I cast Lvl. 8 Cock of the Infinite....

You don the flappy body bindings and the pointy cranium cover you looted from the evil wizard you killed a while back. They're still as comfortable as the day you wiped the blood off them, and they imbue you with a sense of power and a strange urge to rudely prank people and commit mass slaughter.

You whisper the ultimate cat call. It echoes over the empty cabin; nothing happens, and a profound sense of loss washes over you. You walk over to the shelf by the window and run your hand over it, staring at the one particularly worn spot on it for a moment. You walk over and check the litter box, but of course it's clean. It always is nowadays. Old habits die hard after all. You cook yourself some breakfast and take a seat at the table, and try the call again. Nothing happens, as expected, not even when you open a can of tuna. Old habits die hard, but they die eventually. You spread the tuna on your bread and eat your meal, alone in the silence.

A sudden urge to kill a foolishly dressed alleged comedian fills you to the brim. Unfortunately, there is none in the room with you. You'd have to find him before you can kill him, but you have your objective in mind. The first question is how you're going to get out of here. The front door is locked, and the only hint of a key is the shitty drawing on the floor. Ha ha. Very funny, whoever put that there. What's worse is that there's no weapons here. To kill someone, you'd need something to kill them with. Well, you could do with your bare hands, but it's much easier with a tool of some sorts, and the cabin is strangely absent of tools suitable for the act of murder.

When you go to examine the bookshelf, you realize it's not actually a bookshelf, but a painting on the wall designed to look exactly like a set of bookshelves from precisely the perspective you were formally at. Oddly enough, all of the titles are books you have read before, but none are ones you're currently reading.

You whip up a large breakfast, fit for a hobbit's first breakfast: eggs, bacon, toast, fruit mix, cereal and yogurt and milk, orange juice and a small brownie for desert. Before long the scent washes over the entire cabin and your belly grumbles in anticipation. You sit down to feast and enjoy the fatty, savory meats and the crisp and buttered toast, the fluffy eggs and the sugary cereal and milk.

All incredibly filling, you pat your nearly bloated stomach, satisfied with the meal. You emerge onto the porch for a quick smoke of the herb, letting the floating sensation wash over you as you watch the trees sway in the wind and the dew twinkle on the grass. By now it's practically afternoon, just about time for second breakfast. Then again, you do have to tend to your farms and gardens; all this food comes from somewhere, no?

Breakfast had: 1/?

Pipes smoked: 1/30

Food stores: oooooxxxxx

You have disturbed a mimic disguised as a jewelry box. It snaps and almost separates you from the fingers on your right hand.

When you try the door, you find that it's locked tight. Looking outside through the window, you do in fact spot some suitable nodes to hit, if only you could get to them. Your forge does require ore and minerals; your stocks are getting low. Unfortunately with no way outside and no rocks to hit inside, you're left stranded.

You feel an inexplicable urge to cry. The tears leak from your eyes before you even realize it. The sobs escape you despite yourself, and within moments you're on your knees, sobbing and crying into your hands, unable to stop the tears.

Just as suddenly as the urge came, it disappears. The tears dry, and you rise to your feet. Alright, what now?

The first place you would check is the fridge; the problem is, there doesn't seem to be a fridge here. There's a spot that seems like it would clearly house a fridge, but it's not there. You could have sworn you saw it out of the corner of your eye before you turned towards it, but there's no real point thinking about it now. Unless you count books or strange flowers as edible calories, your search turns up empty. Whoever was here before left no food.

The only place you hadn't checked is the attic, but as you stare at the ladders ascending upwards, you get a most ominous sensation; chills creeping up your spine...