Latin for Gamers: In the Dungeon

My utterly misspent November means I can post this sort of thing without taking precious minutes away from my staring-at-the-screen-wondering-what-to-type academic time.

I, uh, don't think I've posted this one before. Also, I hope it was finished.

As always, I welcome improvements to the Latin, especially given the sentence just before this one.

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You enter a 10' by 10' room. The walls are painted with blasphemous frescoes, and a loathsome black marble statue of the Spider Queen stands on a low dais to your left.
Conclave quadratum mensura decem pedum introistis. Muri nefandis tectoriis sunt picti, et taetrum nigrum marmor Reginae Aranearum in suggestu humili stat a sinistra. ( legite plura )

Written earlier

Rats. My headphones have a bad connection, so I'm stuck listening to the old-people music they play here in the coffee house. Here where I have come to study they are playing catchy-tune hard-rockin' classic rock, as opposed to the lethargic stoner-variety classic rock they play for the benefit of people trying to exercise on the cardio-workout machines at the YMCA. Trying to listen to -- okay, it was going to be either Kate Bush or 1930s swing, I take back the "old-people music" comment -- playing in only one ear will not improve the situation.

That deaf, dumb, and blind kid (I am led to understand) sure plays a mean pinball.

The Witch City had its annual "Salem So Sweet" festival this past weekend, which featured chocolate and a blood drive (so that people could gorge themselves and then get rid of the excess blood sugar, I guess). J. and I, having deemed a previous year's festival wicked lame, did not involve ourselves in it. We can still, however, as I noted during my walk over here, enjoy the melting and salt-pitted heart-shaped ice sculptures.

I am reminded of my undergraduate years, when on Valentine's Day the main dining hall would serve a special over-the-top breakfast, complete with ice sculptures, music majors serenading half-awake students with violins, and even better-than-usual food. The first time I attended one of these I actually didn't know about it and was just planning to eat breakfast, which made it better.

Well now, it seems, the Y and the café soundtracks have converged. Can I not go anywhere in this town without hearing "House of the Rising Sun"? (That is, incidentally, the song that was playing for my parents' first kiss, which accounts for something, but I'm not sure what exactly.) But that song also makes me think of encountering Greek teenagers playing music at an outdoor café near the Dexameni reservoir in Athens one spring evening in 1991 ("ipárkhi . . . éna spíti . . . sti New-Orleans . . ."), and being invited to join them, and then being largely ignored, an event that led my friend Ben and me to compose "Kolonaki Street Song #3," which we, under the name Quasi-Talismanic Fish, performed weeks later at a talent show, to great applause, and subsequently recorded on Ben's mighty four-track machine once we had returned to God's United States. I have lost contact with Ben, although I know he is a professor of English in Kentucky; I keep meaning to write him an e-mail, using the address on his department's web page, and have even sort of started one, so that whenever I select "compose" I am asked if I wish to continue my postponed composition. So far I have had to say "no," but it has only been a few days.

Dear god, it's Styx.

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Addendum: You'll be glad to know I did actually get a bit of work done after writing that.