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Bloody pawprints on the grass, none on its fur.

Gummy rubber tip gone brittle.

The smell that drifts from the soggy interior is an unpleasant mix of mildew and urine.

The smell that drifts from the soggy interior is an unpleasant mix of stale coffee and mildew.

The smell that drifts from the soggy interior is an unpleasant mix of sour alcohol and mildew.

Glossy metal finish, no hint of rust or weathering.

You hear a splat, followed by a man's yell. A woman cheers, 'Ectoplasm!'

One props up a sign which says: 'INTERNATIONAL PARTY CONFERENCE PARTY 66'.

Far left. A frame built for violence. Bulbous glistening skull shaved bare every morning.

Tk-tk-tk. The sound of a pen marking three boxes in short succession.

Tk. The sound of a box being marked on a standard form.

Another tk. Another form.

Tk. The sound of a box being marked on a standard form.

Tk. The sound of a box being marked on a standard form.

Tk. The sound of a box being marked on a standard form.

The skin -- clammy, coarse.

Gentle electronic tones rise and recede from it like the tide against a digital beach.

Suprema 100. Like the ones your double brought.

Suprema 100. Smoked by tens of millions across the People's Republics.

Comically vague. Very little to work with.

The vendor sighs and seems to deflate ever so slightly before your eyes.

Nostrils flare like hairy little cannons.

Veins rise like old roots beneath his thin skin.

Little bits of foam stick to it, and there are broken pieces at the side. She's torn it from something else.

She flaps her hands around inside them to demonstrate volume.

A light pink flush on her cheeks.

Fresh blood vessels pop in his eyes.

A labcoat splattered with blood both new and old.

A noose around his neck. A labcoat splattered with blood both new and old.

She rubs the card between her discerning thumb and forefinger.

She pats her left hand dry on the tea towel hanging from the cupboard. There are tiny little daisies on it.

In the background you can hear the sound of machinery and men hurling masculine insults at each other as cargo is hauled from ship to shore.

Raindrops gather on the wreckage overhead.

You see a haze of coloured light, dark figures moving within.

You hear laughter and music ahead.

Dust and carbon paper flakes dance in the circle of light.

A vast improvement on your current odour.

Wet cloth and iron dust. Foul. Chemical.

The sweet smell of ripening waste drifts up from dozens of household bins.

The rumble of flowing water beneath your feet.

The sound of water outside. Use it as your guide.

A gate opened -- it shouldn't have. Pull it again!

And the cling of metal on stone. You're on the right track.

A high-pitched whine from a motor.

Main drive engaged.

The cabinets too.

Expired coffee, greasy condiment residue. Typewriter ink. Chemically processed wood pulp.

XXs and smudged ink where the author struggled with a sticky key on the typewriter.

Scent of metaphysical essence as yet undetected. Possible fabrication.

299 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 6 of 6