The Campaign Builder's Guild

"I... I do not understand. Who are you? What is this place? Where is father?"

[ic=Delirium]"I am, of course, George Gordon Byron, the Sixth Baron Byron, as he existed in the year 1822, two years before his death, and I am a poet, not an oracle, sweet creature," the bust proclaims.  "You are asking questions about which even the Whorl of the Puzzle Caves are uncertain.  Some have mistaken Delirium for Hell, or perhaps Purgatory, though the Grecian Hades or the She'ol of the Hebrews - or even Milton's Limbo - might be a bit closer to the mark.  But as to its true nature, or purpose, none can say for sure.  As for your father, my dear, I haven't the faintest idea.  I cannot be expected to keep track of your relations; I am, after all, a marble bust.  Now... are you going to see to that racket?  It's becoming most tedious." [/ic]

[ic=Inventory]Nightshirt, Candlestick (Lit)[/ic]

"Oh, right! Though I find it quite odd taking orders from an inanimate object, nobility or not. Please do excuse me."

Mildred cautiously approaches the window, candlestick in hand and reaches up to draw back the shades.

"Yes, who's there?"

[ic=Messenger]You pull back the curtain and stare into a pair of beady pink eyes belonging to a hideous white-furred face.  A large albino bat wearing shabby genteel clothes cut for its bestial, misshapen frame regards you from its perch on the windowsill, one wing raised to tap at the glass.  The impossibly ugly, pallid thing carries a satchel on its back stuffed with envelopes and small packages.  The creature squeals shrilly at you.

Beyond the bat, the regular view of Bedford Square is obscured by the thick reddish fog.

"Ah, a messenger," Lord Byron's bust says, craning its marble neck round to look out the window.  "Well, best let it in."[/ic]

[ic=Inventory]Nightshirt, Candlestick (Lit)[/ic]

"If... if you say so sir. Though I'm not sure how father will take to animals in the study." Mildred hesitantly undoes the catch on the window and opens it to let the creature in.

[ic=Package]The white bat hops and flutters into the room and looks up at you with its tiny, pink eyes.  Rooting around for a moment in its satchel the messenger extracts a small package covered in brown paper.  There's a small note on the package, which reads:

"To Miss Mildred Symes,

I trust this device will prove useful to your in your endeavors.  Whatever you do, don't listen to the music.

Cryptically,

A FRIEND"[/ic]

[ic=Inventory]Nightshirt, Candlestick (Lit)[/ic]

Mildred takes the package "Thank you, now what could this be?" She examines the note and then finding it unclear begins unwrapping the package. "I trust you had a good flight," she feels rather silly talking to a bat. "P-Perhaps a bit of brandy would be nice, I have some if you'd like. I imagine it's quite chilly out uh..." Mildred peers out into the red fog "...out there."

[ic=Music Box]You put down your candlestick to unwrap the package, which reveals itself to contain a small, ornate music box and a pair of earplugs.  The music box is enameled with various designs, most prominently an image of a strange, lizard-like creature with the head of a rooster and leathery wings.

At your invitation, the white bat squeaks in appreciation and pours itself a snifter of brandy, which it tosses back at a gulp.  As it wipes its pale lips with a wing the creature hiccups.  Though it might just be your imagination, or the queer light of the lamp on the desk, the creature seemed to increase perceptibly in size when it hiccuped.  It hiccups again, and this time you're sure of it - the bat definitely grew larger.  Its sudden growth knocks the desk slightly, making the lamp shake dangerously and opening a desk drawer in which you catch a glimpse of your father's snuff box.  The force of impact also startles a small rat that had been hiding under the desk; the creature scuttles across the floor and disappears into a tiny hole at the base of the wall, between two bookshelves.

Squealing a pteropine thank-you, the albino bat hops back up to the window and flutters back out into the fog.  The marble bust of Lord Byron peers from its corner to inspect the music box.[/ic]

[ic=Inventory]Nightshirt, Music Box, Earplugs[/ic]

Mildred hesitantly inspects the music box after the bat leaves, but her curiosity is piqued at what happened to the bat. After a moment's hesitation, perhaps the growing loss of any realistic inhibitions, she takes a delicate sip from the brandy.

[ic=Hiccup]You pour yourself a small brandy and take a tentative sip.  The meager swallow does little to slake your thirst, the fiery spirits prickling your mouth and throat, filling your body with warmth. As you lower the snifter you gently hiccup once.  Instantly you grow taller by an inch.  The experience isn't painful, and your clothes stretch to fit your larger frame and elongated limbs.  You feel stronger now, as well as bigger - the brandy has filled you with vigour.[/ic]

[ic=Inventory]Nightshirt, Music Box, Earplugs, Brandy Snifter (Mostly Empty)[/ic]

"Oh my... did you see that Lord Byron? I think I've grown!" She examines her new size carefully, measuring herself against the wall. Her curiosity and thirst getting the better of her, Mildred downs the last of the brandy and waits with great anticipation what new heights she might ascend to.

[ic=Hiccup]You down the rest of the decanter, finally quenching your terrible thirst.  The brandy is sweet and heady.  With each gulp of the powerful liquor you feel progressively stronger - though by the end, you're getting more than a bit dizzy.  Then the hiccups set in.  With each hiccup you grow perceptibly larger.  Soon you are as tall as your mother.  A few hiccups later you're taller than your father.  The hiccups, however, show no sign of stopping.  After a few more hiccups your head is brushing against the ceiling, your arms brushing against the walls.  Panic begins to grow in your chest.  You're still hiccuping, and now you have to hunch over to fit in the room at all.  You end up with one leg dangling out of the open window, an arm wedged up against a bookshelf, another arm crooked over the desk.  Your nightshirt is feeling a little tight and has ridden up to your knees but seems to have stretched as you grew.

The bust of Lord Byron eyes your ankle with a marble eyebrow raised.  "Your dimensions seem to have expanded to Brobdingnagian proportions, my dear.  You might be mistaken for one of the Titanesses themselves."

Your hiccups seem to have stopped, mercifully.[/ic]

[ic=Inventory]Nightshirt, Music Box, Earplugs[/ic]

[ic=Sneeze]While pondering what to do and feeling tremendously dizzy, the small rat that scurried into a hole on the wall returns, scuttling out from its hiding place and over your leg.  It continues up over your knee, tickling you terribly.  Unable to contain a spasm of laughter, your leg kicks out, flinging the rat away.  Your foot strikes the door hard.  The hinges groan in protest, and with a sound of splintering wood the locked door creaks open.

The force of the kick also knocks out the drawer in your father's desk.  The snuff box opens, and a small cloud of tobacco drifts up into your face.  Involuntarily you inhale some of the snuff and sneeze violently.  As you do, you diminish slightly in size.  You are still too big too fit through the front door, but you're a bit smaller than you were before.[/ic]

[ic=Inventory]Nightshirt, Music Box, Earplugs[/ic]