Unfortunately, being in America means adherence to an American time schedule, so I'm setting up camp for the night.

Haha, I'm just kidding, a sword is fine for me.

@Crystal Rosethorn, are we supposed to have, like, melee weapons? I figured we should bring the most firepower possible, ergo, a trusty pistol.

I present to you the most advanced technology in psychically powered semi-automatic firearms: the GlockSmith 300. Automatically teleports in new ammunition. Any monster steps to you, you pop a cap in that sucker.

Forget part fox, I'm 85% Russian and 15% Israeli, born and raised in the most gunhappy nation on earth: the UNITED. STATES. OF. AMERICA, meaning I know the meaning of firepower. When you come up against an enemy, you hit them with the American Specialty: rampant weapon budgets and compete offensive overkill!

@Serpentes, now that I've actually gone down into the Undersprawl, what should we do supposing we run into some snake pals of yours?

Did not see that there was a separate journal thread here. Sorry. I'll go to Going down now. Ignore this from now on.

Well, uh, I haven't exactly LEFT yet. I figured that I should get dinner and a good night's sleep before setting off. I mean, I heard the Undersprawl is a sub-dimension, meaning it's pretty goddamn big.

Sorry. I'll be down soon, though.

Alright, here we go. Off with @Crystal Rosethorn down into the Undersprawl sub-basements of the school, in search of instruments of legend. I'll be PsiCasting everything back to my Scribe+, so it'll show up in story form.

Lucille, I choose to believe in the power of MEGAROCK ULTRA.

And, the scroll said we just need to find it, not re-summon Travolta.

So, if anyone's up for an adventure, I'm going to search for the sickest drum machine of all time. @Crystal Rosethorn, you in?

P.S. - @Serpentes - Hand out whatever you want. Snakes are welcome, I'm assuming.

P.P.S. - A drum machine now powered by souls, I might add. SOULS! How is that not awesome?

I've decoded the scroll.

THE TALE OF MEGAROCK ULTRA

It was in the old times, the year 1983. Hair was big, discotheques were in, and three dorks were looking to change their fortune.

Ned Schmidt of Schenectady, short in stature and bountiful in acne.

James Goldstein of Brooklyn, long in limbs, player of Dungeons and Dragons.

Mike Christensen, with greasy hair and cracking voice.

The three were not popular. Shoved into fractal-dimensional lockers, pushed around by jocks from Lower Hell 59, ignored by the pretty demigods. So they wished to become popular.

They spent the night looking through the deepest depths of the Library, searching for the spell or ritual to make them as they wished. Finally, they happened upon a scroll with an ancient proverb:

"To be most popular in all the land,
Thou shalt only start a band."

They knew what they had to do. Using a forbidden ritual, they summoned the Dark One, Travolta, God of Disco.

It was thus that they negotiated a bargain, that in return for the most bitchin' drum machine of all time, MEGAROCK ULTRA, they would give up their immortal souls.

As they sealed the bargain, they forgot Travolta's wickedness, and he imprisoned their souls within the machine.

MEGAROCK ULTRA lies somewhere deep in the sprawling campus, locked away, it's totally sick beats to never be heard again.

Unless some clever student were to find it, of course.

The scroll got screwed up by the Polyglotter. It'll take some time to recover it, but I could probably get it tomorrow.