"He found the knowledge at the heart of the universe; Returned, and cut his story into stone..." -- The Epic Of Gilgamesh Whom The Telling Changed By Aaron A. Reed Would you like instructions?>yes "Whom the Telling Changed" is interactive fiction, meaning both that you must read it and interact with it. Whenever you see the prompt: >...you may type something that will shape the story. This can be a single word, such as LOOK to remind yourself of where you are, or REPEAT, to remind yourself of what was recently said. Certain words will be highlighted, drawing your attention to important objects or topics of conversation. You may also type simple commands to perform actions. The story understands basic VERB NOUN combinations the best, such as TAKE ROCK, GO OUTSIDE, TALK TO ISI, or ATTACK ISI. Try the verbs TALK, PRAISE, MOCK, or SHOW TO to interact with characters. If you don't want to do anything, try LISTEN or WAIT. Finally, you may type STORY at any time to see how the choices you've made have shaped the ongoing story. HELP will repeat these instructions. 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. >symbol Which do you mean, the medicine bag or the copper dagger? > [Nothing entered.] > [Nothing entered.] > [Nothing entered.] >look 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. >look dagger 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. Your lover's medicine bag hangs from the central support of the tent. >take bag You lift your lover's medicine bag down from its place, handling it carefully. >go outside 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. >hug saiph You clasp Saiph's strong hand and turn to Sihan with a frown. "What business have you here?" you ask her coldly. Sihan tosses her hair and fixes her sharp gaze on you. "I came to see if Saiph has sense left in his head after a season with you," she says levelly. "But I see that, like you, he would lead our people down the path of needless killing. I have no more to say." She turns and vanishes into the darkness without a sound. >talk saiph "I care for you more than you know," you say, kissing Saiph on the cheek. Saiph frowns. "She still hopes for peace with the newcomers," your lover says, "and was upset to find I do not share her views. We shall see if your enemy has better luck at the telling." He looks up to the stars, and adds, "It is a good night for it." >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. >go fire Saiph glances towards the fire pit and takes his medicine bag from you, slinging it into its familiar place around his 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. You walk to the firepit with Saiph, 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. Isi and Nabu stand near the fire, along with a growing crowd. Saiph stands near your side. >give isi circlet You approach your aunt Isi and hand the circlet to the white-haired old woman. She takes it delicately, eyeing the craftsmanship, and then turns to Saiph with a nod and a warm smile. Carefully, she lifts it up to her old head--and now before you is no longer your father's sister, but the storyteller... a role she has taken every new moon for many years. >hug isi Now is not the time for that. Sihan approaches the far side of the fire and greets some friends warmly. >hug nabu Now is not the time for that. Saiph kisses your cheek. "May the story bring you what you seek," he whispers, then slips into the crowd. Your beloved has always liked to hear the stories by himself. >yes You nod your assent. The murmurings of the people die away as the storyteller rises to her feet and raises two bony hands. >yes You nod your assent. The storyteller shouts, "In this time of darkness the people gather for the telling. Will the people hear?" >yes You call out your response along with many others. 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," she 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." >yes You mutter a quiet word of support. The storyteller lifts her hands in invocation. "Our story begins," she 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," she 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." >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." >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." >temple "The great temple of Inanna: what did it look like?" you say. "Mighty and tall and grand and proud," the teller replies, "so fine that Inanna herself dwelt there instead of in her heavenly palace. Inanna, goddess of warfare, goddess of lust, dwelt often in Uruk herself." 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." >king 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. >king The story has moved on; there are other things to say. "What did great Adad, lord of the storms, give to king Gilgamesh?" asks a muscled farmer. "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." >shamash "What did great Shamash give to King Gilgamesh?" you call out. "Shamash, Father Utu, Lord of the Sun and of Justice, gave to great Gilgamesh beauty and nobility," the teller says. "Shamash's burning touch woke within Uruk's king the fire of legend." 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 her 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 Your mouth is already open to respond when Sihan's voice rises above the circle. "It was battle that united Enkidu and Gilgamesh in friendship, was it not?" Sihan says musingly. "It is often the way," the teller says, "that two foes may only find kinship through the bitterest battles. But perhaps," she adds humbly, "this is only the way in stories." >made "Enkidu was made by the gods?" you ask. "By Aruru," the storyteller says sagely, "By Aruru the Earth mother. The people of Uruk beseeched her to soothe wild Gilgamesh, who day after day came to the young men's homes, fighting and sparring in search of an equal, and night after night came to the young women's beds. The people of Uruk called on Aruru for help, and Enkidu was pinched from Aruru's clay and cast into the wilderness, as strong and mighty as Gilgamesh himself." The storyteller continues. "One night," she 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." >cedar Sihan is speaking before you can react. "Tell me," Sihan says 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." Whispers of assent float across the fire; a majority nod visibly at these words. >demon "And would you leave the safety of your women and children to the word of a monster, a demon?" you call out to the crowd. "Such evil cannot be contained. If left it will grow and fester like an ill-treated wound. Gilgamesh feared for the safety of his people. So would I, were I king of Uruk." A voice somewhere behind you calls, "It is true!" and one or two nod their heads in agreement. >newcomers It is no longer the right time to make that part of the story. 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 her. "'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?'" >cedar Your mouth is already open to respond when Sihan's voice rises above the circle. "Guard?" Sihan 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?" Sihan 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. >gambit Your voice shouts above the others: "Bold is he who dares to question the will of a god, even one now worshipped by few. How can a mortal know what purpose drives the divine?" "The gods must be questioned," Sihan responds, "for otherwise what purpose do men serve but as their playthings and mindless lackeys?" "And could you understand their answers?" you say powerfully. "The gods spin and weave our fate; without their powers we are nothing." From the whispered voices around you, it seems many agree with your words. >yes You mutter a quiet word of support. 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?" she 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." At these words, many nod somberly. Parents hold their children tighter. >quest Is Gilgamesh right to set off on this quest for personal glory? Should he rather stay and help the people of Uruk? >right Wisps of clouds mark moving black shadows on the stars above. >look clouds It's not important. "A strange king is Gilgamesh," Sihan says loudly. "He is troubled by the sight of his people, sick and dying, so he leaves them to go on a long quest to distant lands. Would a better king not have stayed behind to help them?" Several of those near you nod their heads. >yes "There is some truth in what you say," you answer. "Each of us must help our people in what way we best know how. Perhaps Gilgamesh after all was helping his people, in his own way." From across the fire, Sihan watches with a contemptuous smile while the crowd murmurs in approval. >people They have always been your people since you were a child, and each of their faces are known to you. Tonight the crowd seems drawn to Sihan's words, the naive idealism seeming to reach them more than other interpretations. >gilgamesh "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," she says softly, "the people of Uruk in silence watched them go." >sacrifices "What were the sacrifices Gilgamesh made to the gods?" you ask. "They were many," the teller responds, "and befitting of such a strong king; three fattened oxen and twelve fattened sheep; four golden bowls of honey and five silver bowls of butter. The incense was lit and the prayers were sung; the priestesses sang the prayers while the stars turned above." >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 her 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." >axes [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] >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." "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." >mountains Your mouth is already open to respond when Sihan's voice rises above the circle. "Without Enkidu, Gilgamesh could not have crossed the desert," Sihan points 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." At these words, a majority nod somberly. Parents hold their children tighter. You catch a glimpse of your love Saiph's face, darkened by a frown. >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." >yes You nod your assent. 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?'" >collapsed "The mountain collapsed on the companions?" you say. "This does not sound like a fortunate dream." "What Enkidu said next may then surprise you," says the teller with a mischievous smile. '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." >yes You smile, your affinity lighting up your face. "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." >dreams [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] >dream The story has moved on; there are other things to say. As the teller speaks more of the journey across the desert, an unfamiliar hand presses on your shoulder. You turn to see Sihan's angry face only inches from yours. "The power of the story should not be meddled with," she says in a barely audible undertone, the breath from her words hot on your face. "Why do you seek to twist and subvert its meaning to your own purpose?" >twist "It is you who twists the story," you whisper back. "You would have our people lay down their weapons and smile while their enemies sneak up from behind with sharpened knives." "You are so sure they mean us harm?" Sihan asks. "Are you blind to everything but your own warmongering? There is a chance yet for peace with these newcomers." >attack sihan You raise your hand in anger and Sihan takes a quick step back. "I take your meaning," she says in a cold and angry voice, "and see that I have wasted my time attempting to bring reason to your mindless rage. I will not make such a mistake twice." She turns on her heel and vanishes back into the crowd. You turn your attention back to the teller. "On the seventh day," she 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." >forest "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." Sihan speaks under her breath with a friend across the circle. >listen sihan The stars begin to fade as clouds swallow up their light. "Quiet?" asks a shepherd, brows knitting. "Was that unexpected?" "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." >yes You mutter a quiet word of support. The teller speaks slowly, lingering over each word. "Enkidu and Gilgamesh stepped into the cedars with care, but," she says, picking up speed, "the demon Humbaba, Humbaba, Humbaba heard the rustle of every leaf in the forest." The teller leaps up and spreads her 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. >theives [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] >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." The stars begin to fade as clouds swallow up their light. >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." >yes You mutter a quiet word of support. 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?" The warriors frown, but a majority of the people smile and nod. >yes You nod your assent. "Gilgamesh is a true friend," Sihan says thoughtfully. "He has learned something about friendship since the start of this journey, when he called Enkidu a coward for questioning him." Many nod their heads at Sihan's words. "Well said," someone says. >no "Either that, or he knows how to deal with cowards when they threaten to abandon their duty," you say with a wave of your hand. Your enemy meets your gaze with narrowed eyes. "I would not expect you to understand," she sneers, and the crowd seems to take a subtle step away from you. >courage The story has moved on; there are other things to say. "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." >humbaba The story has moved on; there are other things to say. "On the very first blow of Gilgamesh the demon came?" Sihan asks. "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." "It seems this demon has a sense at least of honor, then," Sihan says quietly. A shepherd nods his head, and holds his wife closer. The crowd is listening with rapt attention to both you and Sihan. >yes "Sihan's words have thought behind them," you say to the crowd, "though it is for the people to judge their merit." Sihan ignores your words, but the crowd murmurs in approval. >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." Whispers of assent float across the fire; nearly all nod visibly at these words. The crowd is listening with rapt attention to both you and Sihan. >look fire 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. The teller stands near the fire, and all the people's attention is focused on her. 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." >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," she whispers. A shepherd near you nods his head, and holds his wife closer. The crowd is listening with rapt attention to both you and Sihan. >yes You mutter a quiet word of support. "The true friend is always there to help," Sihan says. "What would Gilgamesh have done without Enkidu?" "You speak true," says a stoic woman. "Gilgamesh and Enkidu are examples to all who do not value friendship; all who think themselves above their neighbors." Whispers dance around the circle as the people share their views; nearly all seem in agreement. Saiph scowls darkly across the flames. >hug siaph [I'm not sure what you are referring to.] >hug saiph Now is not the time for that. The story continues. "Humbaba laughed, and the mountains shook," the teller says, then draws herself 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." >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." >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. >yes You smile, your affinity lighting up your face. 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." >winds The mighty assistance of Shamash is timely; but is it also a bit unfair? >unfair "So that is how the mighty heroes end their adventure," you say bitterly, "sneaking behind an enemy held down by a god. How brave the companions were." The voices of the crowd rise to affirm these words, and the teller raises her hands. "Bravery," she says, "and might, and even heroes... these are but words. You must make of them what you will. The story continues." >continue [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] >yes You mutter a quiet word of support. Sounds of scuffling come from the back of the circle. People crane their necks in alarm, but it is only two young boys reenacting the capture of Humbaba. "Got you!" one of them shouts, as his parents pull him away with tiny smiles. >look isi The story is sacred; to disturb the teller with aught but words is taboo. 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.'" >mercy "And why should Gilgamesh not show this creature mercy?" you call out. "They had defeated him in combat; the Cedar Forest was theirs. There would be no gain in killing this demon." From across the circle, Sihan smiles as the crowd mutters in agreement. >yes You mutter a quiet word of support. "Enkidu should not be so quick to slay this creature," Sihan 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." Voices mutter in agreement; for nearly all, this point has touched home. >pity "Curious," you say, "that mighty Gilgamesh, so strong and proud, would take pity on the creature in this way." "There is strength, perhaps, in pity," answers Saiph from across the circle, "though not, I think, in pride." >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." "Must he?" calls a woman from the crowd. "Is he not defeated already? What good would spilling his blood do?" 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 Sihan is speaking before you can react. "Where did this thirst for blood come from in wise Enkidu?" Sihan asks. "Did he not once counsel Gilgamesh to give up this quest?" "The story does not say," the teller mutters softly. The wind blows with a steady drone, like a backdrop to the teller's words. >yes "Well-spoken," you say, giving your enemy a courteous bow. "Sihan argues with the skill of one much older." Sihan ignores your words, but the crowd murmurs in approval. >merciless The story has moved on; there are other things to say. "Humbaba is right," calls out a proud young man. "He was created by the gods for a purpose. It is not wise for the heroes to involve themselves in this heavenly struggle between Enlil and Shamash." Sihan nods, watching you intently. >no You scowl in disagreement. 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. >talk 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. >evil The time is not right to speak about that. "That is more than we can spare," a cripped farmer cries out, stepping forward. "Have you no sheep of your own?" "We are strangers to these parts," says the leader. "The sheep here are skittish and fleet; the shepherds cannot catch them." He grips his spear firmly. "So you will gift us what we asked," he says. >no "Half?" you say mockingly. "Beggars should not be so greedy. Why should we give you anything at all? We are strong, and do not fear your threats." The warrior leader's face darkens and he grips his spear tightly, but Sihan steps forward. "This braggart does not speak for us," she says, and many in the crowd mutter their assent. "We do not wish to leap to hasty action. Let us discuss this matter around our fire." >no You scowl in disagreement. "The skill to catch these sheep can be taught," an old mother calls out. "We will teach you. Come in peace, and we will teach you to catch the sheep and share our grain with you." The leader narrows his eyes. "What do you mean by this?" he says shortly. "Is it a surrender, or a call to lay down arms and consider this matter further?" >consider "Talk with us," you say, looking the warrior leader deep in the eye. "If you lay down your weapons and return with open arms we will not do you harm. Let us not make this dark night even darker." "You are brave," he says after a time, looking away for a moment and licking his lips. He focuses on your people. "And clear-headed," he adds. "Perhaps... perhaps there are things we can learn from you." He steps forward and places his spear on the ground. As he straightens, a wave of sighs moves through the circle, a release of tension in both strangers and neighbors. The leader of the warriors looks upon you with stoic pride. "I am Arkab," he says, "and these are my people." [Press any key to continue] The fire has almost died and the people have scattered, leaving a tangible emptiness behind. Even the rain has stopped its drizzle. >look The fire has almost died and the people have scattered, leaving a tangible emptiness behind. Even the rain has stopped its drizzle. Saiph finds you and gives you a strong embrace. "I am glad there was no war," your love says. "Arkab has promised to return tomorrow, bearing gifts instead of spears." >arkab "He seems a man of his word?" you ask. "It is too early to tell," says Saiph cautiously, "but I have a good feeling about him." Saiph places a firm hand on your shoulder. "There is sad news," he says. "The storyteller is dying. The shock must have done something to her heart. There is little we can do now, but she asked to speak with you. You should hurry," he adds quietly, pointing towards the storyteller's tent near the edge of the village, "for there is not much time left to her." >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. >talk isi You wait patiently for the teller to collect her words. 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. "Curious," she mutters, "the way fate moves, sometimes weaving a fantastic tale, and othertimes getting the timing all wrong. I would not have had my end be upstaged, were I telling this final chapter." She smiles, then grimaces in pain. 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," she 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 her eyes. "Gilgamesh faced a choice," she 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, she 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. >hug isi Now is not the time for that. The storyteller coughs again, very, very weakly. There will be but a few more breaths, now, before the end. >yes You smile, your affinity lighting up your face. >talk isi You wait patiently for the teller to collect her words. "I have one last gift for you," she says, her voice fading but still beautiful, "a choice you must make. You must make your decision not out of consideration for me, nor for Saiph, 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," she 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?" >yes The teller sighs, and sinks back into her pillow, and your father's sister Isi lies before you once again. Peace slowly fills her pain-wracked face, and she mutters something as the old eyes close. You bend closer to hear. "You will tell the stories well, my child," Isi says in a voice softer than grass in the wind, "You will tell them well." 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 a gentle man, the village healer, Saiph. On the night of the telling, when the warrior's aunt Isi became the teller, their enemy Sihan tried her 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 flew between these two firebrands, not always without cordiality, and their discourse round the firepit grew louder. The arrival out of the blackest night of the strange newcomers shook the crowd, so sure peace was the way. It was the warrior who who brokered a fragile peace, and agreed to share their resources with the curious strangers to their land. And the teller lay dying, struck down from shock or chance with a weakened heart, and in her final moments called the warrior to her side. She told the warrior how the story ended, and whom the telling changed. A teller died and a teller was born, and the story will always guide the way. *** This telling has ended *** Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, or read the AFTERWORD? >afterword Thank you for interacting with "Whom The Telling Changed." If you haven't already, try playing again and pursuing a different path. There are many ways to experience this story, and many perspectives you may encounter: what you assumed to be right and wrong, good and evil with one play-through may not be as simple as you thought. Your very first action sets your course, but there are many ways to alter it as both stories progress, some surprising. The storyteller's tale is part of the Epic of Gilgamesh, the oldest story recorded by human history, originating in Sumeria more than 4,000 years ago. The specific words used by the teller are my own, a mishmash of various versions of the Humbaba story from Sumer, Babylon, and Akkadia. The quest of the Cedar Forest is only a small part of the full epic, which is well worth reading or re-reading. The setting of my frame story is not meant to be any more specific than somewhere in the Fertile Crescent, thousands of years ago, but to fill in the details of atmosphere and setting I am indebted to Karen Rhea Nemet-Nejat's book "Daily Life in Ancient Mesopotamia." The various translations of the Gilgamesh epic were also very useful: specifically, those of Mitchell, Ferry, and Gardner/Maier, all of which are beautiful and readable versions of the work. Thanks also to my beta testers James Cunningham, Michael Fransioli, and Henrik 'Drix' Jensen, to storyteller Beth Horner, and to the friends who helped me wrestle the very nebulous concept for this piece towards its final implementation. Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, or read the AFTERWORD? >restart