So, I attempted another playthrough of “Whom The Telling Chanbed”, and the complexity of the work is becoming clearer to me. This is my third playthrough after the 2nd one described here and the first one described in my initial critique here.
This time, I focused almost entirely on war, interpreting the Gilgamesh story as a heroic one, and mocking Saiph when he tries to say anything in support of peace. Of particular note, I found that the attitudes of Sihan and Saiph changed as well. Where before my lover supported me in peace and my enemy stood against me in support of war, the roles were reversed. It seems like the game was able to quickly realize I was on the side of war, resulting in my enemy, Saiph, becoming an advocate for peace. I found myself saying things that Saiph had said as my enemy in the previous bout, and Saiph saying things I had previously said.
I did a bit of experimentation, and it seems that your choice of profession does in fact dictate what positions your lover and enemy stand for, at least at the start. When I took the dagger, whether I chose Sihan or Saiph as my lover, my enemy complained we were looking to bring the village to needless killing. When I took the healer’s medicine bag it was the other way around.
Clearly though there’s more to it. On my first playthrough, I took the dagger, but my choices throughout the story directed it towards peace anyway. So clearly it’s possible to start out one way, while still changing the attitudes of my lover and enemy later. I need to pay closer attention to how this works though. Looking back at my first playthrough, Sihan was my enemy, I was a warrior, and Sihan said we were going down the path of needless killing. But I can see now that the choices I made disappointed Saiph…. for example, when I pointed out that the demon had never attacked, it said “You catch a glimpse of your love Saiph’s face, darkened by a frown.”.
More tellingly, looking back at my first playthrough, a key moment came when Sihan confronted me:
As the teller speaks more of the journey across the desert, an unfamiliar hand presses on your shoulder. You turn to see Sihan’s face only inches from yours.
“Your words are subtle tonight,” she says, “and I wonder at your purpose. I will ask you straight: do you counsel action or the path of words?”
>purpose
“I have only the same purpose as you,” you say, “to lead our people down a path to safety.”
“Safety?” Sihan asks, her eyes widening, “safety is seeking out mindless bloodshed in unlooked-for battle? Safety is tricking our people into raising swords against strangers we know nothing about?”
>words
“Talk can be stronger than actions,” you say quietly.
“Indeed it can,” Sihan says, looking at you piercingly, “and perhaps I have spoken too soon. Do you support me in speaking for peace, or do you still seek bloodshed?
>support
“I am glad to support you,” you say. “The people like you, Sihan, and trust you. We need leaders like you in these dark times.”
“Glad I am to hear you say this,” says Sihan warmly, clasping your arm. “Many in this town are warmongers; I had presumed you among them, but I am glad I was wrong. You will be a powerful ally to have with me.”
>warmongers
“Do not be so quick to divide our people,” you say. “We both perhaps have much left to say this night.”
Sihan gives you a long stare. “You have always been one for mysterious speeches,” she says. “I ask you in plain language, now: are you with me or against me?”
>with
“I am with you,” you say.
“We shall see,” says Sihan cautiously. “There is still much of the story to be told.” She turns and fades back into the crowd without a backward glance.
I didn’t really appreciate it at the time, but it is clear now that my enemy had not only noticed I was more subtle than she expected, but my decision to say I supported her is what changed things around. This is an interesting dynamic, as it shows that you can control the flow of events and “change your mind” about how you think the story should be interpreted.
So anyway, going back to my third playthrough, I also found that by being consistent throughout, I had more of an effect on the people. They supported me throughout, and I did not lose support this time when I mocked Saiph.
Finally, when the newcomers came, I did not make any attempt at peace, but instead focused on a show of force, which led to a long battle where I killed the enemy leader and a number of other enemy warriors.
Interestingly, the story does not judge you harshly for this, and in fact it is also a positive outcome, as it is described:
This is a story about a warrior of the village who was in love with the gentle healer woman, Sihan. On the night of the telling, when the warrior’s uncle Nabu became the teller, their enemy Saiph tried his best to turn the people towards a foolish peace with the outsiders. The warrior spoke against this foolish path, and rallied the people as the story unfolded.
Words and insults flew between these two firebrands, but their rancor was too bitter and curdled to heal. The arrival out of the blackest night of the strange newcomers was the perfect end to the lesson of war, and spears and swords were soon red with blood. The warrior struck down the enemy leader, and the battle was short, brutal, decisive. Many of the people were wounded.
And the teller lay dying, stabbed in the fight though he fought like a lion, and in his final moments called the warrior to his side. He told the warrior how the story ended, and whom the telling changed. The teller thought the listener strong enough to take the feathered circlet. But the hero had a different strength inside, and another became the teller, and the hero learned that not all endings are preordained.
So, I think I’ve at least now encountered about 3 significantly different ways to play it, but I suspect there are many more. This time around, could I have so easily turned things around for peace, when I had more effectively advocated for war? I think this only further reveals how complex the work is, and it is a sign of excellent craftsmanship that it does reward you for trying to find different approaches to the story.
As before, I am including the complete transcript of my latest playthrough. As always, I encourage you to try it out yourself at Aaron Reed’s site for “Whom The Telling Changed”.
Begin Transcript of 3rd Playthrough of “Whom The Telling Changed”
“He found the knowledge at the heart of the universe;
Returned, and cut his story into stone…”
– The Epic Of Gilgamesh
W H O M T H E T E L L I N G C H A N G E D
By Aaron A. Reed
Release 2
(Press any key to continue)
Would you like instructions?> y
I am your eyes and hands within the story. Direct me with commands such as EXAMINE THE BAG, GO OUTSIDE, LISTEN, or FIGHT HIM. Single word shorthand like FIGHT or BAG will often suffice. Some single words will be highlighted to bring them to your attention. Type them to shape the story to your will; some of the possible choices will be seen in the header bar above. Time only advances when you give a command or type LISTEN, which it is sometimes wise to do.
Other useful commands include REPEAT, to remember what was recently said; STORY to see the choices you have made; INVENTORY to see what you are holding; WAIT to let the time pass; UNDO to take back your last turn; and GREET, MOCK, PRAISE, TALK TO or ASK ABOUT to interact with characters.
More information about this story is available by typing ABOUT.
Press any key to continue.
‘Whom The Telling Changed’ makes use of emphasized words to indicate useful options to pursue. Typing one of these words helps to advance the story in the direction you desire. Please choose a style of emphasis which displays clearly on your interpreter:
1) The emphasized words appear in this fashion.
2) The emphasized words appear in this fashion.
3) The EMPHASIZED words appear in THIS fashion.
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5) Emphasis off.
Select a number> 1
Style set. You may change this setting using the STYLE command.
Note that you are not limited to typing emphasized words to interact with the story. Other actions may be open to you at any time.
Press any key to begin.
The people have always gathered on moonless nights to hear the telling, since the time of your ancestors’ ancestors. The heat of the fire and the glow in the storyteller’s eyes make the past present, and the path to the future clear. Tonight the stars are bright, but the minds of your people are troubled. May the words of the telling guide your way.
———–
The walls of your tent glow yellow in the lamplight, your simple possessions casting flickering shadows on the wall. A straw bed; some skins of water, oil, and wine; a small, guttering lamp–it is simple, but it is enough.
The symbol of your occupation hangs from the central support of the tent.
>take dagger
You carefully take your weapon down from the wall and study it thoughtfully for a moment.
>exit
You step outside into the warm night air.
It has been night for many hours, but the air is still warm, and the stars are a million brilliant fires above you. Nearby are the vague outlines of your neighbors’ tents, but on this moonless night only the distant glow of the fire pit seems truly alive.
In the darkness a few feet away, Sihan and Saiph talk quietly in strained tones.
As you approach, your enemy grows silent. Your love turns to you with a look of relief and reaches out a hand.
>greet sihan
You clasp Sihan’s soft hand and turn to Saiph with a frown.
“What business have you here?” you ask him coldly.
Saiph stares down at you with distaste. “I came to see if Sihan has sense left in her head after a season with you,” he says levelly. “But I see that, like you, she would lead our people down the path of needless killing. I have no more to say.” He turns and strides fiercely into the darkness.
>talk to sihan
“I care for you more than you know,” you say, kissing Sihan on the cheek.
Sihan sighs. “He still hopes for peace with the newcomers,” your lover says, “and was upset to find I do not share his views. We shall see if your enemy has better luck at the telling.” She looks up to the stars, and adds, “It is a good night for it.”
>enemy
“Saiph talks endlessly, but words cannot sharpen axes or protect children,” your love says. “He is convinced still that these newcomers mean us no harm. What will it take for him to wake up to the truth?”
>newcomers
“Have you heard the news?” she asks. “Young Ada found traces of a camp less than an hour’s walk from here, and more than half a day from their fires in the valley. Saiph maintains they were merely investigating our camp. Many, perhaps, would call it spying instead,” she says darkly.
>fires
“The moon has waxed and grown small again since they arrived,” Sihan murmurs, holding you tightly. “Why don’t they come to us? Why do they hide when we send our emissaries? They must know the unrest they’re causing in us.”
>night
Sihan points up at the night sky. “See how bright the stars are,” she says, “as if the gods themselves gather round our fire to hear the teller’s story.”
>telling
“It is almost time,” your love says seriously. “I wonder, what story will we hear tonight? The people are buzzing about the newcomers; perhaps the teller’s story will be about them.”
>fire
You linger for a moment in the starlight, tempted to enjoy more quiet words with your love.
Sihan glances towards the fire pit, ducks inside the tent and emerges a moment later with her medicine bag, slinging it into its familiar place around her neck. “Let us join the gathering and hear the story,” your love says lightly, and turns to the fire at the center of the village.
>fire
You walk to the firepit with Sihan, and friends and neighbors greet you with a nod or quiet word.
Always the fire pit is the center of the village, and always the people gather there. Faint smells of tonight’s great feast still linger, but the fire now smolders low, only a shadow of its roaring fierceness at sunset.
Nabu and Isi stand near the fire, along with a growing crowd. Sihan stands near your side.
>listen
A gust of cool wind tugs your clothes.
>x nabu
Your father’s brother Nabu has never been good with a spear, but there is a warrior somewhere inside him that the wise respect more than the strongest man in the village. He is short and stern; quiet, but clever and collected. He is old, now, but his spirit is as strong as ever.
>x isi
Isi’s long black hair is white now, and her soft skin is loose and wrinkled, but her eyes have grown sharper with each passing year. Your father’s sister sees more than most; the truth behind deceit and the sadness behind smiles. Her eyes sparkle as they meet yours, and she gives you a tiny nod.
Sihan places a hand on your shoulder. “Go on, my love,” she says softly. “Give the circlet of office to the storyteller. It is time.”
>storyteller
“The storyteller awaits,” Sihan says. “The telling cannot begin until the teller’s circlet has been gifted.”
>give circlet to nabu
You approach your uncle Nabu and hand the circlet to the small old man. He takes it delicately, eyeing the craftsmanship, and then turns to Sihan with a nod and a warm smile. Carefully, he lifts it up to his old head–and now before you is no longer your father’s brother, but the storyteller… a role he has taken every new moon for many years.
>listen
A gust of cool wind tugs your clothes.
Saiph approaches the far side of the fire and greets some friends warmly.
>x saiph
Saiph, Saiph: self-righteous, fierce, proud, tall. He is the eldest son of Tanhar, the people’s richest merchant, and they say the gods must have sharpened his wit on the whetstone of heaven. A shame that that wit has been turned against you for many years now.
>talk to saiph
“Saiph,” you call across the fire. “Can we not hear the story as friends?”
Saiph snorts. “That is unlikely,” he says, “unless you have had a change of heart and seen that we need no bloodshed.” Saiph turns away with contempt and laughs with his friends, but you catch a guarded glance thrown your way a moment later.
Sihan kisses your cheek. “May the story bring you what you seek,” she whispers, then slips into the crowd. Your beloved has always liked to hear the stories by herself.
>praise saiph
“Saiph,” you call across the fire. “Can we not hear the story as friends?”
Saiph snorts. “That is unlikely,” he says, “unless you have had a change of heart and seen that we need no bloodshed.” Saiph turns away with contempt and laughs with his friends, but you catch a guarded glance thrown your way a moment later.
The murmurings of the people die away as the storyteller rises to his feet and raises two bony hands.
>listen
It is strangely quiet around the fire.
The storyteller shouts, “In this time of darkness the people gather for the telling. Will the people hear?”
>no
Your mood is sour; you do not join the crowd in the traditional affirmation.
The crowd cries out with one voice, “The people are ready.” The teller bows humbly, accepting the people’s blessing, then straightens with the hint of a smile.
“Tonight,” he says, “we shall hear an old, old story, from days long ago when great cities and mighty kings ruled this land. May you find in the story that which you seek.”
>listen
A log falls in the fire, sending a shower of sparks up into the night.
The storyteller lifts his hands in invocation. “Our story begins,” he says quietly, “in the far-off city of Uruk. Uruk of the broad streets, Uruk of the mighty walls. Can you see them, gleaming in the desert heat?”
The teller gestures into the night, and in your mind the walls come alive, shimmering in the desert air.
“Come,” he continues, “cross the ancient threshold, walk the streets and orchards and markets. Walk the streets and climb the great stone steps to the temple. Climb the steps and find the box of burnished copper. Find the box and undo the lock and draw out the great tablet of deep blue stone. Draw out the tablet and read of Uruk’s king, Uruk’s pride, Uruk’s greatest hero. Hear of the trials of Gilgamesh.”
>gilgmesh
[Things to try: LOOK | LOOK AT | GO | TALK TO | GREET | ATTACK | TAKE | TOUCH | HEAL | LISTEN | PRAISE | MOCK | STORY | UNDO | or an EMPHASIZED word. For more detailed instructions, type INFO]
>gilgamesh
You wonder why the teller has chosen a story of Gilgamesh, whose name is legend. Is it to inspire the people in a time of fear?
>inspire
“Good,” you call out forcefully, “a tale of mighty kings and heroes is a good story for these troubled times.”
There are some in the crowd who raise their voices in support of these words. There are other who stay pointedly silent.
Saiph’s eyes stare deeply at you. You return his stare and for a moment a flicker of some vanishing emotion touches his face.
>uruk
“Tell more of the city of Uruk,” you ask.
“Uruk, mighty Uruk of the wide streets,” the teller says with shining eyes, “its heart the temple of Inanna, towering over all; its skin mighty walls of oven-fired brick, their like unmatched in all the world. Uruk, planned by the seven sages and filled with orchards and gardens. Never was a city more mighty and proud than Uruk, and never had any city so great a king.”
>walls
“How high were the walls of Uruk?” you ask.
“As high as ten men,” the storyteller replies, “and made of the finest brickwork both inside and outside. Gilgamesh built them, a work no later king could match, to defend the people of Uruk from her foes. From their top the whole city is laid out below you, only the temple still above.”
The teller continues. “Mighty was Gilgamesh, a lord among lords. Mighty is he who both leads the way and guards the rear. Mighty is he who both crashes like a wave and shelters the weak. Gilgamesh was tall, strong, bearded, a roaring bull among his people. Aruru, mother of the Earth, gave him his form, and Adad the Storm gave him courage, and Shamash the Sun gave him beauty–but,” the teller’s piercing eyes fixate on the crowd, “he was still a man, nonetheless.”
>mighty
Gilgamesh had something of the gods in him, it seems, but also something of men. Which, you wonder, shaped him more?
>gods
“How awesome to have such divinity in one’s creation,” you say. “The people of Uruk were blessed indeed to have such a king to lead them.”
“And they knew it,” says the teller with a twinkle in his eye, “even if they sometimes wished for a leader who provoked awe less frequently.”
A current of energy runs through a few in the crowd, who mutter affirmation with somber faces.
>aruru
“I would hear more of Aruru,” you say.
“Lady Aruru,” the teller sighs, “Lady of the Gods, Lady of the Foothills, Mother of the Earth, made Gilgamesh as she made the first man long eons ago. She formed an image of Gilgamesh in her mind, took up her clay, and kneaded it, shaped it into Gilgamesh’s form. More mighty she made him than a normal man: taller, broader, and stronger.”
>adad
“Adad, god of storms, blessed mighty Gilgamesh?” you ask.
“He breathed lightning into the body of Gilgamesh,” the teller says powerfully, “Adad of the tempest and the rain. He gave Gilgamesh the spark of courage and the fire of charisma.”
The telling continues. “With his friend and companion Enkidu,” the storyteller says, “Gilgamesh ruled Uruk with a young and prideful heart. But he saw the dead and dying in the streets of Uruk, and his mind was troubled.”
>enkidu
“Let us hear more of Gilgamesh’s friend Enkidu,” you say.
“Enkidu the wild man, made by the gods to tame unruly Gilgamesh,” says the teller, a smile lighting his face. “He lived with the animals in the wild lands till he came to Uruk to challenge Gilgamesh. But their battle united them, and instead of enemies they became closer than friends. Inseparable were Gilgamesh and Enkidu; together they faced all foes and fought all battles.”
>united
“It was battle that united Enkidu and Gilgamesh in friendship, was it not?” you say musingly.
“It is often the way,” the teller says, “that two foes may only find kinship through the bitterest battles. But perhaps,” he adds humbly, “this is only the way in stories.”
A shepherd near you nods his head, and holds his wife closer, but you hear a disparaging snort from Sihan.
>battle
“How did Enkidu challenge Gilgamesh?” you wonder aloud.
“Enkidu heard how Gilgamesh took the young men from their fathers and the young women from their mothers, and he grew angry,” says the storyteller. “Enkidu grew angry and came to the city of Uruk, when he had never before entered a city of man. Enkidu entered the city and sought out Gilgamesh, and they fought. Walls shook; people cowered; the cobblestones cracked as they wrestled through the streets. Gilgamesh was the victor, but so awed was he by Enkidu’s strength that he lifted him to his feet and made a bond of friendship that would never break.”
The storyteller continues. “One night,” he says, “as Gilgamesh knelt in prayer, Shamash, god of the sun, came down to whisper in his ear. Shamash whispered to Gilgamesh of a far off place called the Cedar Forest, where dwelt the demon Humbaba. Shamash whispered that he who could defeat Humbaba would gain fame greater than any man. He who could chop down the tallest cedar and defeat Humbaba the guardian would gain everlasting fame. He would burn in the minds of men forever. He would never be forgotten. And the heart of Gilgamesh became restless.”
>restless
Doubtless the heart of Gilgamesh stirred at a chance for glory; but was this Humbaba a valid opponent?
>glory
“You said King Gilgamesh was restless when he heard Shamash’s call,” you say loudly. “And of course he was! What king would not seize a chance for glory, to prove his strength and power? A leader is trebled in stature when admired by the people.”
Whispers dance around the circle as the people share their views; a few seem in agreement. Sihan gives you a quiet smile from across the fire.
>shamash
“Shamash, lord of the sun, delivered this message himself to Gilgamesh?” you ask. “Why was it so important?”
“Shamash, lord of the sun, is not here to tell you,” answers the teller with a wink, gesturing into the night as the crowd laughs.
A bat circles above the fire for a moment, then swoops away.
>never
“Tell me,” you say to the storyteller, “had this demon ever set upon the city of Uruk, or harmed its crops or its cattle?”
“The demon Humbaba did not leave the Cedar Forest,” the teller answers. “Humbaba was charged by Enlil, lord of all gods, to guard the Cedar Forest against all intruders.”
“Then perhaps this foe was not a wise one for Gilgamesh to pursue,” you respond. “Why stir up trouble when none trouble you? Why make new enemies in a time when they are legion? Gilgamesh should think of his people and the price they might pay for his brashness.”
The story moves on. “The heart of Gilgamesh burned with the words of Shamash,” says the teller. “Gilgamesh sought out his friend Enkidu and said to him: ‘You came from the wild. My friend, you came from the wild and you know the secret paths of animals. Do you know the way to the Cedar Forest?’
“Enkidu sighed and his heart grew heavy,” says the teller, and then seems to become young and strong as the gruff guise of Enkidu comes over him. “‘Yes, I know the way to the Cedar Forest, but it is long and lonely. And what awaits you at its end but the demon Humbaba? The lord of all gods, mighty Enlil, has set him there to guard the Cedar Forest. What man or god could defeat him, my brother?’”
>defeat
If Enkidu wonders whether even a god could triumph, then the fight must be truly hopeless–but surely, if any mortal could ever have triumphed at such a task, it was Gilgamesh?
>triumphed
Your mouth is already open to respond when Saiph’s voice booms across the circle.
“Guard?” Saiph calls out. “Did you say the demon Humbaba was set by the gods to guard the Cedar Forest?”
“By Enlil,” says the teller, nodding, “Humbaba long had guarded the Cedar Forest against mortal intruders, at the command of Enlil, lord of all gods.”
“So Shamash who set this idea before Lord Gilgamesh sought merely to use him as a pawn in some divine gambit?” Saiph asks. A babble of astonished voices rises from the crowd.
“You must find your own wisdom in the story,” says the teller with a tiny bow.
Whispers dance around the circle as the people share their views; a few seem in agreement.
>mock saiph
“Do you always take such drastic leaps to conclusions?” you call out angrily. “I suppose the way you take the newcomers to our valley to be kind and gentle pacifists should have been an obvious sign.”
“I pity you if you have not the wit to comprehend my words,” Saiph lashes back; the crowd pays little attention, waiting for the storyteller to continue.
>triumph
“What better task for Gilgamesh to take on?” you wonder aloud. “If he succeeds, his people will love him and follow him all the more; and if he fails, his name will live on in death as one who showed no fear.”
“As it has,” the teller says, “though which of those outcomes found Gilgamesh has not yet been told.”
>enkidu
Enkidu was brave to question his friend, perhaps. Or was his hesitation to fight a sign of weakness?
>weakness
“There are few chances for glory,” you say. “Why did Enkidu not relish such a chance to prove his valor, and that of his King?”
“The story does not say,” says the teller demurely, “and so neither shall I.”
The telling continues. “Gilgamesh looked at Enkidu with disapproving eyes,” continues the teller, who then seems to grow tall and strong. “Is this the brave Enkidu I know?” he asks in the voice of the king. “Is this Enkidu who fought with the wild beasts and once challenged King Gilgamesh himself? Have you traded courage for cowardice? Our days are few, and chances for glory far between. Do you not wish to burn forever in the minds of men?”
The teller becomes Enkidu again, and seems to consider the words of Gilgamesh. “‘You have set your mind, I see. You will make this quest no matter what your friend Enkidu counsels. Since that is your road, I will go with you. I will guide you on the hidden paths; I will find for you the hidden water; I will help you on your quest for glory. Enkidu will go with you.’”
>courage
“I would say rather that Enkidu was strong, not cowardly,” you say, “to stand against such a man as Gilgamesh. What courage to raise his voice against so mighty and stalwart a man.”
>enkidu
You consider Enkidu’s response for a moment. Some might call him weak for giving in so easily to Gilgamesh… but others would call him a true friend for standing by even though he did not agree.
>weak
“So easily Enkidu gives in,” you mutter quietly, turning a few nearby heads. “A true friend would have stood up for his opinion, would have discussed the matter with Gilgamesh until either the king changed his mind or Enkidu changed his. Blind obedience is no friendship.”
“Perhaps it is so,” says the teller simply, “but that is for the people to judge.
Many in the crowd nod, and give you brief smiles.
>gilgamesh
Is Gilgamesh right to set off on this quest for personal glory? Should he rather stay and help the people of Uruk?
>right
“What better task for Gilgamesh to take on?” you wonder aloud. “If he succeeds, his people will love him and follow him all the more; and if he fails, his name will live on in death as one who showed no fear.”
“As it has,” the teller says, “though which of those outcomes found Gilgamesh has not yet been told.”
The story continues. “Gilgamesh rejoiced,” the teller says, “and summoned the blacksmiths to forge mighty weapons for the companions. He summoned the blacksmiths and summoned the servants to prepare food and supplies. He summoned the servants and summoned the priestesses to make generous sacrifices, to ask the gods for good fortune.”
“When all was ready, Gilgamesh and Enkidu passed through the seven gates of Uruk and set off into the desert. The people watched them go,” he says softly, “the people of Uruk in silence watched them go.”
>weapons
You call out, “What weapons did the blacksmiths of Uruk make for Gilgamesh and Enkidu?”
“They were like the weapons of the gods,” says the storyteller, spreading out his hands, “axes taller than men; knives with mighty pommels and inlaid patterns of gold and lapis; armor that no ordinary man could have bore. But Gilgamesh and Enkidu took them all and used them with skill.”
Wisps of clouds mark moving black shadows on the stars above.
>silence
“Did the people of Uruk not cheer as their two greatest heroes left on this quest?” you ask.
“I would not,” says an old woman near you. “If my protectors left me for a long journey to distant lands, leaving the weak and defenseless to fend for themselves? No; I would watch in silence, too.”
Low muttering comes from across the circle; it seems this has struck a chord with a few.
>mock old woman
That would earn you few friends tonight.
“Hot were the sands of the desert,” continues the teller, “hot were the sands and hard was the way. Many bones of less fortunate travellers marked their journey. But Enkidu knew the secret paths of the animals and the secret hiding places of water, and the land fell behind them swiftly.”
“The first mountain range they crossed in a day; the first desert and mountain range they crossed in a single day. On the next day they crossed the second desert and the second mountain range; on the next they crossed the third desert and the third mountain range. On the third night they lay down to sleep, utterly exhausted from their journey.”
>enkidu
“Without Enkidu, Gilgamesh could not have crossed the desert,” you point out. “Without Enkidu, who was once his enemy, Gilgamesh could not have prevailed in this quest.”
“It is true,” nods the teller, “without Enkidu Gilgamesh would have been lost in the trackless sands.”
Whispers dance around the circle as the people share their views; a few seem in agreement. Sihan scowls darkly across the flames.
>mountain
“Was the crossing of the mountains difficult?” you ask.
“For the likes of us, perhaps;” says the teller, “certainly for an old bones like me. Great and long the desert ranges ran, with no water or shelter or game on their cruel slopes. But Gilgamesh and Enkidu strode over their slopes without slowing down, though the sweat coursed down their bodies like rain.”
>bones
“Did the companions not stop to perform burial rites on the bones of those who had died in the desert?” you ask.
“The heat of the sun burned on their backs, and the trackless ground wore at their feet,” says the teller. “Whether they wished to stop or not, the companions had to keep moving.”
The teller continues. “In the darkest hour of night Gilgamesh woke with a start and clutched his chest. ‘Who walks there?’ he gasped. ‘Why does my flesh tingle? Has a god touched me?’ Enkidu heard and awoke, saying, ‘Have you dreamt, Gilgamesh? Tell me your dream and I will unravel its meaning.’
‘I dreamt we walked in a gorge beneath a mighty mountain, you and I,’ said Gilgamesh. ‘We were like flies beneath its massive bulk. Then, with a rumble, the mountain collapsed on top of us. What is its meaning, my friend?’”
>god
Dreams are sent by the gods. Was this dream sent by Shamash, to presage the fall of Humbaba? Or, perhaps, by Enlil, warning of the consequences of destroying his guardian?
>shamash
“Though masked in tragedy, this is a fortunate dream,” you say musingly. “Shamash has sent it to symbolize the fall of Humbaba at the hands of the heroes.”
The storyteller bows to you. “And this is how Enkidu, too, unraveled the dream of Gilgamesh. ‘The mountain is the demon Humbaba,’ he said. ‘Shamash has sent us this dream to show that we will defeat the demon, and his fall will shake the earth.’ And Gilgamesh heard his words, and was at peace.”
With a flutter of wings, birds ride the blustery air up the valley above you.
>listen
With a flutter of wings, birds ride the blustery air up the valley above you.
“Dreams of portent are frightening,” says a young mother, pulling her wrap tighter around her. “I do not like the gods to enter my head in the night.”
“Wise you are to be cautious,” says the teller with a nod. “The ways of the gods are strange and obscure to men, their dealings laced with complexities we cannot understand.”
>listen
A flash of lightning on the horizon catches your eye, followed by a low, rumbling wave of thunder.
As the teller speaks more of the journey across the desert, an unfamiliar hand presses on your shoulder. You turn to see Saiph’s face only inches from yours.
“Your words are subtle tonight,” he says, “and I wonder at your purpose. I will ask you straight: do you counsel action or the path of words?”
>action
“Action drives the world,” you say quietly. “Heroes like Gilgamesh make our people what we are.”
“Sometimes this is so,” says Saiph, “but it is not yet time for action. We have still not even spoken with these strangers in the valley. I ask you plainly; are you with me or against me?”
>against
“I do not wish to say I am against you,” you whisper back, “but unless you turn from this destruction of our defenses, I must oppose you.”
Saiph’s face darkens and his eyes become daggers. “You are a fool,” he says. “I hope only that your foolishness does not mean the end of our people. I have no more to say.” He turns and vanishes back into the crowd.
>listen
The stars begin to fade as clouds swallow up their light.
You turn your attention back to the teller. “On the seventh day,” he is saying, “the companions crossed the seventh desert and the seventh mountain range, and came at last to the edge of the Cedar Forest.”
“The cedars were green, and the forest cool after the barren heat of the desert, and it smelled inside of wood and soil. But quiet it was under the boughs of the trees; quiet, with a lingering whisper of fear.”
>fear
Fear, you wonder, of the unknown? Or the dreadful fear of a terrible evil?
>dreadful
“This fear is portentious,” you say. “Fear is a warning; a harbinger of terrible things and dangerous times. It is the gods themselves warning us of doom.”
Low muttering comes from across the circle; it seems this has struck a chord with a fair number.
>quiet
“But is this not normal for a forest? I have never heard of noisy trees,” you say with a smile.
“This forest was too quiet: quiet as a temple, quiet as a tomb,” the teller chants, “no creature stirred within the Cedar Forest; not hare nor hawk nor rat nor owl. No beetles crawled on dampened leaves; no crickets chirped. Even the wind seemed to lose its voice as it entered the cool wood.”
>cedar
“What magic was there in the Cedar Forest that made it special?” you ask.
“Uruk was a land like ours,” the teller answers, “where the tree is scarce and the wood is poor. Cedarwood is strong, and beautiful, and pleasant to see and smell, and in those days was valued as gold. In the Cedar Forest far, far away, the cedar trees are so thick you could not see a man a hundred paces away; and so tall you could not see the sky.”
The teller speaks slowly, lingering over each word. “Enkidu and Gilgamesh stepped into the cedars with care, but,” he says, picking up speed, “the demon Humbaba, Humbaba, Humbaba heard the rustle of every leaf in the forest.”
The teller leaps up and spreads his arms wide, and the people shrink back in fear. “A wind blew through the trees,” the teller says quickly, “and a freezing terror seized the companions. Nightmare faces leered behind gnarled branches: blood-smeared faces, faces of rabid lions, faces with hideous tusks, always changing, always horrible. But the demon did not appear before them.”
>faces
Shifting faces can be the mark of thieves; but perhaps there is more to them.
>thieves
You raise your voice above the crowd. “Truly Humbaba was hideous!” you shout. “These changing faces that precede him are like those of all liars and thieves who mask their true self.”
“Only too true,” nods a gaunt woman from the crowd. “Evil is often couched in deception and lies.”
>humbaba
“Humbaba the demon?” you ask. “Why was he so feared?”
“Humbaba the awful, he of many stories,” the teller says. “His breath is a firestorm; his voice is the floodwaters; his jaws are death itself. Horrible to look at is the demon Humbaba, and the few who saw him and survived could not describe his face.”
>freezing
“Tell more of the freezing terror of Humbaba,” you say, intrigued.
“It was as if the very bones of their bodies were turned to ice,” the teller says with wide eyes and open hands. “They stood for a time rooted to the spot, paralyzed, the terror of Humbaba filling their bodies.”
The story goes on. “With a cry, Enkidu fell to his knees,” says the teller, mimicking the action. “‘I cannot go on, friend Gilgamesh! You must leave me and go on alone. I must return to Uruk in shame, for I cannot withstand the terrors of Humbaba!’”
“Gilgamesh pulled Enkidu to his feet. ‘Courage, friend,’ he said. ‘Two may prevail where one would fall. Together, we are stronger than any single man. Touch my heart and you will not fear death.’ And Enkidu placed his hand on Gilgamesh’s chest, and he felt no fear. Together they journeyed deeper into the forest.”
>together
“So true are the words of Gilgamesh,” you say. “Two together are stronger than two divided. Such a simple thing to say, but how many can remember it?”
Low muttering comes from across the circle; it seems this has struck a chord with one or two.
>fell
Does this episode show a weakness in Enkidu, or does it illustrate a strength in Gilgamesh?
>strength
“Gilgamesh is a true friend,” you say thoughtfully. “He has learned something about friendship since the start of this journey, when he called Enkidu a coward for questioning him.”
“You would think Enkidu might have learned something as well,” grumbles an old man from the edge of the circle. “Abandoning his friend to a demon at the moment of truth? These are not the actions of a hero.”
>forest
“What did this mighty forest look like?” you say.
“Tall were the trees,” says the teller, “tall and broad were the trees of the cedar forest, their wide arms grasping each other high above. The Cedar Mountain sloped up, up, up, and the trees were a pale green blanket wrapping it tight.
“Soon before them rose up a mighty cedar,” continues the storyteller, so tall its top seemed to touch the sky. ‘Surely, this must be the tallest cedar in the forest,’ Gilgamesh cried, and unsheathed his axe. But his first blow had scarcely fallen when Humbaba screamed with rage. The leaves rustled and the ground shook, and in an instant Humbaba the terrible had come.”
“His face shimmered and whirled with a thousand forms,” says the teller, eyes wide as if the demon stands before him, “a thousand nightmare faces whirled and shimmered down at them. Humbaba’s breath scorched their faces; his screeches cut their ears.”
>first
“On the very first blow of Gilgamesh the demon came?” you ask.
“That is so,” nods the teller, “the sound of the splitting tree had not yet died when the ground began to shake with Humbaba’s rage.”
“He is cunning,” you say, “this demon. He hides behind shadows and terror, waiting for his victims to grow complacent before striking.”
Low muttering comes from across the circle; it seems this has struck a chord with one or two.
>screech
“What made the demon’s cry so horrible?” you ask.
“Humbaba’s voice tore the air in two,” says the teller, clawing a bony hand through the air, “sucked at the clouds and stirred up the lightning with its ferocity. The mountains trembled, and mothers in distant lands looked to the skies in fear and clutched their little ones to them tightly.”
>breath
“Humbaba’s breath was fire?” you ask.
“Not fire like this,” says the teller, nudging a smoldering log. “It was as if the air itself was burned; scorched and withered inside and out.”
The story goes on. “Gilgamesh trembled and fell to his knees. ‘I cannot face him!’ he cried to Enkidu, ‘My blood has turned to ice. You must go on and fight him without me!’
Enkidu pulled Gilgamesh to his feet. ‘Courage, friend,’ he said. ‘The well-twined rope is stronger than a single strand. Together, we are stronger than any single man. Touch my heart and you will not fear death.’ And Gilgamesh placed his hand on Enkidu’s chest, and he felt no fear. Together they drew their weapons and faced the demon Humbaba.”
>friend
“The true friend is always there to help,” you say. “What would Gilgamesh have done without Enkidu?”
“Spent less time talking and more fighting!” says a young man, whose friends all laugh uproariously.
>gilgamesh
“It seems none are immune to the fear of Humbaba,” you say mildly, “not even the mightiest heroes of Uruk.”
“Not even they,” agrees the teller, “and if you knew the touch of Humbaba’s fear, you would understand why, oh yes–then you would understand why,” he whispers.
>listen
The wind blows with a steady drone, like a backdrop to the teller’s words.
The story continues. “Humbaba laughed, and the mountains shook,” the teller says, then draws himself up and cries out in a great, booming voice: “‘What fools are these? What fools are these who dare challenge the demon Humbaba? I will crush your bodies and leave your corpses bloody and mangled on the ground. You will never see your homes again and your women and children will mourn an empty grave.’ And with a roar like the splitting of the heavens, Humbaba charged.”
“Enkidu stabbed with spear; Gilgamesh slashed with sword; Humbaba ripped with claws. Trees crashed to earth; the ground was torn asunder; lightning and thunder split the skies over the forest. Gilgamesh and Enkidu fought like no men ever fought before; but still the demon Humbaba drove them back, and the companions came ever closer to defeat.”
>humbaba
“Awesome must it have been, to see such a fight,” you say, picturing it in your mind.
“You would not have wanted to be too close!” warns the teller, bringing a nervous laugh from the audience. “The clouds turned to a poisonous shroud; the very mountains were split by the fury of Humbaba’s rage. It was all the companions could do to stay alive.”
>lightning
You open your mouth to speak but a middle-aged widow turns with a look of annoyance. “You speak too much.” she says frostily, “Be quiet and let the rest of us hear how the story ends!” She turns eagerly back to the teller, as several nearby people hide their smiles.
>mock widow
[I'm not sure what you are referring to.]
>defeat
“So contested was the battle?” you ask. “Even Gilgamesh himself struggled?”
“He struggled more fiercely than a trapped lion,” says the teller, “striking at Humbaba again, again, again. But the demon was too strong, too fierce; and ever did he drive Gilgamesh and Enkidu back, back, back.”
The teller continues. “Gilgamesh cried to the sky, ‘Shamash, my lord! Help your servant Gilgamesh in his hour of need!’ And Shamash heard Gilgamesh’s cry, and sent all the mighty winds of the world to rail against Humbaba: The Winds of the North and the South and the West and the East and the Rainstorm and the Snowstorm and the Icestorm and the Sandstorm; the Screaming Winds and the Piercing Winds and the Cruel Winds and the Devil Winds and the Winds of Simurru. Thirteen winds Shamash sent against Humbaba, and not even he could stand against them all. Enkidu threw a net over Humbaba and Gilgamesh seized him from behind.”
>assistance
“How awesome an ally,” you marvel, “how great an honor the companions of our story received! Could their quest be any more justified than with the divine blessing, the divine assistance of Shamash, lord of the skies?”
The teller continues. “Humbaba saw the way things were and cried out in fear. Humbaba the demon cried out, ‘Do not kill me, mighty heroes! If you let me live I will be your slave, your eternal servant. I will let you cut down all the trees you want; I will cut them for you. I could have attacked you when first you set foot in my forest, but I showed you mercy. Now return the favor and spare my life.’
“Gilgamesh heard Humbaba’s words and took pity on the monster. He lowered his sword. But Enkidu cried out: ‘Do not listen to him! Show no mercy to this cunning foe, this evil creature. If you let him live he would attack us the moment our backs were turned.’”
>evil
You try to remember other stories you have heard where an evil creature cried for mercy with such eloquent words, but cannot. But perhaps this demon is cunning, and the depths of his monstrosity are dark and deceptive.
>monstrosity
“My people,” you call out, “is the evil of this demon Humbaba not clear? Hideous he is, with changing faces; he strikes fear into the hearts of all men; he threatens Gilgamesh. He must be destroyed.”
A shepherd near you nods his head, and holds his wife closer.
>servant
“Enkidu should not be so quick to slay this creature,” you say. “Has he forgotten his own past? When he came to the city of Uruk, an uncivilized wild man covered in hair, he fought with Gilgamesh; but the King did not slay him. Gilgamesh made Enkidu his friend.”
A current of energy runs through a few in the crowd, who mutter affirmation with somber faces. Sihan scowls darkly across the flames.
>undo
Around the Fire Pit
[Previous turn undone.]
>trees
“Humbaba offered the trees of the Cedar Forest to Gilgamesh and Enkidu?” you ask.
“Yes,” breathes the storyteller. “Humbaba the demon even offered to carry the timber back to Uruk.”
>could
“What Humbaba says is true,” you say, “he could have attacked the companions when they first set foot in the forest. Why did he not?”
A weatherbeaten farmer steps forward. “The desert spider lies in wait in her tunnels until the insect is at her doorstep,” he says. “Often do predators, monsters, demons, wait thus to ensnare their prey.”
Whispers move through the crowd, and many furtive glances skitter across your face and then quickly away. Sihan catches your eye with a puzzled look.
>undo
Around the Fire Pit
[Previous turn undone.]
>listen
The coming storm blows through the darkness around the fire, unseen.
“Enkidu should not be so quick to slay this creature,” Saiph says. “Has he forgotten his own past? When he came to the city of Uruk, an uncivilized wild man covered in hair, he fought with Gilgamesh; but the King did not slay him. Gilgamesh made Enkidu his friend.”
Low muttering comes from across the circle; it seems this has struck a chord with one or two.
>mock saiph
“My people, need I respond to this nonsense?” you say angrily. “I am sure you see as well as I that Saiph’s words are no more than childish babble.”
Your enemy meets your gaze with narrowed eyes. “I would not expect you to understand,” he sneers, and the crowd snickers at your enemy’s expense.
>listen
The coming storm blows through the darkness around the fire, unseen.
The storyteller continues. “Humbaba the demon called out in fear, ‘Please, mighty heroes, do not slay Humbaba! I was set by Enlil, father of the gods, to guard over the forest. If you slay me he will be angry and his judgment severe.’
“Gilgamesh heard the demon and again took pity on him, lowering his sword, but Enkidu cried out, ‘Gilgamesh, do not listen to his words; close your ears! Kill the demon before you become confused. Kill him now before he can tell the gods anything. Kill him now and claim your fame!’”
>enkidu
Enkidu now seems as rash and merciless as he was hesitant at the journey’s start. Has he forgotten himself, or realized that Gilgamesh’s way is the right one?
>right
“Enkidu has had a change of heart,” you say. “When once he opposed Gilgamesh in the quest to slay Humbaba, he now is more set on this mission than even Gilgamesh.”
“Or perhaps now is revealed what was truly in his heart all along,” says a man from the crowd.
Saiph glowers at you from across the flames.
>gods
“A weak argument this Humbaba puts forth,” you say dismissively. “Enlil will not be angered at the death of so weak a servant. Rather he will rejoice; for now a stronger, more powerful demon will be found to replace the old guardian.”
Whispers of assent float across the fire; some nod visibly at these words. Sihan gives you a quiet smile from across the fire.
>listen
The coming storm blows through the darkness around the fire, unseen.
“Where did this thirst for blood come from in wise Enkidu?” Saiph asks. “Did he not once counsel Gilgamesh to give up this quest?”
“The story does not say,” the teller mutters softly.
>mock saiph
“My people, need I respond to this nonsense?” you say angrily. “I am sure you see as well as I that Saiph’s words are no more than childish babble.”
“I pity you if you have not the wit to comprehend my words,” Saiph lashes back; the crowd looks to you with grins, though some shake their heads.
>listen
The coming storm blows through the darkness around the fire, unseen.
The teller continues. “Gilgamesh looked into Enkidu’s eyes,” says the teller’s powerful voice, “Gilgamesh, the King, looked into the eyes of his friend Enkidu and made his decision. He knew…”
A gasp rises from the far side of the circle. Out of the darkness three dozen strangers appear, bearing long spears and faces painted with dark blue lines. It is the newcomers, the invaders in your valley, and as they approach your fire, the rain begins to fall.
Amongst them one stands out: tall, with sharp features and a thick leather vest. You guess at once that he is their leader.
>x leader
He is tall, with a hard face painted in dark blue lines, and a scarred but strong body. But a strange light lives behind the fire in his eyes. You cannot read it: madness, fear, bloodlust, you know not, but it is there nonetheless.
>greet leader
“Your visit is unlooked for,” you say with a frown. “State your business quickly.”
The warrior leader steps out of the darkness and bares his teeth. “You will give us half your sheep,” he says in a strange, harsh accent, “and half your grain. You will gift us these things or we will take them, now.” The men behind him grip their spears tightly.
>darkness
“It is dark, and the sky storms,” you say reasonably. “Can we not discuss this in the sun’s bright rays?”
“If we had come in the day you would have seen us three miles off, and we would receive only the points of your spears when we arrived,” the leader says. “No; we will talk now.”
>undo
Around the Fire Pit
[Previous turn undone.]
>spears
The enemy looks to be about an even match–but perhaps they will respond to a show of force.
>force
“Tell your companions to put their spears down,” you say firmly, “or we will be forced to take action.”
The warrior leader’s face darkens and he grips his spear tightly. “My people are also strong,” he says coldly. “I ask you one last time. Either give us what we want; half your sheep and grain; or we shall raze your village to the ground.”
>raze
You twist your face in contempt. “Any who seek such a path of wanton violence are fools indeed.”
“I have heard enough of your words,” the leader snarls at you, and with a sudden twist of his hand thrusts a spear into one of your people.
The faces at that moment, friend and enemy framed by the swirling smoke, will be carved in your memory forever.
Then, with screams, it begins.
>attack leader
You force your way bodily through the mass of fighting bodies until you stand before the enemy leader. With a scream, you strike out at the enemy leader, but he blocks your blow with his long spear and pushes you back.
Raising his arm, your attacker stabs at you with his great spear, but you deflect the blow with your weapon.
>attack leader
With an animal scream, you plunge your weapon deep into the leader’s chest. His eyes open wide and he gasps, then falls to the ground.
A nearby warrior sees his fallen king and rushes at you with a scream of anger.
>attack warrior
Shouting a war cry, you lash out at an attacker with fury. The weapon slashes at your opponent’s arm, and he gasps as a thick line of blood pours forth.
>attack warrior
With all your strength, you strike an enemy soldier. Your enemy pulls back and the point of your weapon grazes his arm, drawing only a thin line of blood.
>attack warrior
Feeling the lust of battle rush through you, you attack one of the strangers with fury. But the enemy soldier meets your blow with his spear and thrusts it aside.
>attack warrior
You attack an enemy soldier like a snake. The weapon slashes at your opponent’s arm, and he gasps as a thick line of blood pours forth.
>attack warrior
Feeling the lust of battle rush through you, you strike an enemy with fury. It slices his flesh, and the warrior slumps down to lie gasping on the soft earth.
>attack warrior
You thrust your weapon at one of the strangers with fury. It slices his flesh, and the warrior slumps down to lie gasping on the soft earth.
>l
The fire is lost in the glut of bodies joined in combat, in the drizzle of rain, in the smoke and steam around you.
>x saiph
He stands nearby, defending himself clumsily with a dead man’s spear. His eyes meet yours for one instant, then he spins around to attack a new foe.
>attack saiph
Such an act echoes through one’s life. You should not act rashly.
>x sihan
You search desperately through the crowd for Sihan; but the battle is too thick for seeing.
>attack
You strike an enemy soldier like a snake. But the enemy soldier meets your blow with his spear and thrusts it aside.
>attack
With all your strength, you stab an enemy. It slices his flesh, and the warrior falls to the ground.
The tide of the battle turns. With the help of the other warriors, you pin the groups of the leaderless enemy soldiers between two flanks of the strongest fighters of your village.
In moments, the fight is over. Most of the remaining villagers pursue the fleeing enemy soldiers into the rain, their cries disappearing into the sounds of the storm.
[Press any key to continue]
A scattered few nurse wounds or stare vacantly into the embers, sitting on ground wet with rain and blood.
>l
A scattered few nurse wounds or stare vacantly into the embers, sitting on ground wet with rain and blood.
Sihan rushes up to you and embraces you fiercely. “You’re alive,” she says, “thank all the gods, you’re alive.”
>greet sihan
“I am glad to see you well,” you say, holding Sihan close.
Sihan wipes a tear from her eyes. “There is sad news,” she says. “The storyteller is dying; as are many others. But the storyteller asked to speak with you. You should hurry,” she adds quietly, pointing towards the storyteller’s tent near the edge of the village, “for there is not much time left to him.”
>wounded
“How deep is the wound?” you ask.
“Not deep,” Sihan says with a sad smile. “But deep enough, for one of Nabu’s age. He will not linger long now in this world. Hurry, love, to his tent, while there is still time.”
>tent
You pull aside the flap of the teller’s tent and step inside.
A lamp burns low, its nearly-spent wick barely lighting up the storyteller’s small tent. Nothing adorns the walls or brightens up the floor; all that is here is a small straw mat, on which the teller lies, breathing shallowly.
>greet storyteller
You lay a gentle hand on the teller’s forehead. He reaches up weakly to touch your arm, a brief smile crossing his lined faced.
The teller smiles at your arrival, and beckons you closer with a weak hand. You kneel by the old straw mat and grasp the cold fingers tightly.
“Well,” says the teller with a sigh, “it has been many years since our people raised their spears in war. I’m afraid my battle skills are not what they once were; but oh, what fun it was to test them, one last time.”
The teller seems to look through your eyes to something hidden at the core of your being, and weigh it with great care. “The people did not hear the end of the story,” he says presently. “For good or ill a great decision was made tonight, before the story was complete. Would you know how it ends?”
>yes
“Yes,” you say, “I would hear the end of the story.”
The teller smiles and closes his eyes. “Gilgamesh faced a choice,” he says quietly. “Whether to take pity on Humbaba and spare his life, or kill him, as his friend Enkidu counseled. Gilgamesh looked into Enkidu’s eyes, and made his choice. He reached into the demon’s throat and pulled out his insides, pulled them out of the demon’s body by his tongue. Enkidu chopped off Humbaba’s head, and the ground shook, and the forest trembled, and the soil ran with blood. And then it rained, it rained, it rained…”
The storyteller trails off, eyes unfocused, as if lost in another world. After a long moment, he comes back and looks at you. “You are like Enkidu, in a way. Enkidu spoke, at first, for peace. When Gilgamesh told him of the quest to the Cedar Forest, Enkidu advised against it. Yet when they stood before Humbaba, his friend Enkidu was the one who urged Gilgamesh to slay him. Why did Enkidu change his mind?”
>change
“Thoughts change,” you answer, “as do all things. Perhaps when Enkidu saw the demon Humbaba for himself he became convinced of his evil; perhaps the dreams of Gilgamesh or the winds of Shamash made Enkidu believe a god was on his side. A man who clutches to an old idea in the face of the changing world is a fool.”
“Wise words,” murmurs the teller. “You see more in the story than many would. I wonder…”
The teller coughs, but the cough turns to long, gasping chokes.
>friend
“Enkidu was loyal to Gilgamesh,” you say, “to his friend. From the moment he swore to fight with Gilgamesh, his own thoughts and opinions were banished.”
“And where do your own loyalties lie?” the teller asks. “Saiph was most confused by your words. Remembering his face tonight makes an old man smile; for that, at the very least, I thank you.”
The teller coughs, but the cough turns to long, gasping chokes.
>listen
The lamp sputters quietly, sending flickering shadows across the tent wall.
The storyteller coughs again, very, very weakly. There will be but a few more breaths, now, before the end.
>listen
Wind tugs gently at the tent flaps, then subsides.
>listen
Wind tugs gently at the tent flaps, then subsides.
“I have one last gift for you,” he says, his voice fading but still powerful, “a choice you must make. You must make your decision not out of consideration for me, nor for Sihan, nor for any but yourself, for it is you who will walk the path this choice lays out, and you alone. There is no shame in refusing, for the ways to the path are many, and another will find it in time. But I think, perhaps, it is well-suited for you.”
The storyteller grips your hand tight, and summons up one final reserve of strength, holding your gaze with eyes that begin now to fade. “The teller must gather the people each time the moon dies,” he says. “The teller must tell the stories to the people so the young will learn and the old not forget. The teller must teach the people who they are, and how to shape who they will be. Will you do these things? Will you become the storyteller?”
>no
The teller sighs, and sinks back into his pillow, and your uncle Nabu lies before you once again, the smallest smile on his old lips. “The truest wisdom,” he says, “is that which knows where its own boundaries lie. You are strong, child, stronger perhaps than me. Find your own path, and follow it.” His eyes close. “And may you find all that you seek at its ending.”
The voice falls silent, then, and there is much darkness before the next story begins.
[Press any key to continue]
This is a story about a warrior of the village who was in love with the gentle healer woman, Sihan. On the night of the telling, when the warrior’s uncle Nabu became the teller, their enemy Saiph tried his best to turn the people towards a foolish peace with the outsiders. The warrior spoke against this foolish path, and rallied the people as the story unfolded.
Words and insults flew between these two firebrands, but their rancor was too bitter and curdled to heal. The arrival out of the blackest night of the strange newcomers was the perfect end to the lesson of war, and spears and swords were soon red with blood. The warrior struck down the enemy leader, and the battle was short, brutal, decisive. Many of the people were wounded.
And the teller lay dying, stabbed in the fight though he fought like a lion, and in his final moments called the warrior to his side. He told the warrior how the story ended, and whom the telling changed. The teller thought the listener strong enough to take the feathered circlet. But the hero had a different strength inside, and another became the teller, and the hero learned that not all endings are preordained.
*** This telling has ended ***
Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, read the AFTERWORD, or QUIT?
>
