The Archives of Dr. Dorian Crane
Welcome to the apothecary, dear reader.I am Dr. Dorian Crane; in my time I was an alchemist and doctor most prestigious, but it seems my last experiment has gone awry and I’ve been asleep for well a…very long time. I have taken the liberty of translating my journal entries related to this experiment. You can read about them, starting with the Discovery button, above.I find myself in a time that is not my own and deemed a “menace to the field of medicine” and “madman” by these modern “ethics boards”.Now, I am spending my time rebuilding my lab, hosting discussions at my shop, playing these infernal “video games”, and reading the mountains of literature that have been written during my absence.Since I may no longer “legally” practice balancing the body’s humors, then I hope I may, at the very least, bring you, my dear reader, a modicum of humor to brighten your day.Crane’s Apothecary welcomes you; won’t you stay awhile and listen?
About Me
Basic Facts
Name: Dorian Crane
Nickname(s): Doc, Crane
Gender: Non-binary (they/he)
Birthday: October 13
Age: Frankly, I…lost track…
Height: 6’6” (193cm)
Likes: Playing Support (especially if a healing beam is involved), RPGs, running ttrpgs, board games, baking, reading, landscape photography, automation or farming/life sims, and horror movies
Dislikes: spiders, “ethics” boards, cleaning lab equipment, and sleepFavorites
Video Game: (OG) Mass Effect Trilogy
Tabletop RPG System: Burning Wheel
Board Game: Terra Mystica
Anime: Black Butler
Movie: The Thing (1982)
Book: The Traitor Baru Cormorant
Band: Caravan Palace
Food: Sushi (Sweet Potato Rolls)
Drink: Coffee (or Ruby Port)Tags
Fan Mark: ⚗️
Art Tag: #ddc_art
Clip Tag: #ddc_clips
Entry One: The Discovery
Preface
As I have begun the ever-arduous process of rebuilding my laboratory, I have come across one of the last journals in which I penned an entry before my final experiment that landed me in this time. I have taken the liberty of translating it for those curious about my past exploits and research.
May 21st, 1656The local brewer visited me this day claiming a persistent ill-feeling; including such symptoms as periodic bouts of aggression and a pervasive cold that wracked his body. Upon closer examination I discovered the patient was, indeed, suffering from an overheating of the blood. I can only postulate that this would certainly have manifested from an overabundance of the yellow bile in his system, which would be congruent with the man’s increased body temperature as the over-concentration would unbalance the system and warm the blood in an uneven manner. I went into my stores to retrieve a tincture that would aid in the expulsion of this choleric disposition imbalance, but alas my recent work has kept me too long from the forests and I have not had the time to gather the necessary ingredients to replenish my stocks after the calamitous illnesses of the townsfolk experienced during the previous melancholic season. My endeavors to find a suitable apprentice or assistant have thus far been in vain. I shall be forced to redouble my efforts lest my obligations to the residents of this village detract further from my research.Previously, I have documented a flourishing growth of aconitum napellus (Future Crane’s note: Monkshood) to serve as a tincture base to aid in the expulsion of yellow bile along the nearby stream (no not the one with the frogs that glare so wickedly at me, I do believe that is the stream to the west). As I have recently taken to having several fainting spells in my lab, it seemed wise to revitalize my body with the elements and abate my own melancholy. I packed a meal (addendum: the attempt to preserve bread using the magnesium salts concocted this past winter did not go as planned) (second addendum: it does make for a very efficient toast however) to accompany me along with the lovingly illuminated transcription of The Tragical History of the Life and Death of Doctor Faustus by the one Ch. Marl. received as payment from that one traveling merchant last season in exchange for several tinctures of rendered essence from my garden of atropa belladonna (Future Crane’s note: Deadly Nightshade).It was a trivial matter to locate the embankment of Monkshood so I allowed myself some brief respite. I fear, despite my attempts to balance my own humors, the black bile still has an outsized influence upon the makeup of my own sanguine nature. Given my attempts to abate the black bile with intense heat in my lab I thought it wise to re-establish a point of equilibrium in the refuge of the forest’s boughs before attempting another round of self-experimentation.As I had set about reading from the volume of Dr. Faustus (as it turns out, most disappointingly, the literature lacks any basis in modern alchemic theory and the necromancy described therein was not even an interrogation of throwing wide the last door that separates man from god, power over death itself. Instead, I was entreated to a religious prattling of ethics. I shall leave such topics for the scholars and the coffee house intellectuals to debate. Unfortunately, a complete waste of belladonna extract. Not even one theory about the animation of so much as a finger.) As I was musing on the foolishness of the author’s writing, I noticed a strange stain has suddenly appeared on a page of the book. In looking for the source I came to realize my finger was coated in a glistening midnight black ichor. I was immediately beset by panic that the imbalance of my humors had grown so severe from the expedition out of my lab that it had begun to manifest through my very skin. After much prodding, no more of this substance could be entreated to be expelled or make its origin known. It was only after my mind calmed that I was able to see that I had sat down next to a small clump of mushrooms. They were the most peculiar specimens I’ve ever seen. Thick black ink droplets formed around the rim of the cap and formed a stream of some size composed of this glistening ichor. From the rivulets of onyx in the ground, I saw miniaturized forms of the dripping mushrooms already beginning to burgeon. I had to learn the origin of this mysterious liquid and already new ideas have begun to churn and cascade at the implications of what I’ve seen.(Future Crane’s note: It seems here is where I closed the book I was writing in at the time. I have a terrible habit of writing in whichever journal is closest at hand when the inspiration strikes. This means my writings are a myriad of disconnected entries in each book with no regards to such ideas as linearity or organization. I shall continue to sort through my grimoires for where I penned the next entry, which I believe detailed my experiments with this newly found substance, and how it set about a chain of events that brought me here today.)
Entry Two: The Experiment
After several sorties into the depths of my library (including one mild avalanche of the shelves and a sinkhole that seemed to have developed in the interceding centuries) I have uncovered the journal entry that came directly after the previous one that I have translated. I present now the summation of my experiments following my brief sojourn into the forest.
August 13th, 1656Trials have continued on the study of the, previously named, Coprinopsis Atramentaria (Future Crane Note: we would know this today as the ink cap mushroom. A depressingly literal and bland interpretation of the specimen.). I am taking the liberty of transcribing my known facts here as my previous results log has become almost entirely blackened from a combination of the exposure to the ink-cap and the furious recording of my own observations.The mushroom does not emit the quintessence of black bile, as originally postulated. Instead, it presents a heretofore unseen method of reproduction. The body of the mushroom seems to break down its very essence into this amorphous onyx medium and using this new substrate is able to reproduce itself endlessly. From my initial harvest, I have cultivated an immense swathe of these mushrooms and despite all attempts I have not found a way in which I can meaningfully disrupt this process. Regardless of the methods I have leveraged to do so (recorded in lab book 284C), I have yet to kill a single one, in any way that matters at least. Regardless of applied stimuli, it has only been possible to accelerate or decelerate this cycle, but never frustrate the the process to an unreconcilable state. Eventually, the subject will decay, and from that decay new life shall be formed. It is as if their decay is nothing more than an extant form of their own life cycle. What I have witnessed here is an eternal cycle that sees no end. Directed under the guidance of human will, it may mean we could avoid the myriad humiliations as the human body breaks down in its march towards our final rest. There are yet far too many sights to see in the world and too much knowledge yet out of my grasp for my days to be numbered so. I refuse to be bound by the chains of a fate to which I did not consent.With these revelations fresh in my mind, I have harkened to a potential reality I never thought, realistically, within my grasp in the span of this lifetime, at least outside the purview of the fiction author's pen. From this discovery, I see the opportunity to defeat death itself.
(Future Crane’s Note: I’m afraid that trying to decipher the scrawl of symbols for my own alchemic math is beyond my current ken. During this point in my experiments I had not slept for several weeks and had consumed so many energizing tinctures that the leaps of logic elude even my own translation at this juncture. In addition, based on some pages prior to this, I am also led to believe I have encoded this page of my journal as I had become quite convinced at the time that a sparrow, which apparently frequented my window, was spying on me at the behest of one of my compunctionless contemporaries. Instead, I have included a transcription of the relevant journal pages above should any budding scholar of the alchemical arts wish to pursue these abstruse ramblings for their own enlightenment.From my own recollection, I was endeavoring to harness this infinite cycle and binding it into a stabilized state which could allow one to overcome the decay of the human body and keep the humors in perfect balance ad infinitum. By ensuring there was an eternal flame burning to keep alive the spark of the human soul while nourishing the body, no longer would we be at the whims of the linear decay into our graves. This observed process had to be quickened, stoked, and yet regulated with an eternal energy lest the subject undergo the extent of the current decay cycle and become, as the mushroom, naught but a fleshy pile before being reborn again.)It has thus been decided. Using these formulae and the infusion of the human soul, I shall stoke the fires of eternity.
Entry Three: The Results
Apologies for the delay in transcribing this last entry. After several expeditions through the stacks of my library and a thorough turnover of my laboratory I was becoming convinced that the last entry in the series was lost to time. As I was preparing to give up on the search it was Bonk who brought me the missing journal. It would seem they have kept it all this time as a memento of the first time I wrote about them. I am afraid many of the pages are irreversibly stained with the inky handprints Bonk is wont to leave on any surface they touch, but I am able to transcribe enough for the relevant sections to finish our tale.
October 1, 1656After 227 trials I have finally achieved the impossible. Using the alchemic formulas previously transcribed (I do believe my ciphers have been successful as the accursed sparrows have ceased their incessant spying leaving me to assume the knave, Dr. Ward, has encountered his own impasse, or perhaps explosive complications, should the formulae of which I have penned been incorrectly decoded). Now though, the last keystone to the experiment has been found. It was by the introduction of the red humor (Future Crane's note: human blood) into the mix necessary to catalyze the reaction.The previous 227 trials have created results ranging from the grotesque to the inert. (At least after trial 89 the reaction no longer involved the wholesale combustion of the specimen.). Regardless, I fear the walls of my lab shall never recover from the layers of ink that have been forcibly splattered during each failed trial. Luckily, it only took thirteen moderate fires before finding how to temper the rate of the reaction. Indeed, without a restraint the (Future Crane's note: The writing here is a thick scrawl of symbols. From context I believe this loosely translates to the magnesium catalyst cycle of the reaction) would continue accelerating the reaction until such a point the structure of the specimen grew with such fervor that it combusted into a most spectacular flame. I have found it however to be a much more efficient method for brewing my afternoon coffee than a traditional kettle, albeit the taste does leave something to be desired, but the efficiency, I believe, makes it well worth it. I must add a note to check how this temperature affects the brewing of the beans. Perhaps I can embolden further my energy tinctures with a proper infusion.By tempering the reaction through the introduction of the blood to embolden the spirit and quicken the cycle as magnesium catalyzes with the trace salts, listed in equation 24.i.6ii.01c (I think that's in the red journal with grey stains. Or was it the grey journal with red stains...?), the light of the fire is captured by the phosphor and with the magnesium catalyst cycle. Thus the internal growth rate is stabilized. This allows for the replacement of damaged tissue near instantaneously without the overgrowth of tissue that occurred in subject 109. I have omitted sketches of subject 109 from my records for those sights shall haunt me for the rest of my days. (Note: review subject 109 equation for potential creation of an endless food supply). It would seem that the single-minded drive towards this result has begun to beguile my senses as I swear I can see the subject in lot 228 undulate as it continues to grow, but upon closer inspection each time I have to conclude it is a simple trick of the light. I have lost track of the last time I have stopped to rest and instead of begun to rely on a constant intake of the energy tinctures to continue my work.(Future Crane Note: the examination of subject 228 continues for several more pages, but it becomes increasingly difficult to make out any of the original text as the ink stains become ever more copious. According to Bonk, this was their favorite part so they have read it most. If there is interest among any up and coming alchemists I would be happy to discuss this section in more detail with the aid of Bonk’s recollection of the account, but as I have promised you, my dear patient, an explanation for how I came to be in this time, I shall translate the last passage of the journal. This section was written in a frenzied rush. My paranoia had and hallucinations had reached a point most alarming as I reflect on the hazy memories that still sometimes drift through my mind unbidden. I was in such a frenzy that the pen’s nib shattered part of the way through. The ink has clotted in deep puddles on the page and indiscriminate tears through the linen are abundant, but despite the impossibility of reading the words I remember the passage well to this day.)October 12, 1656
The scoundrel, that absolute madman, that low-cunning mountebank, this was to be the final day of observation before undertaking the dissection of subject 228 tomorrow to analyze the results and move finally to perfect the technique on the transmutation of the human body into a purer form. I was to be the one to turn the decay of time into a boon instead of the cruel joke bestowed upon us. No longer would we be cursed to watch as the moments tick away from life like the infernal gears of a clock. I awoke this morning to find subject 228 gone. It has been uprooted most viciously. The other surviving specimens were similarly missing or otherwise destroyed in place. The razor’s edge of broken glassware twinkles in the candlelight across the my lab, a vast sea of stars. Each star a new disappointment and a syringe through my heart as my work is laid out, obliterated and leaking into the stone before me. Even the port that I had procured last year to celebrate my coming name day has been taken. I fear I have let down my guard for too long (I should never have disabled the pressure plates in the lab) and that scoundrel, Dr. Ward, he must have simply been biding his time to steal my work and claim eternity for himself. Even now I can hear the cacophonic echoing of feet scurrying through the cavernous halls of the manor. I fear my time is short, concealed within the false panel of my desk, the one such dose of my refined test serum has survived the ransacking of my dominion. I have no time for caution, lest all my efforts be in vain. I shall not allow my work to be stolen by someone of such a lackadaisical intellectual posture. One who does not earn the knowledge for themselves cannot possibly take responsibility for it. Thus, I shall be the first, and perhaps only, subject of these experiments. I shall endeavor to record my findings. Should I perish, know that it is a sacrifice I make gladly to fight against the invisible shackles of the world. I would rather meet my end attempting to shatter the sandglass in which we are bound than wait to be smothered by the grains of time slowly weighing upon my body over the coming decades.(Future Crane’s Note: The following is a rather non-sensical jumble of words written in feverish scrawl, but I shall do my best to translate the flow of consciousness befalling my mind at the time.)Serum administered. The primordial spark runs up my arm as I can feel the fire pour into my heart. Each beat of the heart causes pulses of fire to echo throughout my body. Every muscle feels like it is being tightened, as if under an oil’s press, yet at the same time being strung up above a kitchen’s hearth. The drumbeat of my pulse squeezes my head, darkening my vision to a narrow pinprick of quavering light. My head swims through a sea miasma as I try and pen these words. Over the thunderous din of the beat of my heart attempting to extricate itself from my chest, a high-pitched shriek in the distant cuts through the deafening drum pulsing at my ears and the ragged, rasping gasps of my breath. Through the narrow speck of vision I still possess, I see a glowing blue and amorphous creature. It stands as high as a child with two inky orbs that pierce my soul with its bottomless gaze. Its gait is unsteady, but even now has begun to lop towards me with deceptive speed; its mouth is opening to reveal a gaping pit of light as its shriek grows louder still. It is all I can do to move this pen as the fire continues to wrack my body. The waves of flame feel as if they scorch my skin and alight my very soul. In pace requiescat.
(Future Crane’s Note: Epilogue. I wrote the following in the hours after I first regained consciousness.)I awoke in what seemed like no more than a minute later, half expecting to find myself in my chamber having experienced some sort of prophetic night terror. However, as my eyes opened they were met by the stabbing rays of light. They burned as if I have never before witnessed the sun’s rise. My laboratory was caked in a thick grime of settled dust and the crumbled powder of dried reagent. The dust-covered glass shards still sent muted sparkles of concentrated light dancing subtly upon the walls. As I sat up, the inches of dust began to roll off me and my bone-dry throat reflexively let out a hoarse and broken shriek as inches from my face were the same inky orbs that I last remember gazing into right before losing consciousness. The creature answered my shriek with its own until my weakened, parched voice gave out into a chocked, hacking cough and the shriek from the creature turned to…what I can only attempt to describe as a child's giggle. I sat in silence for some moments reexamining the room. Piles of my books lay stacked among the of glass-strewn floor creating uneven spires rising from the sea of glass below. Over time it seems some of these spires collapsed, scattering piles of books, while others have been left splayed open. Each book appeared smudged with blackened handprints. The creature before me ducked behind a work table and returned moments later with an alembic filled with clear fluid as it began to clumsily dawdle back towards me. Finally my eyes began to focus and as I could look at the creature for the first time I attempted to exclaim, but my voice failed me so only a hoarse murmur barely passed my lips as recognition glacially permeated my treacle-ridden brain “you’re subject 228”.The mushroom that I was so convinced was stolen to make a mockery of my research…was walking…as if in answer subject 228 turned sharply as it lost balance and smacked the brim of its mushroom cap against a nearby desk. Murky black droplets flew from the gills under the cap splattering across all nearby surfaces and they ricocheted off the desk corner. The sound was…a unique one. The reverberating echo created a hollow note that carried around the room. In its startled state, it dropped the alembic as the crystalline note of shattering glass onto stone broke throughout the otherwise deathly silence that hung over the room. Immediately, what could only be described as black tears started to issue in a steady stream down its face and it began to haphazardly run at me. Still too bewildered to move, I sat there as the creature loped toward me and embraced me. It continued its high pitched shriek and the stream of inky tears though upon a cursory look no harm seemed to have been done to it. In a daze, I pet its cap, still not fully convinced I wasn’t about to arise with a start in my bed chamber. After our first encounter, it took several rounds of self-experimentation (noted in journal 43a.iic.3x, the one with that smells strangely of rye) for me to put the pieces back together and how I am here writing this now, but it would seem, in the end, my experiment has been a success. It is only a shame that my formulae have been rendered indecipherable in my current state. My books likewise are rife with ink stains that run through my them like taunting, tenebrous voids, challenging me to fill in these blank sections lost to time.I’ve taken to calling subject 228 “Bonk” because of the noise it invariably makes as it ricochets off various surfaces when it moves around. It seems the mushroom brim acts as a sort of impact absorber and thus, while making it difficult to hold delicate equipment, does not actually experience pain for these constant collisions despite its constant overreactions to each such occurrence. It would seem likely I have been out longer than I suspect due to the state of my lab, but how long exactly have I been asleep? Surely the world could not have changed that much...
Art Credits
Model Designer: @Ebi
Model Rigger: @KH
Logo: @nutnut
Crane Reclining (About Me): albsans
Crane Reading (The Discovery): @sotoba
Crane Experiment (The Experiment): @kissa
Crane Potion (The Results): @thepunt
Bonk Helping (The Results): ivanwindTwitch Integrated Throwing System Credits:
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