!       The LOWER/SOUTH CANYON.
!
!       Defined in DM4 §23
Object  Canyon_S "Lower End of Canyon"
  with  description
            "At the lower, and narrower, southern end, the canyon stops dead at
             a chasm of vertiginous blackness. Nothing can be seen or heard
             from below.",
        n_to Junction,
        u_to Junction,
        s_to "Into the chasm?",
        d_to nothing,
  has   light;

!       Defined in DM4 §12, modified in §21 and §23
Object  -> chasm "horrifying chasm"
  with  name 'blackness' 'chasm' 'pit' 'horrifying' 'bottomless',
        before [;
            Enter:
                deadflag = 3;
                "You plummet through the silent void of darkness, cracking
                 your skull against an outcrop of rock. Amidst the pain and
                 redness, you dimly make out the God with the Owl-Headdress...";
            JumpOver:
                "It's far too wide.";
            ],
        after [;
            Receive:
                remove noun;
                print_ret (The) noun,
                          " tumbles silently into the darkness of the chasm.";
            Search:
                "The chasm is deep and murky.";
            ],
        react_before [;
            Jump:
                <<Enter self>>;
            Go:
                if (noun == d_obj) <<Enter self>>;
            ],
        each_turn [;
            if (huge_ball in parent(self)) {
                remove huge_ball;
                Canyon_S.s_to = On_Ball;
                Canyon_S.description =
                    "The southern end of the canyon now continues onto the
                     pumice-stone ball, wedged into the chasm.";
                "^The pumice-stone ball rolls out of control down the last few
                 feet of the canyon before shuddering into the jaws of the
                 chasm, bouncing back a little and catching you a blow on the
                 side of the forehead. You slump forward, bleeding, and...
                 the pumice-stone shrinks, or else your hand grows, because you
                 seem now to be holding it, staring at Alligator, son of
                 seven-Macaw, across the ball-court of the Plaza, the heads of
                 his last opponents impaled on spikes, a congregation baying
                 for your blood, and there is nothing to do but to throw anyway,
                 and... but this is all nonsense,
                 and you have a splitting headache.";
                }
            ],
  has   scenery open container;

! ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- !