Start of a transcript of The Warbler's Nest A dark fairy tale by Jason McIntosh Release 14 / Serial number 100930 / Inform 7 build 6E72 (I6/v6.31 lib 6/12N) For more information about this game, please type ABOUT. Identification number: //6B9D8019-65AD-4BAE-90E0-D83AB5E3E464// Standard interpreter 1.1 (1F) / Library serial number 080126 Standard Rules version 2/090402 by Graham Nelson Extended Grammar version 3 by Aaron Reed >restart Are you sure you want to restart? y Surely the reed bank counts as a wild place. While it gives you so much, you've never tended it, not really, not like you do with your garden. And you've certainly seen birds there. It's something like the forest, then, but much safer to search without attracting attention. So here you are. The Warbler's Nest A dark fairy tale by Jason McIntosh Release 14 / Serial number 100930 / Inform 7 build 6E72 (I6/v6.31 lib 6/12N) For more information about this game, please type ABOUT. Among the reeds The familiar reed bank behind your cottage surrounds you, filling the damp space between your home and the river to the south. >search bank "Eggshells", he said. "You should find two, empty but mostly whole." "Well," you said, "That's easy enough. Hod down the road has a hen, and --" "No," he interrupted with a shake of his grey head. "You've got to find them in the wild places in between, where nobody lives. Not even them. Go out in the hour just before sundown, when they're not quite awake yet..." Remembering, you look at the sky, reflexively. Today the sky is a uniform middling gray. Overcast. You part the reeds nearest you and peer at the marshy ground underneath them, but find nothing useful. >search bank You part the reeds nearest you and peer at the marshy ground underneath them, but find nothing useful. >l Among the reeds The familiar reed bank behind your cottage surrounds you, filling the damp space between your home and the river to the south. >x bank It's midsummer, and the reeds grow thick and green. Their tall, purple flowers are just starting to come in. >search flowers You part the reeds nearest you and peer at the marshy ground underneath them, but find nothing useful. >search river The river lies just to the south, its sight blocked from where you stand by the reeds' thick, healthy growth. >n As you start back towards your home, movement among the reeds catches your eye: A little reed-bird flies in from the riverbank, and vanishes into the green. >search reeds The bird dropped down into the reeds some distance away, near one particularly tall stalk, topped with a flower that's come in early. >x stalk Carefully approaching the tall stalk, you discover the hiding place of the reed bird's nest. The reed-bird goes about the business of feeding its young. >search nest No eggs here. That big chick would leave them no room, anyway. The reed-bird goes about the business of feeding its young. >take nest You'd rather not disturb this nest. You've been living fine all these years considering the reed-bird a thatcher's friend, keeping the reeds free of worse nuisances. The reed-bird goes about the business of feeding its young. The reed-bird darts away again, perhaps looking for more food for its enormous chick. >search reeds Careful not to disturb the nest, you poke through the ground around it. Your efforts are rewarded: Not far away, among a small pile of the birdish refuse on the ground, lies a small egg. The chick, now fed, resettles itself atop the nest, preening a bit. As it does so, loose feathers and other bits of refuse drift down to join a pile on the ground beneath it. >take feathers You pluck the egg from the mound of bird-leavings. Holding it, you now see that the egg's surface is webbed with cracks, as if it had been dropped. >take feathers There's nothing else in that pile worth carrying around. >x egg A small spotted egg, its surface webbed with cracks. >search reeds You part the reeds nearest you and peer at the marshy ground underneath them, but find nothing useful. >search nest No eggs here. That big chick would leave them no room, anyway. >s Beach A small bulge of sandy beach, providing a place to stand comfortably and access the river water clear of the reeds. The river to the south curves gently around it. The river flows here, as it always has, clear and cool. >n The wind shifts the reeds, hiding the bird's nest from sight. You still see the tall stalk marking where you found it earlier, not far away. Among the reeds The familiar reed bank behind your cottage surrounds you, filling the damp space between your home and the river to the south. One particularly tall stalk, topped with an early flower, marks the location of the reed bird's nest. >x flower (the tall stalk) You walk towards the tall reed, but find yourself confused as you draw near. This doesn't seem like the place you found the nest earlier. Looking again around the reed bed, you see a number of flowering reeds just as tall as this one, and that nest is nowhere that you can see. For a handspan of a moment, the breeze settles, and the reeds' rustling stops. Something seems wrong, in the silence. You find yourself looking to your cottage. >search reeds You part the reeds nearest you and peer at the marshy ground underneath them, but find nothing useful. >search nest You can't see any such thing. >l Among the reeds The familiar reed bank behind your cottage surrounds you, filling the damp space between your home and the river to the south. >s Beach A small bulge of sandy beach, providing a place to stand comfortably and access the river water clear of the reeds. The river to the south curves gently around it. The river flows here, as it always has, clear and cool. >search beach This infertile stuff has little use to you, and certainly none now. >search river You find nothing of interest. >search reeds You part the reeds nearest you and peer at the marshy ground underneath them, but find nothing useful. >s You saw to your washing and all that before you began. Best focus on your task. >drink water You saw to your thirst and all that before you began. Best focus on your task. >l Beach A small bulge of sandy beach, providing a place to stand comfortably and access the river water clear of the reeds. The river to the south curves gently around it. The river flows here, as it always has, clear and cool. >exits That's not a verb I recognise. >s You saw to your washing and all that before you began. Best focus on your task. >n Among the reeds The familiar reed bank behind your cottage surrounds you, filling the damp space between your home and the river to the south. >w You meander a bit through the reeds, hearing their rustle as they brush past. >search reeds You part the reeds nearest you and peer at the marshy ground underneath them, but find nothing useful. >e A few damp steps take you to a different spot within the familiar reed bank. >search reeds You part the reeds nearest you and peer at the marshy ground underneath them, but find nothing useful. >e You push through the reeds for a few yards, the damp earth squishing beneath your bare feet. >search reeds You part the reeds nearest you and peer at the marshy ground underneath them, but find nothing useful. >e You push through the reeds for a few yards, the damp earth squishing beneath your bare feet. >e You meander a bit through the reeds, hearing their rustle as they brush past. >e A few damp steps take you to a different spot within the familiar reed bank. >e You push through the reeds for a few yards, the damp earth squishing beneath your bare feet. >n Outside the cottage Your garden lies in this space in front of your home, long ago cleared from the reed bank to the south. You can see the road from here, and of course the forest beyond it. The doorway to your cottage is to the east. You could also walk around the cottage, to the northeast or the southeast, towards the little clearing you know is there. Something is wrong. >think What a good idea. You realize what's wrong now. It's quiet. You were so involved among the reeds just now that you hadn't paid it mind, but: the cottage is silent. >save Ok. >x cottage You have lived here as long as you care to remember. And alone, for long enough that its thatched roof is increasingly your own work. Its doorway is to the east. >listen You know from hard experience that the cottage oughtn't be silent at this time of day. But, it's so. But: You do hear a soft sound, unfamiliar, coming from the space behind your cottage. Something alive. The tailor gestured to some mushrooms growing near your garden. "Fairy ring," he said. "These grow where they gather and dance, in the forest, and also where they mean to meddle, in the places we live." Looking again, yes, the mushrooms did seem to have a sort of circular pattern to them. "You musn't let them grow so near your home like this, first of all," he said. "as it makes them bolder." "All right," you said, unsure why his voice seemed so heavy with concern. "I can just treat them like the weeds in the garden, then." "Yes..." he said, and paused before looking at you again. "There's something else." >listen The silence is not complete. Straining to hear, you can make out a scrabbling, a snuffling. Very soft, but in the stillness around your home, it stands out. The sound is coming from the place behind the cottage. >enter cottage The silence is strange, all right. But you haven't been out of the house that long, and don't plan on being out that much longer. You chose to take up this task, and you'd best see it through... before facing what's in there. >l Outside the cottage Your garden lies in this space in front of your home, long ago cleared from the reed bank to the south. You can see the road from here, and of course the forest beyond it. The doorway to your cottage is to the east. You could also walk around the cottage, to the northeast or the southeast, towards the little clearing you know is there. Silence, especially strange for this time of day, sits heavily in the clearing. >ne Hearing that scratching, snuffling sound again, you hesitate. All you're carrying is this eggshell, and you'd feel bolder if you held something a bit more solid. Something that would do in a pinch, if it came to it. >search garden You find nothing of interest. >l Outside the cottage Your garden lies in this space in front of your home, long ago cleared from the reed bank to the south. You can see the road from here, and of course the forest beyond it. The doorway to your cottage is to the east. You could also walk around the cottage, to the northeast or the southeast, towards the little clearing you know is there. Silence, especially strange for this time of day, sits heavily in the clearing. >take rock You pull a small, round rock from the earth. Amidst worries of eggshells, you find comfort in its solid heft. Taken. >ne Behind your cottage Another small clearing behind your cottage. You do not come here very often, or anyway not lately. You could wander back into the reeds to the south, or return to your garden to the northwest or southwest. The road lies to the north, and the forest looms not just there but here, to the east, where an old fallen log juts into the clearing. Two standing stones mark the earth here, along the rear wall of the cottage. One, waist-high, stands larger than the other. You hear that snuffling noise again, from somewhere very near. >x log This ancient tree has lain on this spot since you first came here, and surely a lifetime or more before that. Though dead, it's not a decayed thing. Rather, it's part of the living forest, and maybe the spot at which its reach comes closest to your cottage. It makes you think more of the little finger of a sleeping giant, whose body lies vast in the shadows of the wood beyond. Near one end, a half-circle of milk-colored mushrooms bulge from the earth. You hear that snuffling noise again, from somewhere very near. >listen You hold your breath... The sound seems to be coming from behind the log. The shuffling, grating noise stops, then resumes. >look behind log Tightening your grip on the rock, you peer behind the log, so that you can see the whole of the mushroom ring, and whatever else might sit inside it. You see it. A skinny little man, wearing a... a fur coat, and a spotted cap? It's lying down, right in the center of the fairy ring, damn it all, and its tail twitches as it... oh. You let go the breath you hadn't realized you were holding. No, it's not a little man. Though it is another sort of forest creature, true enough, and maybe no less wicked, in its way. And that "cap" does catch your attention... Heedless of your standing there, the stoat continues lapping noisily at the spotted egg, its paws grasping the shell. >x egg (the small cracked egg) A small spotted egg, its surface webbed with cracks. The stoat keeps eating, unwilling to let the smallest morsel escape. Clearly, it's not giving up that egg until it's done, and who knows when that will be. >x stoat Normally, forest animals like this stoat shy from people, but this one hasn't noticed you. This is because it has buried its snout into a bird's egg, which it is now licking clean. You can plainly hear its loud lapping and snuffling as it works to clean out every wet morsel. The stoat continues its loud meal. >scare stoat That's not a verb I recognise. >yell at stoat That's not a verb I recognise. >scream That's not a verb I recognise. >yell That's not a verb I recognise. >l Behind your cottage Another small clearing behind your cottage. You do not come here very often, or anyway not lately. You could wander back into the reeds to the south, or return to your garden to the northwest or southwest. The road lies to the north, and the forest looms not just there but here, to the east, where an old fallen log juts into the clearing. Two standing stones mark the earth here, along the rear wall of the cottage. One, waist-high, stands larger than the other. Behind the trunk, a stoat dines noisily on a stolen bird's egg, unaware of your presence. >hit stoat with rock I only understood you as far as wanting to hit the stoat. >hit stoat You throw the rock at the little animal. It lands wide, and the creature wastes no time in scurrying back into the forest, leaving its meal behind. >take egg (the speckled eggshell) You pick up the eggshell from where the little animal left it. "Once you've found those eggshells," the tailor continued, "what you do is -- this sounds strange, but that's the whole point, see -- you need to fill them up with water. Then you carry them, one in each hand, like they're the heaviest buckets, you carry them right back into your cottage, and you show them to him." He paused then, but you only nodded, unsure what to say to all this. >save Ok. >hit mushrooms Grunting, you kick one of the mushrooms, maybe a little harder than you needed to. It bursts easily, leaving scarcely a trace behind. Soon enough your work is complete. The ring is gone. It's just you and the silence, now. >l Behind your cottage Another small clearing behind your cottage. You do not come here very often, or anyway not lately. You could wander back into the reeds to the south, or return to your garden to the northwest or southwest. The road lies to the north, and the forest looms not just there but here, to the east, where an old fallen log juts into the clearing. Two standing stones mark the earth here, along the rear wall of the cottage. One, waist-high, stands larger than the other. You can see a rock here. >x stones One of these stones stands as tall as your waist. And then a small one, only ankle-high, but still conspicuous. >take stones You would never disturb where these stones rest. >look at small stone A smaller, thin, black stone, with the sign of the Eye chalked upon it. >look at large stone A large, heavy stone, roughly but recognizably marked with the sign of the Eye. The ghost of an ache passes through your shoulders, remembering that stone's weight. It wasn't so long ago. >se Nowhere to go that way... From here, you can return to garden in front of your cottage, waking around to the northwest or southwest. And you can always retreat back into the reeds to the south. >n True, you are supposed to look in the wild places. But the forest? You know what lives there, and they don't need to know what you're looking for. Best leave the forest until there's no other place to go. >s Among the reeds The familiar reed bank behind your cottage surrounds you, filling the damp space between your home and the river to the south. > I beg your pardon? >s Beach A small bulge of sandy beach, providing a place to stand comfortably and access the river water clear of the reeds. The river to the south curves gently around it. The river flows here, as it always has, clear and cool. >i You are carrying: the speckled eggshell a small cracked egg (closed) >fill eggs with water speckled eggshell: You dip the eggshell into the river, then stand back up again, careful not to spill any. small cracked egg: That eggshell is not empty. >x small cracked A small spotted egg, its surface webbed with cracks. The two eggshells you hold, now that you can compare them, seem to be about the same size and shape, though one is all cracked. Probably from the same bird. >open small cracked Peeling away the topmost fragments from the egg's shell reveals the tiny body of a dead chick, unborn, encased in a veined and rotting yolk. You manage to keep your grip on the shell, just the same. >take chick Grimacing, you upend the egg. The dead thing and its murky goo tumble out wetly. You turn your head away, not caring to see what becomes of it. The shell is empty now. >fill egg with water Which do you mean, the speckled eggshell or the cracked eggshell? >cracked (the river) Careful not to spill any water from the other one, you crouch and fill the empty shell from the river. When you stand again, you hold two water-filled eggshells, one in each hand. >i You are carrying: the speckled eggshell some water a cracked eggshell (open) some water >n Among the reeds The familiar reed bank behind your cottage surrounds you, filling the damp space between your home and the river to the south. >drink water The water in the eggshells is not for you to drink. >n Outside the cottage Your garden lies in this space in front of your home, long ago cleared from the reed bank to the south. You can see the road from here, and of course the forest beyond it. The doorway to your cottage is to the east. You could also walk around the cottage, to the northeast or the southeast, towards the little clearing you know is there. Silence, especially strange for this time of day, sits heavily in the clearing. Just as you step free of the reeds, the cracked eggshell in your hand gives way. In two eyeblinks, it collapses on itself, the water spilling between your fingers and the broken pieces of shell tumbling to the earth, useless now. You look up, then, to the doorway of your cottage. Well. You held two full eggs. Maybe that was enough? Maybe it had better be enough. Maybe it's getting late (another reflexive look at the sky, still gray as ever), and maybe you are in the middle of something you don't fully ken, brought about by a man who isn't even here, and maybe you should bring an end to this before it gets any later. >save Ok. >ne Hearing that scratching, snuffling sound again, you hesitate. All you're carrying is this eggshell, and you'd feel bolder if you held something a bit more solid. Something that would do in a pinch, if it came to it. >take rock You can't really get to the other rocks without digging. And now isn't the time for that. A night-bird calls out from the forest. >nw Nothing that way... Your cottage's doorway lies to the east, and the reed banks whisper to the south. There's also that clearing behind your cottage. From the shadows to the north, you hear a twig snap. >s Among the reeds The familiar reed bank behind your cottage surrounds you, filling the damp space between your home and the river to the south. >search reeds You part the reeds nearest you and peer at the marshy ground underneath them, but find nothing useful. >x nest You can't see any such thing. >n Outside the cottage Your garden lies in this space in front of your home, long ago cleared from the reed bank to the south. You can see the road from here, and of course the forest beyond it. The doorway to your cottage is to the east. You could also walk around the cottage, to the northeast or the southeast, towards the little clearing you know is there. Silence, especially strange for this time of day, sits heavily in the clearing. >n True, you are supposed to look in the wild places. But the forest? You know what lives there, and they don't need to know what you're looking for. Best leave the forest until there's no other place to go. The wind from the tall trees sounds more like muttering. You know it's not talk meant for your ears. >listen You know from hard experience that the cottage oughtn't be silent at this time of day. But, it's so. The wind from the trees, through not very cold, feels like it cuts through your shift. >e Inside your cottage Here is where you've lived for so many years, a cottage much like any other, a fine place to rest after a day gathering reeds or preparing thatch. Here you have made meals beyond counting, always for yourself, sometimes for another. It contains scattered furniture -- the largest being a table against one wall, and a cradle not far from it. But right now, all your attention is on the chair. The baby sits on the chair, held upright by the blanket you'd tied before you began your search. >x baby Slackjawed, the baby stares at your eggshell with its dull, dark eyes. >tickle baby That's not a verb I recognise. >l Inside your cottage Here is where you've lived for so many years, a cottage much like any other, a fine place to rest after a day gathering reeds or preparing thatch. Here you have made meals beyond counting, always for yourself, sometimes for another. It contains scattered furniture -- the largest being a table against one wall, and a cradle not far from it. The baby sits on the chair, held upright by the blanket you'd tied before you began your search. >x table Just a simple table, made of wood. On the table is the pair of cold iron shears. >x cradle A wooden cradle, simply but sturdily made. >take shears The iron seems startlingly cold as you close your hand around it. >search cradle The cradle is empty. >x baby Slackjawed, the baby stares at your eggshell with its dull, dark eyes. >give eggshell to baby You breathe, and gather yourself. Then you hang your arm down, making as if the eggshell is a heavy thing, hard to lift. "Oh," you say, but it comes out as a croak. "...Oh," you say again, louder. "I have brought back the whole river for the potage, and it is such a heavy thing! Do you see?" You then lift up the eggshell, straining, as if it were a pail, filled to spilling. "I've heard different things," said the tailor, "but they all agree that changelings can't abide humans acting strange, and using eggshells in a queer way will always set them off. When a changeling sees such a thing, it can't help but to leap up and declare, 'Crikey! I'm two hundred years old, and I've never seen anything weird as that!' Or something of the sort, anyway. And that's how you know you've got a changeling." "But what would I do then?" you asked. "Once it's revealed itself to you? That's simple," said the tailor. "Snatch it up, carry it out of your cottage, and throw it in the river. Throw it into the river, and its own kind will come for it. Then they'll have to return what they took from you." The baby looks right at the eggshell with its dark, dull eyes. Then it opens its mouth. "Cuh," it says. "C-cuh... Cruh..." >listen You hear nothing unexpected. "And if the baby isn't a changeling?" you asked. "Well," said the tailor, with a smile. "I suppose it won't say anything at all!" "Cuh... k-kkaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUAAAAAAUUAAA..." The baby begins howling, just as it has been, most every day, and most of every day. For so long. But... it didn't start until it saw the eggshell, this time. Does that mean something? Did it... did it work? What happens now? >comfort baby That's not a verb I recognise. >hug baby (first taking the baby) The blanket is tied fast to the chair, in such a way that it restrains the baby from slipping out. The baby thrashes in its cries, straining against the blanket. >take baby The blanket is tied fast to the chair, in such a way that it restrains the baby from slipping out. The baby's wails reach a peak, rattling the bones in your head. >untie baby You see no way to do that while still holding onto that water-filled eggshell. >give eggshell to baby Once again, you hold up the eggshell, acting like it's a heavy thing. "See the eggshell? See how heavy?" The baby continues to wail. >give eggshell to baby Once again, you hold up the eggshell, acting like it's a heavy thing. "See the eggshell? See how heavy?" The baby continues to wail. >put eggshell on table The eggshell tips over as soon as you set it down on the table. The water spills across the surface and onto the floor. >untie baby Reaching to undo the knots you made earlier, you notice that your hands are shaking. And though you don't think the knots are particularly tight, you can do no more than scrabble and paw at them. >cut knots The cold iron of the shears bites into the blanket. It was a hard birth. Not like the last one, but hard. Still, it ended with you holding the babe in your arms. Without words to describe how you felt, what you said was this: Anda. You really hadn't thought of a name before now, and all at once it seemed strange that you hadn't, though you hadn't really anyone to talk to about it. But at that moment you knew it was the right name. Anda, you said again. The blanket now lies raggedly open on the chair, with the baby sitting atop it. The baby's cries subside for a few heartbeats, then resume as loud as before. >take baby You carefully lift the baby, cradling it in your arms. >hug baby You pause, catching yourself wanting to go through the familiar motions, in spite of all the confusion. So young, but still you've lost count of the days, the number of times you've lifted the baby, just to hold, or to hold to your breast. And weren't those some of the most quietly pleasant times you've spent with the baby, despite everything? Quiet, yes, says the darker part of you. Quiet because that's the only time it doesn't cry, that and sleeping. And you hear thoughts darker still -- They cry and carry on so, because they're greedy, greedier than any human child would be -- but you know those words aren't yours. For a moment, you close your ears to the cries, and you try to close your mind to what he had suggested, to the fact that you may have even felt some perverse disappointment with the fact that the baby hadn't leapt up and begun to talk in Goblin-tongue rhyme when it saw the eggshell. But maybe that's all there is to it. Maybe it was all just a foolish suggestion from a foolish man. Is this really your baby? (You find yourself still holding the baby, uncertain and trembling.) >x baby The baby cries and cries, its face twisted around its endless howling. The baby shrieks and cries. >comfort baby That's not a verb I recognise. >calm baby But, no. Between the baby's wailing and... and everything else, you just can't... There is something missing. (You find yourself still holding the baby, uncertain and trembling.) >l Inside your cottage Here is where you've lived for so many years, a cottage much like any other, a fine place to rest after a day gathering reeds or preparing thatch. Here you have made meals beyond counting, always for yourself, sometimes for another. It contains scattered furniture -- the largest being a table against one wall, and a cradle not far from it. On the table is the speckled eggshell (empty). The chair is empty, but for the now-open blanket. The baby shrieks and cries. >take blanket The blanket is tied fast to the chair, in such a way that it restrains the baby from slipping out. >untie blanket But the blanket is no longer tied up. The baby's wails reach a peak, rattling the bones in your head. >put baby in cradle You pause, catching yourself thinking, in spite of all the confusion: the baby just needs to be put to bed, is all. And how many times have you thought that before! And yet, more than once -- often, in fact -- you've found yourself watching over the baby in its cradle, sleeping softly, and couldn't imagine yourself belonging anywhere else. Oh yes, sighs the darker part of you. Very easy, because that's the only time it's quiet. That and when it's feeding. But, no. Between the baby's wailing and... and everything else, you just can't... There is something missing. (You still hold the baby, uncertain.) The baby shrieks and cries. >take eggshell Taken. >show eggshell to baby Once again, you hold up the eggshell, acting like it's a heavy thing. "See the eggshell? See how heavy?" The baby continues to wail. The baby shrieks and cries. >i You are carrying: the speckled eggshell the baby the pair of cold iron shears >search baby You find nothing of interest. The baby's wails reach a peak, rattling the bones in your head. >examine baby The baby cries and cries, its face twisted around its endless howling. The baby shrieks and cries. >l Inside your cottage Here is where you've lived for so many years, a cottage much like any other, a fine place to rest after a day gathering reeds or preparing thatch. Here you have made meals beyond counting, always for yourself, sometimes for another. It contains scattered furniture -- the largest being a table against one wall, and a cradle not far from it. The chair is empty, but for the now-open blanket. >put baby in cradle But, no. Between the baby's wailing and... and everything else, you just can't... There is something missing. A name. (You still hold the baby, uncertain.) The baby's cries subside for a few heartbeats, then resume as loud as before. >anda Anda. Yes. You step back and look at the baby, at its face. Yes, its features are all twisted up by its crying, and yes, maybe they're a little strange just the same. But the deeper resemblance is undeniable. Part of you wants to curse his cowardice for suggesting that it was any other way. But, there will be time for that later. The rest of you, the whole of your heart, reaches out to the child. You know, as sure as the day it was born, that it -- that he -- is truly yours. Anda thrashes in his cries, straining against your grasp. >comfort anda That's not a verb I recognise. >put anda in cradle Gently, you lower Anda into his cradle, then pull up the chair beside it and sit. You yourself can barely hear the lullaby you sing over his crying, but you know that soon enough he'll sleep. And soon enough again, God willing, he'll grow. Growing is what babies do, and this is your baby. *** The End *** Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, see some suggestions for AMUSING things to do, QUIT or UNDO the last command? > amusing An illustrated afterword for this game is available on the web. Please visit http://jmac.org/warbler/afterword/. Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, see some suggestions for AMUSING things to do, QUIT or UNDO the last command? > restart Surely the reed bank counts as a wild place. While it gives you so much, you've never tended it, not really, not like you do with your garden. And you've certainly seen birds there. It's something like the forest, then, but much safer to search without attracting attention. So here you are. The Warbler's Nest A dark fairy tale by Jason McIntosh Release 14 / Serial number 100930 / Inform 7 build 6E72 (I6/v6.31 lib 6/12N) For more information about this game, please type ABOUT. Among the reeds The familiar reed bank behind your cottage surrounds you, filling the damp space between your home and the river to the south. >s Beach A small bulge of sandy beach, providing a place to stand comfortably and access the river water clear of the reeds. The river to the south curves gently around it. The river flows here, as it always has, clear and cool. >n Among the reeds The familiar reed bank behind your cottage surrounds you, filling the damp space between your home and the river to the south. >search reeds "Eggshells", he said. "You should find two, empty but mostly whole." "Well," you said, "That's easy enough. Hod down the road has a hen, and --" "No," he interrupted with a shake of his grey head. "You've got to find them in the wild places in between, where nobody lives. Not even them. Go out in the hour just before sundown, when they're not quite awake yet..." Remembering, you look at the sky, reflexively. Today the sky is a uniform middling gray. Overcast. You part the reeds nearest you and peer at the marshy ground underneath them, but find nothing useful. >n As you start back towards your home, movement among the reeds catches your eye: A little reed-bird flies in from the riverbank, and vanishes into the green. >search reeds The bird dropped down into the reeds some distance away, near one particularly tall stalk, topped with a flower that's come in early. >x stalk Carefully approaching the tall stalk, you discover the hiding place of the reed bird's nest. The reed-bird goes about the business of feeding its young. >x nest A basket-shaped nest of loosely woven brown grasses. It stands out among the bright green summer reeds, but they grow so thick that it remains well concealed regardless. It's just high enough off the damp ground to keep it safe from most of the crawling animals. Squatting atop the nest is a single, large chick, squawkingly engaged in gobbling down the morsels the reed-bird offers it. The reed-bird goes about the business of feeding its young. >search nest No eggs here. That big chick would leave them no room, anyway. The reed-bird goes about the business of feeding its young. The reed-bird darts away again, perhaps looking for more food for its enormous chick. >search reeds Careful not to disturb the nest, you poke through the ground around it. Your efforts are rewarded: Not far away, among a small pile of the birdish refuse on the ground, lies a small egg. The chick, now fed, resettles itself atop the nest, preening a bit. As it does so, loose feathers and other bits of refuse drift down to join a pile on the ground beneath it. >take egg Holding it, you now see that the egg's surface is webbed with cracks, as if it had been dropped. >open egg Peeling away the topmost fragments from the egg's shell reveals the tiny body of a dead chick, unborn, encased in a veined and rotting yolk. You manage to keep your grip on the shell, just the same. >take chick (the dead chick) Grimacing, you upend the egg. The dead thing and its murky goo tumble out wetly. You turn your head away, not caring to see what becomes of it. The shell is empty now. >s Beach A small bulge of sandy beach, providing a place to stand comfortably and access the river water clear of the reeds. The river to the south curves gently around it. The river flows here, as it always has, clear and cool. >fill egg (with the cracked eggshell) That's not what goes into the eggshells. >fill egg with water You dip the eggshell into the river, then stand back up again, careful not to spill any. >n The wind shifts the reeds, hiding the bird's nest from sight. You still see the tall stalk marking where you found it earlier, not far away. Among the reeds The familiar reed bank behind your cottage surrounds you, filling the damp space between your home and the river to the south. One particularly tall stalk, topped with an early flower, marks the location of the reed bird's nest. >n Outside the cottage Your garden lies in this space in front of your home, long ago cleared from the reed bank to the south. You can see the road from here, and of course the forest beyond it. The doorway to your cottage is to the east. You could also walk around the cottage, to the northeast or the southeast, towards the little clearing you know is there. Something is wrong. >n True, you are supposed to look in the wild places. But the forest? You know what lives there, and they don't need to know what you're looking for. Best leave the forest until there's no other place to go. You realize what's wrong now. It's quiet. You were so involved among the reeds just now that you hadn't paid it mind, but: the cottage is silent. >put egg on ground You can't see any such thing. >take rock You pull a small, round rock from the earth. Amidst worries of eggshells, you find comfort in its solid heft. Taken. >drop egg Best hang onto that. >i You are carrying: a rock a cracked eggshell (open) some water >ne You take a few steps around the side of the cottage, but stop short when a soft sound breaks the heavy silence. A scrabbling, snuffling sort of sound, coming from behind the cottage. It sounds like something alive. The tailor gestured to some mushrooms growing near your garden. "Fairy ring," he said. "These grow where they gather and dance, in the forest, and also where they mean to meddle, in the places we live." Looking again, yes, the mushrooms did seem to have a sort of circular pattern to them. "You musn't let them grow so near your home like this, first of all," he said. "as it makes them bolder." "All right," you said, unsure why his voice seemed so heavy with concern. "I can just treat them like the weeds in the garden, then." "Yes..." he said, and paused before looking at you again. "There's something else." You remain in the garden, and in the not-quite-silence. >search garden You find nothing of interest. >l Outside the cottage Your garden lies in this space in front of your home, long ago cleared from the reed bank to the south. You can see the road from here, and of course the forest beyond it. The doorway to your cottage is to the east. You could also walk around the cottage, to the northeast or the southeast, towards the little clearing you know is there. Silence, especially strange for this time of day, sits heavily in the clearing. >x stones These rocks don't really serve the garden in any way that you can tell -- maybe the keep the reeds back? -- but they look nice. >ne Behind your cottage Another small clearing behind your cottage. You do not come here very often, or anyway not lately. You could wander back into the reeds to the south, or return to your garden to the northwest or southwest. The road lies to the north, and the forest looms not just there but here, to the east, where an old fallen log juts into the clearing. Two standing stones mark the earth here, along the rear wall of the cottage. One, waist-high, stands larger than the other. You hear that snuffling noise again, from somewhere very near. >x stones One of these stones stands as tall as your waist. And then a small one, only ankle-high, but still conspicuous. You hear that snuffling noise again, from somewhere very near. >s eye I only understood you as far as wanting to s the cracked eggshell on. >x small (the cracked eggshell) A small spotted eggshell, its surface webbed with cracks. In the cracked eggshell is some water. >x small stone A smaller, thin, black stone, with the sign of the Eye chalked upon it. ...the dead thing, so tiny, sliding from the egg, out of your hands, into the earth... No. Now's not for that. You hear that snuffling noise again, from somewhere very near. >x larger stone A large, heavy stone, roughly but recognizably marked with the sign of the Eye. The ghost of an ache passes through your shoulders, remembering that stone's weight. It wasn't so long ago. >x log This ancient tree has lain on this spot since you first came here, and surely a lifetime or more before that. Though dead, it's not a decayed thing. Rather, it's part of the living forest, and maybe the spot at which its reach comes closest to your cottage. It makes you think more of the little finger of a sleeping giant, whose body lies vast in the shadows of the wood beyond. Near one end, a half-circle of milk-colored mushrooms bulge from the earth. >search log Tightening your grip on the rock, you peer behind the log, so that you can see the whole of the mushroom ring, and whatever else might sit inside it. You see it. A skinny little man, wearing a... a fur coat, and a spotted cap? It's lying down, right in the center of the fairy ring, damn it all, and its tail twitches as it... oh. You let go the breath you hadn't realized you were holding. No, it's not a little man. Though it is another sort of forest creature, true enough, and maybe no less wicked, in its way. And that "cap" does catch your attention... Heedless of your standing there, the stoat continues lapping noisily at the spotted egg, its paws grasping the shell. >x mushrooms A circle of bulbous, sickly-white mushrooms, growing around one end of the ancient log. They look like malformed little people, their bodies twisted into stooped shapes underneath the large, fleshy caps they wear. Twisted maybe from pain, maybe from laughter. The little forest animal lies within, noisily cleaning out an eggshell. When did this ring appear? Has it really been so long since the dead thing falling out, wet, the earth swallowing it you were last here? The stoat keeps eating, unwilling to let the smallest morsel escape. Clearly, it's not giving up that egg until it's done, and who knows when that will be. >eat mushrooms (first taking the fairy ring) Pluck them up, like flowers? No. The stoat continues its loud meal. >kick mushrooms Grunting, you kick one of the mushrooms, maybe a little harder than you needed to. It bursts easily, leaving scarcely a trace behind. That gets the little animal's attention. In a flash, it vanishes into the wood, leaving its meal behind. Soon enough your work is complete. The ring is gone. It's just you and the silence, now. >kick stoat You can't see any such thing. >x meal You can't see any such thing. >x egg (the cracked eggshell) A small spotted eggshell, its surface webbed with cracks. In the cracked eggshell is some water. >take egg (the speckled eggshell) You pick up the eggshell from where the little animal left it. "Once you've found those eggshells," the tailor continued, "what you do is -- this sounds strange, but that's the whole point, see -- you need to fill them up with water. Then you carry them, one in each hand, like they're the heaviest buckets, you carry them right back into your cottage, and you show them to him." He paused then, but you only nodded, unsure what to say to all this. >s Among the reeds The familiar reed bank behind your cottage surrounds you, filling the damp space between your home and the river to the south. One particularly tall stalk, topped with an early flower, marks the location of the reed bird's nest. >s Beach A small bulge of sandy beach, providing a place to stand comfortably and access the river water clear of the reeds. The river to the south curves gently around it. The river flows here, as it always has, clear and cool. >fill egg with water Which do you mean, the speckled eggshell or the cracked eggshell? >speckled (the river) Careful not to spill any water from the other one, you crouch and fill the empty shell from the river. When you stand again, you hold two water-filled eggshells, one in each hand. >n Among the reeds The familiar reed bank behind your cottage surrounds you, filling the damp space between your home and the river to the south. One particularly tall stalk, topped with an early flower, marks the location of the reed bird's nest. >n Outside the cottage Your garden lies in this space in front of your home, long ago cleared from the reed bank to the south. You can see the road from here, and of course the forest beyond it. The doorway to your cottage is to the east. You could also walk around the cottage, to the northeast or the southeast, towards the little clearing you know is there. Silence, especially strange for this time of day, sits heavily in the clearing. Just as you step free of the reeds, the cracked eggshell in your hand gives way. In two eyeblinks, it collapses on itself, the water spilling between your fingers and the broken pieces of shell tumbling to the earth, useless now. You look up, then, to the doorway of your cottage. Well. You held two full eggs. Maybe that was enough? Maybe it had better be enough. Maybe it's getting late (another reflexive look at the sky, still gray as ever), and maybe you are in the middle of something you don't fully ken, brought about by a man who isn't even here, and maybe you should bring an end to this before it gets any later. >n True, you are supposed to look in the wild places. But the forest? You know what lives there, and they don't need to know what you're looking for. Best leave the forest until there's no other place to go. A night-bird calls out from the forest. >e Your pass over the woven reed mats that lie within the doorway, and then you are inside. And then you turn to face it. "Now, I'm not saying he isn't yours," the tailor continued. "I am saying that the Wee Folk, the Fairies, they do covet our children. They are always looking to snatch them away, to raise them as their own. I've traveled a great deal, you know, and I've seen it. "But I also know the shapes their tricks take. And one they never tire of has them swapping a human babe for a little goblin -- we call it a changeling. And these goblins are always mean-tempered. They cry and carry on so, because they're greedy, greedier than any human child would be." Even his words struck you as the most absurd thing, your hand moved to cover your breast. "But he's mine," you said, unable to come up with a stronger protest. For even now, you could hear the wailing, the din that barely stops, that hasn't in so many months. And a dark, desperate part of you wanted to hear what the tailor had to say. "Listen," he said. "There are tests." The baby looks right at you, still sitting where you left him, of course. No: he's looking at the eggshell you carry. Dead silent, and focused on it, with both of his heavy-lidded eyes. Inside your cottage Here is where you've lived for so many years, a cottage much like any other, a fine place to rest after a day gathering reeds or preparing thatch. Here you have made meals beyond counting, always for yourself, sometimes for another. It contains scattered furniture -- the largest being a table against one wall, and a cradle not far from it. But right now, all your attention is on the chair. The baby sits on the chair, held upright by the blanket you'd tied before you began your search. >x baby Slackjawed, the baby stares at your eggshell with its dull, dark eyes. >i You are carrying: the speckled eggshell some water a rock >take shears You can't see any such thing. >x table Just a simple table, made of wood. On the table is the pair of cold iron shears. >take shears You toss the rock aside. The iron seems startlingly cold as you close your hand around it. >show shears to baby You hold up the shears for the baby to see. But it doesn't react in any way that you can tell. It only continues to cry and trash against the tied-up blanket. >touch shears to baby I only understood you as far as wanting to touch the pair of cold iron shears. >put shears on baby Putting things on the baby would achieve nothing. >l Inside your cottage Here is where you've lived for so many years, a cottage much like any other, a fine place to rest after a day gathering reeds or preparing thatch. Here you have made meals beyond counting, always for yourself, sometimes for another. It contains scattered furniture -- the largest being a table against one wall, and a cradle not far from it. The baby sits on the chair, held upright by the blanket you'd tied before you began your search. You can also see a rock here. >show eggshell to baby You breathe, and gather yourself. Then you hang your arm down, making as if the eggshell is a heavy thing, hard to lift. "Oh," you say, but it comes out as a croak. "...Oh," you say again, louder. "I have brought back the whole river for the potage, and it is such a heavy thing! Do you see?" You then lift up the eggshell, straining, as if it were a pail, filled to spilling. "I've heard different things," said the tailor, "but they all agree that changelings can't abide humans acting strange, and using eggshells in a queer way will always set them off. When a changeling sees such a thing, it can't help but to leap up and declare, 'Crikey! I'm two hundred years old, and I've never seen anything weird as that!' Or something of the sort, anyway. And that's how you know you've got a changeling." "But what would I do then?" you asked. "Once it's revealed itself to you? That's simple," said the tailor. "Snatch it up, carry it out of your cottage, and throw it in the river. Throw it into the river, and its own kind will come for it. Then they'll have to return what they took from you." The baby looks right at the eggshell with its dark, dull eyes. Then it opens its mouth. "Cuh," it says. "C-cuh... Cruh..." >give water to baby (first taking the water) No, what you've been told to do with the water is clear. Best to not spoil it. "And if the baby isn't a changeling?" you asked. "Well," said the tailor, with a smile. "I suppose it won't say anything at all!" "Cuh... k-kkaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUAAAAAAUUAAA..." The baby begins howling, just as it has been, most every day, and most of every day. For so long. But... it didn't start until it saw the eggshell, this time. Does that mean something? Did it... did it work? What happens now? >show eggshell to baby Once again, you hold up the eggshell, acting like it's a heavy thing. "See the eggshell? See how heavy?" The baby continues to wail. >show eggshell to baby Once again, you hold up the eggshell, acting like it's a heavy thing. "See the eggshell? See how heavy?" The baby continues to wail. >drink water The water in the eggshells is not for you to drink. >give water to baby (first taking the water) No, what you've been told to do with the water is clear. Best to not spoil it. >pour water on baby I only understood you as far as wanting to pour the water. >l Inside your cottage Here is where you've lived for so many years, a cottage much like any other, a fine place to rest after a day gathering reeds or preparing thatch. Here you have made meals beyond counting, always for yourself, sometimes for another. It contains scattered furniture -- the largest being a table against one wall, and a cradle not far from it. The baby sits on the chair, held upright by the blanket you'd tied before you began your search. It thrashes and cries, but your knots hold. You can also see a rock here. The baby's cries subside for a few heartbeats, then resume as loud as before. >pour water No, what you've been told to do with the water is clear. Best to not spoil it. >take rock You toss the pair of cold iron shears aside. Taken. >i You are carrying: a rock the speckled eggshell some water >x rock A palm-sized rock, pulled out of the earth near your garden. The baby's wails reach a peak, rattling the bones in your head. >show rock to baby The baby is unimpressed. >throw rock at baby You lack the nerve when it comes to the crucial moment. >take shears You toss the rock aside. Taken. The baby thrashes in its cries, straining against the blanket. >stab baby Blunt, hurtful thoughts crowd your mind as your grip tightens on the pair of cold iron shears. But you stay your hand. Yes, once you may have tried to slap some quiet into the baby, or shake the noise out of it. (Maybe more than once. But surely not much more.) But maybe that's just it. Maybe this isn't your baby after all, but a tricksome forest-creature, too old and patient to take a lesson from a mother's gentle hand. Your head rings with the baby's inhuman howling as a dark thought crosses over you. Could it be true? Could this baby really be a changeling? Is it true? >stab baby The hurtful thoughts press on your mind again. Cold, welcome certainty calms your heart and stills your shaking hands. Yes. Of course this isn't really your baby. Just look at it. Just listen to it, you think to yourself, and catch yourself almost laughing, giddily. As if you've had any choice but to listen, all this time! It is a monster, a creature of the forest, come to play you for a fool, and it did. For a while. But God bless that tailor for knowing what to do. And now you know what you have to do, too. Maybe it would feel good to make the vile little thing pay for all it's taken from you. But you know that's not the proper way to dispose of this creature, and the cost would be too high. Leaving aside the question of whether it's a mortal sin to kill a changeling, it's doubtful you'd see your real child again. There's a better way. The changeling shrieks and cries. >stab baby Maybe it would feel good to make the vile little thing pay for all it's taken from you. But you know that's not the proper way to dispose of this creature, and the cost would be too high. Leaving aside the question of whether it's a mortal sin to kill a changeling, it's doubtful you'd see your real child again. There's a better way. >take baby The blanket is tied fast to the chair, in such a way that it restrains the changeling from slipping out. The changeling's wails reach a peak, rattling the bones in your head. >cut blanket The cold iron of the shears bites into the blanket. It was a hard birth. Not like the last one, but hard. Still, it ended with you holding the babe in your arms. Without words to describe how you felt, what you said was this: Anda. You really hadn't thought of a name before now, and all at once it seemed strange that you hadn't, though you hadn't really anyone to talk to about it. But at that moment you knew it was the right name. Anda, you said again. The blanket now lies raggedly open on the chair, with the changeling sitting atop it. The changeling's wails reach a peak, rattling the bones in your head. >take baby You carefully lift the changeling, cradling it in your arms. >s The only way back outside is the doorway to the west. The changeling shrieks and cries. >w Holding the squirming, bawling creature at arms' length, you walk back out into the windy evening. You wonder how the exchange will happen. Perhaps they already know that their trick is ended, and they will be waiting for you with your real baby. Or maybe you'll come back home to find him asleep in the crib; you're rather sure you've heard of that happening before. Either way, they'll have to return him, once you throw their false child back to them. That's simply how it works. You can't help but smile, looking forward to seeing your child again, as you make your way south, towards the river. *** The End *** Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT or UNDO the last command? > amusing Please give one of the answers above. Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT or UNDO the last command? > quit