In Lament, you take the role of Michael Anderson, a researcher and archaeologist living in England, 1845.

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Where the Air Flows Like Water
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Looks like professional work here, I will be following this closely. Don't make this mod go to waste, it's truly something special.

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I've run out of compliments for screenshots like these.
So I'd just say:

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I can't express the words to tell anything about these screenshots. ******* marvellous.

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~ Eighth of March, 1845 ~

While I fully understand the need for secrecy in my research, I do not believe this sewer is in any way the appropriate accommodation for a professional physician such as myself. The stench is horrid, and it's all I can do to keep my parchment from falling apart in this humid air.
But, I digress. Work continues.
Sir Beaumont has kindly seen fit to provide me with a hound for testing purposes; a plain mutt, and of no particular breed. Against his urging, I've decided to name her Lucille, after the hunting dog my father owned when I was a child, as she looks strikingly similar.
I have also noted a curious luminescent fungus growing here in the sewer, mostly near leaking pipes and waste. It is not pertinent to my research, but I should like to study it, should my off-time permit it.

~ Ninth of March, 1845 ~

Nothing of note. Work continues.

~ Tenth of March, 1845 ~

I found Lucille convulsing on the ground this morning. I assumed she was in the midst of a fit of some sort, but on closer inspection it was apparent that she had eaten some of the fungus growths near the elevator. This worried me further, as I feared they may be poisonous, but at another look I realized that, what I had mistaken for convulsions, was in fact Lucille furiously attempting to run, as though she were chasing something I could not see.
Evidently, the fungus secretes a rather potent hallucinogen.
Lucille was vomiting frequently for the remainder of the afternoon, so it would appear that the fungus' spores are indeed poisonous, but not enough to warrant anything more than stepping around them during my daily routine.

~ Eleventh of March, 1845 ~

Nothing of note. Lucille has stopped eating the mushrooms.

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