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Dogs have masters. Cats have staff.
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You are in a humid room, with faintly-glowing fungus growing on the walls. The 20-foot ceiling is reinforced by large, sturdy roots, perhaps those of an apple tree you remember. From one large root hangs a rope, too short to be of value, its end cleanly cut.
A single passageway leads east.
You have a short sword.
You have a short length of rope.