that are paradoxically unforgivable toward any recollection of the past.

You turn your body around to face it and peer in disbelief at the image that meets you through the narrow frame of your helmet. He looks insolently back at you, oh no he's not. You realize the Bastard is looking through you! This history painter, a pipe inserted into his teeth. He picks up his mythologizing tool and sets to work. You look back at him with an incoherent mixture of curiosity and repulsion. Unburdened by the future, you see with envy how he works in the moment, unsure, you step up to take a closer look. You are inside his head, you are in one world but not of another. The dumb weight of a more sinister, yet unseen exoskeletal form cuts relentlessly into you.Turn to 523


The Crackakka has split, meaning that the golden syrup oozes out into the void. Kktuda warned you that if the Locktin star constellation was visible then it was an ominous sign. As you slowly gather yourself together and return to the top of Artonic's highest cupola, you must choose what to do when Tartin Block demands sacrifice, so as to avoid his wrath and save the village:

To exhibit the Champion's Seal as a sign of defiance go to 100.

To present the Eye of Wrath go to 600.


Dimonte studded rotors loop in and out of sync while hypnogogic pop filters cross-fades with spectral choir chorus'in a sound clash melt down. Flange reverb and auto echo lift objects and smash them into and upon one and other. Huge waves of dirge make the landscape shudder. You see a cave and head towards it, inside holiosonic networks line the caverns transmitting the fractured memories of the dead. You traverse the ominous looking totemic figures, long ago embalmed in this burial mound, strange modified electronics jut out at concentric angles beeping and humming in relay. It feels as if sounds are being directly projected into your skull and the constant babble begins to make you dizzy. Will you:

Quietly unlock your head and creep up while you sleep? Turn to 67

Investigate the cave? Turn to 119


FOX-OWL. The unmistakable sharp-stink of fox. The ghostly hoot of an owl: Fox-Owl appears twittering and muttering ... he gestures for you to follow deeper into the wood that slowly congeals behind his patch work coat ...

The wood? Turn to 13

The patchwork coat? Turn to 213

The door in the North? wall Turn to 744


"So, you have chosen to dye the badger's fir purple. I hope you know what you're in for!" And indeed you do. Smite need not remind you, though you feel somewhat comforted by the droll delight he takes in drudgery. The dye is extracted from a substance in the hypobranchial gland of a particularly rare sea snare. The task will involve the laborious hunt for the snail and then the stinking and seemingly endless process of boiling it down to produce what will seem like minute quantities of usable dye. The prospect of this onerous task certainly isn't appealing, but you know that Smite's dry humour will keep you going.

To wait 3 minutes before making a move to start locating snails, go to 1200

To wait 5 minutes before making a move to start locating snails, go to 1202


The nun pauses for a moment to catch her breath and to wipe the blood from her mouth. Taking advantage of her momentary confusion caused by the arena sand you have flung into her thick prescription glasses, you brandish your serrated hunting knife and throwaway the oyster shells. You step into the revolving hatch, meditatively chewing your nails. The hatch spits you out into a room full of vestments, where the smell of shit suddenly becomes overpowering. You burrow through capes and canticles into a cramped shell-like orifice, which proves to be a hearing trumpet. You slide down, and you have the Pope's ear. Do you:

Check he is masculine by means of the testicular stool: tum to 876.

Commandeer the donkey of Pope Joan and give birth in the gutter: turn to 122.


The color-bum of a Maypole. Suddenly, a new sinthome is revealed: RIBBON-HEAD. A staging of all pasts that never were and of futures yet to come ... an avatar from a place of fiction and speculation. He invites you to join him in the dance: you are in-out, in-out, in-out ...

Dance? Tum to 635

Flee through the nearest hedgerow? Turn to 171


With grin and a winkling of eye you are invited 'COME ON DOWN!!!!!!!!! from the radical central calculating unicorn host. Before you is a faecesocopia, your 'showcase': a double-double-glazing base of windows with a bust of Lionel a Ritchie in the centre. The case turns for the audience's entertainment; it bears the legend 'Discover the Seventeenth London Century!' You must make an offer under the price of this prize fabulous. Do you bid:

80,000 Euros? Turn to 186

100,000 Euros?Turn to 744


The adventurers must act quickly! The woman is Lady Carbon, the young wife of Baron Birthcontrol. She has managed to remain perfectly reasonable despite her lack of medication, and now, with help at hand, she is ravaging. Suddenly her neck breaks and the faintest aroma issues from her spinal valve. It is enough! The battery pack falls into her lap ... and then drops on to the stone floor. It is still intact! Then, as the adventurers watch, it hovers lazily towards the table, strikes his leg, and shatters. The bath-house fatties roar with laughter at this development. The party is flustered and incensed. You are compelled towards the following impulsive actions. Will you torture the naked fatties with Western delicacies? - turn to 234. Or pay the Baron 20 Euros for a new battery? - tum to 102.


THE MAPPA MUNDI. You open the door and see before you a map of a world long gone and yet soon

to be. Glittering details - a sword, a squid and a squirrels head - heraldic devices perhaps - indicators of

an ownership and an intention of a who knows what ... the logo of a new cosmic order that will come to supplant human time. All at once you are in the map, in a city and in a procession: a Black March hair dances next to you, tambourines and drums are being beaten. It is night, cold and damp, the participants of the dance say nothing as they make their way - with you amongst them - to the three rocks on the hill. And then it comes to you all at one: NIGHT IS ALSO A SUN and it is YOU that will come to draw this map ... Turn to 168.


In a feverish moment you enter an emblematic giant flea market incorporated of the spacecraft's main auditorium, wearing your hair like a factomoronic badge of honour. The place is full of tables covered with the old one, and overpriced nick-knacks. On one table you notice the five-headed red night-light, each representing the five points of the pentagram with a picture of Che Guevara (understood as protectionism) in the centre. The peoples are all around the table, and by the time where you push through the night-light he was sold. You ask the elderly woman behind the table and observe, and she remarks that it was a very rare item and that it was of high demand. Do you:

Use your monkey foot strength to strangulate and murder this old lady? Turn to 389

Represent the birth sign of the Petitioner to remind the Petitioner of the self that was born as this human and acknowledge its worth? Turn to 479


You take a deep breath and throw back your head. 'Uncle' you howl, 'I made it!'Then, laughing, you fling yourself head first down the hill. You come to earth with a bump. On the horizon is windmill by a small pond, glittering like a diamond beneath a perfect blue bowl of sky. But this is a pastoral angst garden,

for, according to your watch, it is 1994 (Year i)! Astounding little stepchild of God's astounding young stepmother! You suddenly remember: the citizens of the earth have decided it is time to leave the planet. These tired pioneers of Caucasian prophylactics had totally ruined it. Not plants, not animals. Not even humans. The whole population is boarding windmill-shaped shuttles, all going to different planets, thus keeping over-population from occurring. As you look around you notice that millions of hydrogen bombs have been placed on the planet. The moon is no use; it has been destroyed by a stylistic category. Many may not make it. Will you now try to open the trapdoor? - turn to 635. Or, if you have not already done so, will you investigate the rotting sacks? - turn to 776.


FUTURE RUINS. Through a window of cold crystal you see it: a ruin from a future time cast back into the present. An arche-fossil, evidence of a cold glacial reality outside your so-called interpretation of how things are. This is a place where the extreme yet-to-come and extreme might-have-been meet. All is ready for the visitation ...

Will you examine the book entitled:

~cid'? Turn to 692

'Charms'? Turn to 64


Problems are very sordid. There are some oils that fade expansion markings, but do not believe that they can be deleted, without under the knife to go. However, from your experience her hunch was right. Quickly; as she fades out you are in a narrow street. All around you is an endless grey desert of council tower blocks. You can also see a signpost pointing east to Avalon. You have been arrested for indecent exposure! You will never achieve Avalon with a criminal record.

Book produced to coincide with the Embassy Annuale exhibition ~valon' 19.06.10 -11.07.10

Curated by The Confraternity of Neoflagellants and featuring the work of:

Plastique Fantastique t Torsten Lauschmann t David Osbaldeston t Alex Pollard t Andro Semeiko t Ewan Sinclair t Eddo Stern t Emma Tolmie

The Confraternity ofNeoflagellants was founded in 2009 by Serjeant-At-Law Norman Hogg and joined by Keeper of the Wardrobe Neil Mulholland. It is a secular and equal opportunities confraternity bound by chirograph.

Published and supported by Edinburgh College of Art

ISBN 978-1-904443-42-1


2 Roxburgh PI, Edinburgh, EH8 9SU ~.embas~ery.org

EMBASSY is a non-profit organisation for the promotion of contemporary art run by a committee of volunteer directors:

Luke Cooke-Yarborough / Benjamin Fallon / Alexa Hare / Shona Macnaughton / Francesca Nobilucci / Ashleigh Reid

EMBASSY GALLERY LTD is registered in Scotland Company Number:259872

Charity No. SC035780

Project supported by

edinburgh college of art



Q Scottish Arts Council






---= !±L

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