Start of a transcript of:

Strings
a (bug)folk song by Tabitha and baezil
Release 2 / Serial number 260412 / Inform 7 v10.1.2

(Type ABOUT for information about the game. Type CW to view content warnings. Type LORE for info about bugfolk and their world.)
Inform 7 v10.1.2
Identification number: //B7C0BD35-9658-4EC7-AE67-F4BEC01B47E9//
Interpreter version 2.2.1 / VM 3.1.3
Rideable Vehicles version 3 by Graham Nelson
Hybrid Choices version 7.1 by Aw Freyr
Achievements version 1.2 by Juhana Leinonen

>about
About the Game
Made for Spring Thing 2026. To view content warnings, type CW. To see a list of special commands used in this game, type COMMANDS. For information about bugfolk and their world, type LORE.

Note
This game includes achievements you can earn. Currently, if gaining an achievement coincides with a game-over, using the "undo" option will erase that achievement from the list of ones you've earned. We're going to try to find a workaround for this for a future update!

Credits
Written by Tabitha and baezil. Many thanks to our testers: DemonApologist, Allyson Gray, Drew Cook, Leon Lin, and Rovarsson. Additional thanks to Drew for line break trouble-shooting!

>cw
Includes mentions or descriptions of: predation, non-graphic harm to animals, suicide, player death, drowning.

>commands
Most actions in this game (apart from the basics like "look," "listen," "take," and similar) are accomplished with your bugdolin, and there is a special set of commands to go with it:

 - String X - attach X to your bugdolin (as long as X is a set of strings)
 - Unstring - takes the current strings off your bugdolin
 - Tune up / tu - tighten your strings, raising the pitch
 - Tune down / td - loosen your strings, lowering the pitch
 - Strum - play a chord
 - Pluck - play a single note
 - Play - play music; you'll continue playing every turn until you STOP PLAYING
 - Stop playing / stop / sp - stop playing music
 - Perform for X - play for someone with intent to impress

Bugdolin can be abbreviated as "b". 

This game features multiple choice-based menus; to select a choice, enter the corresponding number. You can still examine, listen, and smell things while in choice mode. To print the list of choices again, type MENU. 

For a location-specific hint on how to proceed, type HINT or GOAL.

>lore
About Bugfolk
As depicted in our first game, Warden: a (bugfolk) horror, bugfolk are bipedal, sapient insects that share a common ancestor with roaches and mantids; they look a little like both. Their shells (exoskeletons) are shades of green or brown, sometimes mottled or faintly striped. They're usually under 2 inches/5 centimeters tall. They have have powerful legs, and each of their four arms has three flexible finger-claws. They have two vestigial wings on their back which they usually cover with a cape, poncho, or shawl. They communicate in a complex language of gestures, sounds (chirps, hisses, clicks), and pheromone signals.

In this world, bugfolk are the only sapient insects. This game is a fable, a song bugfolk sing about a fantastical figure of legend who did impossible things. Bugfolk would find a talking, bipedal beetle (or katydid, moth, or dragonfly) as improbable as we would.

If you're interested, you can find more lore at taterbuggames.neocities.org.

>l
The Foot of the Stage
Beneath the cover of the field's grasses and flowers, the morning sun doesn't yet reach the ground, still dew-damp and cool. A few ants trundle about their business, and nearby a taterbug is trying to climb up a grass stem. 

You can see a tree to the east and a stone chimney to the west. To the south you can smell a lot of water, and there are holes or burrows to the north.

>x ants
A few small, dark brown ants move slowly along the ground, looking a little aimless, the earliest scouts of the day; there's probably a nest under the stage.

>x taterbug
A big one, shell dark grey and flecked with yellow. It's struggling to climb up a smooth stem, though every time it falls to the ground it just starts the climb again.

>get taterbug
You've only got four hands, and you don't want to use one just to bother a taterbug.

>* lol 'only'
(Noted.)

>x me
Four arms, two strong legs, two large eyes, a mottled green shell that's as handsome as ever, a pair of wings (small and flightless but pleasantly iridescent), and a pair of long, sensitive antennae. You're wearing a dashing cape.

>x cape
Woven barkcloth dyed blue-green, bordered with intricate foxfur embroidery.

>i
You're carrying:
  an embroidered cape (being worn)
  a bugdolin
  eight silver strands
  a map

>x b
The gracefully bowlbacked body is made of a shiny green beetle carapace. The neck is a polished oak twig, as long as you are tall.

>string b
A good idea, but that isn't sufficiently stringy.

>commands
Most actions in this game (apart from the basics like "look," "listen," "take," and similar) are accomplished with your bugdolin, and there is a special set of commands to go with it:

 - String X - attach X to your bugdolin (as long as X is a set of strings)
 - Unstring - takes the current strings off your bugdolin
 - Tune up / tu - tighten your strings, raising the pitch
 - Tune down / td - loosen your strings, lowering the pitch
 - Strum - play a chord
 - Pluck - play a single note
 - Play - play music; you'll continue playing every turn until you STOP PLAYING
 - Stop playing / stop / sp - stop playing music
 - Perform for X - play for someone with intent to impress

Bugdolin can be abbreviated as "b". 

This game features multiple choice-based menus; to select a choice, enter the corresponding number. You can still examine, listen, and smell things while in choice mode. To print the list of choices again, type MENU. 

For a location-specific hint on how to proceed, type HINT or GOAL.

>i
You're carrying:
  an embroidered cape (being worn)
  a bugdolin
  eight silver strands
  a map

>string strands
Sometimes a musician is only as good as their tools, and you can't play without strings. You take the coil of eight silvery strands from around your wrist. Many rare and strange strings have crossed your bugdolin, but none was as fine as these. You loop one end of each silver string around the beetle-claw hooks of the tailpiece, threading the other end through a tuning peg at the end of the neck. Some careful tightening of the pegs, and the bugdolin is ready to play.

>strum
You play a chord: harmonious and bold!

>pluck
You pluck a single string; it's perfectly tuned.

>x map



>l
The Foot of the Stage
Beneath the cover of the field's grasses and flowers, the morning sun doesn't yet reach the ground, still dew-damp and cool. A few ants trundle about their business, and nearby a taterbug is trying to climb up a grass stem. 

You can see a tree to the east and a stone chimney to the west. To the south you can smell a lot of water, and there are holes or burrows to the north.

>s

Shore
South of the stage the soil becomes spongy, and the grasses and herbs become reeds and tangled jewelweed. A vast pond, surface still and grey, stretches away into the fog. Just offshore are towering reeds, tips hidden in mist. It would be peaceful if it weren't so loud with frogsong; the frogs themselves are invisible in the mist. 

All the frogs except one; a single lustful peeper clings to the base of a reed just inches from the first of the lily pads that form a path further south, throat bulging with libidinous song.

To the east are piles of leaves, wet and rotten. To the west the ground is an impassable marsh. North is the stage, there's a large stone chimney to the northwest, and there's an oak tree to the northeast. Lily pads lead south over the water.

>e

Rotting Leaves
After an entire fall caught against the base of the reeds, a winter buried in snow, and the warming spring sun, the leaves are now decomposing with pungent enthusiasm, eager to move on. It looks like the worms are helping: there are wormburrows everywhere, narrow tunnel mouths marked by rounded mounds of casts. 

The only way you'd want to go from here is back west to the shore.

>x burrow
These are fresh; you can see the mouths of nearby burrows have traces of mucus that hasn't dried. You know some bugfolk hunt worms by creating vibrations outside of their burrows, luring the worms to the surface. Lower pitches are more effective, you've heard. You aren't hungry yourself, and you've always liked the wormfolk and their tidy habits.

>w
Shore
A vast pond, surface still and grey, stretches away into the fog. Just offshore are towering reeds, tips hidden in mist. It would be peaceful if it weren't so loud with frogsong; the frogs themselves are invisible in the mist. 

All the frogs except one; a single lustful peeper clings to the base of a reed just inches from the first of the lily pads that form a path further south.

To the east are piles of leaves, wet and rotten. To the west the ground is an impassable marsh. North is the stage, there's a large stone chimney to the northwest, and there's an oak tree to the northeast. Lily pads lead south over the water.

>s
Until that greedy peeper is out of the way, it's not safe!

>n

The Foot of the Stage
Beneath the cover of the field's grasses and flowers, the morning sun doesn't yet reach the ground, still dew-damp and cool. A few ants trundle about their business, and nearby a taterbug is trying to climb up a grass stem. 

You can see a tree to the east and a stone chimney to the west. To the south you can smell a lot of water, and there are holes or burrows to the north.

>e

Trunk
The field's only tree is a low and spreading oak, trunk so thick that it would take you several minutes to walk all the way around it. You approach the tree cautiously, staying out of sight of a sparrow singing on the lowest limb. In the tree's shadow the grass is sparse, and every breath of wind scatters spots of sunlight. Near the trunk is a huge fallen limb, hollowed by many tiny jaws and rot, big enough to go into if you need to hide from the sparrow. 

From the branches overhead you hear raspy singing and the sound of drums, but the sparrow is singing too loudly to tell where it's coming from. That could be a problem... Not only is the sparrow dangerous, but the tree is huge. If you can't hear where that music is coming from, you'll wander the branches looking for the musician for days.

Up above you is the oak, and nearby is a hollow log you could go inside. West is the foot of the stage; to the northwest are several tunnels into the earth, and to the southwest is the shore of a large pond.

>w

The Foot of the Stage
Beneath the cover of the field's grasses and flowers, the morning sun doesn't yet reach the ground, still dew-damp and cool. A few ants trundle about their business, and nearby a taterbug is trying to climb up a grass stem. 

You can see a tree to the east and a stone chimney to the west. To the south you can smell a lot of water, and there are holes or burrows to the north.

>s

Shore
A vast pond, surface still and grey, stretches away into the fog. Just offshore are towering reeds, tips hidden in mist. It would be peaceful if it weren't so loud with frogsong; the frogs themselves are invisible in the mist. 

All the frogs except one; a single lustful peeper clings to the base of a reed just inches from the first of the lily pads that form a path further south.

To the east are piles of leaves, wet and rotten. To the west the ground is an impassable marsh. North is the stage, there's a large stone chimney to the northwest, and there's an oak tree to the northeast. Lily pads lead south over the water.

>e

Rotting Leaves
After an entire fall caught against the base of the reeds, a winter buried in snow, and the warming spring sun, the leaves are now decomposing with pungent enthusiasm, eager to move on. It looks like the worms are helping: there are wormburrows everywhere, narrow tunnel mouths marked by rounded mounds of casts. 

The only way you'd want to go from here is back west to the shore.

>x burrow
These are fresh; you can see the mouths of nearby burrows have traces of mucus that hasn't dried. You know some bugfolk hunt worms by creating vibrations outside of their burrows, luring the worms to the surface. Lower pitches are more effective, you've heard. You aren't hungry yourself, and you've always liked the wormfolk and their tidy habits.

>pluck
You pluck a single string; something stirs in the soil under your feet.

>pluck
You pluck a single string; something stirs in the soil under your feet.

>pluck
You pluck a single string; something stirs in the soil under your feet.

>strum
You play a chord; something writhes curiously below you, though a single chord doesn't seem to create enough vibrations to lure it closer.

>play
As you play, something stirs curiously below you, but nothing surfaces. Maybe it would prefer a different pitch?

You jam a saucy little march.

>td
You pause your tune just long enough to turn the tuning pegs, slackening the strings.

You improvise a flat little riff.

A large worm emerges from its burrow, its pointed face probing forward to find the source of the sound. It seems the worm will follow you as long as you're playing music.

>w
Shore
A vast pond, surface still and grey, stretches away into the fog. Just offshore are towering reeds, tips hidden in mist. It would be peaceful if it weren't so loud with frogsong; the frogs themselves are invisible in the mist. 

All the frogs except one; a single lustful peeper clings to the base of a reed just inches from the first of the lily pads that form a path further south.

To the east are piles of leaves, wet and rotten. To the west the ground is an impassable marsh. North is the stage, there's a large stone chimney to the northwest, and there's an oak tree to the northeast. Lily pads lead south over the water.

The worm follows close behind you, fascinated by your bugdolin's vibrations. Its wriggling catches the peeper's eyes. Better stop playing, or you and the worm will both become a snack.

>commands
Most actions in this game (apart from the basics like "look," "listen," "take," and similar) are accomplished with your bugdolin, and there is a special set of commands to go with it:

 - String X - attach X to your bugdolin (as long as X is a set of strings)
 - Unstring - takes the current strings off your bugdolin
 - Tune up / tu - tighten your strings, raising the pitch
 - Tune down / td - loosen your strings, lowering the pitch
 - Strum - play a chord
 - Pluck - play a single note
 - Play - play music; you'll continue playing every turn until you STOP PLAYING
 - Stop playing / stop / sp - stop playing music
 - Perform for X - play for someone with intent to impress

Bugdolin can be abbreviated as "b". 

This game features multiple choice-based menus; to select a choice, enter the corresponding number. You can still examine, listen, and smell things while in choice mode. To print the list of choices again, type MENU. 

For a location-specific hint on how to proceed, type HINT or GOAL.

>sp
You mute your strings with the sensory bristles of one wrist.

The frog turns toward you, preparing to leap toward the worm.

With a muscle-ful scrunch, the worm flees back toward the safety of its burrow.

>l
Shore
A vast pond, surface still and grey, stretches away into the fog. Just offshore are towering reeds, tips hidden in mist. It would be peaceful if it weren't so loud with frogsong; the frogs themselves are invisible in the mist. 

All the frogs except one; a single lustful peeper clings to the base of a reed just inches from the first of the lily pads that form a path further south.

To the east are piles of leaves, wet and rotten. To the west the ground is an impassable marsh. North is the stage, there's a large stone chimney to the northwest, and there's an oak tree to the northeast. Lily pads lead south over the water.

With a short, eager hop, the peeper pursues the worm. The way south is clear!

>ne

Trunk
In the tree's shadow the grass is sparse, and every breath of wind scatters spots of sunlight. Near the trunk is a huge fallen limb, hollowed by many tiny jaws and rot, big enough to go into if you need to hide from the sparrow. 

Up above you is the oak, and nearby is a hollow log you could go inside. West is the foot of the stage; to the northwest are several tunnels into the earth, and to the southwest is the shore of a large pond.

>inside

Hollow Log
Creatures burrowed and chewed their way through the heart of this branch, and you can see daylight at both ends. The inside is soft with decaying bits of wood and old cobwebs and white wood-eating fungus. You can hear the faint ticks and taps of bugs burrowing within what's left of the walls, their movements made louder in this enclosed space. A woodlouse meanders up the curved wall nearby.

>x woodlouse
Flatter and faster than a taterbug and unable to roll into a ball. It's looking for any good bits of fungus or rotting wood.

>out

Trunk
In the tree's shadow the grass is sparse, and every breath of wind scatters spots of sunlight. Near the trunk is a huge fallen limb, hollowed by many tiny jaws and rot, big enough to go into if you need to hide from the sparrow. 

Up above you is the oak, and nearby is a hollow log you could go inside. West is the foot of the stage; to the northwest are several tunnels into the earth, and to the southwest is the shore of a large pond.

>sw

Shore
A vast pond, surface still and grey, stretches away into the fog. Just offshore are towering reeds, tips hidden in mist. It would be peaceful if it weren't so loud with frogsong; the frogs themselves are invisible in the mist. 

To the east are piles of leaves, wet and rotten. To the west the ground is an impassable marsh. North is the stage, there's a large stone chimney to the northwest, and there's an oak tree to the northeast. Lily pads lead south over the water.

>e
You can see that greed-driven frog still lurking near the worm's burrow, too foolish to realize he's missed his chance. Better steer clear so he doesn't try to devour you instead.

>w
There's nowhere to go in that direction. The ways you could go are north, northeast, northwest, south, and east.

>s
With the lustful peeper otherwise occupied, you take a running start and leap to the first lily pad, then the next. They bounce under your feet, just a little (you're very light). The shore and the chorus of frogs fade into the mist behind you.

Island
It's cold out on the water this early in the day. The island is a low hump of rock covered in stringy filaments of green algae like a wet beast's fur. There's a cloud of tiny insects dipping low over it but never seeming to land, and a snail oozing slowly through it. 

Also here is the most magnificently strange dragonfly you've ever seen; it cradles a large banjo in its four arms and is standing on two legs like a folk. 

You hesitate; dragonflies are predators, and this one is huge. Then it turns its two golden eyes on you and speaks: "Come closer if you wish, small bug. I will probably not eat you."

>s
There's nowhere to go in that direction. You could head north.

>play
You strum a flat little ballad.

>sp
You mute your strings with the sensory bristles of one wrist.

>talk to dragonfly
"What is it, small bug?"

1) Introduce yourself
2) Compliment the banjo

>2
[Compliment the banjo]

"You have a beautiful instrument." Truthfully, it's a little plain, but to each their own.

"Thank you," the dragonfly replies, and it runs its four arms across the strings, playing several overlapping waves of notes. The sound is perfect, and as it plays a warm spring breeze stirs the mist, so fresh that all trace of weariness is blown from you. "It is a fine instrument, and I am honored to play it. Your own looks like fine work, too."

1) Introduce yourself

>1
[Introduce yourself]

A good bard makes themself known politely and boldly. "I am the great bard Pik," you say, bowing. "I have traveled on the endless waters and learned the dances of the bugs who live their whole lives on the waves. What is your name?" 

"I am the dragonfly, the great musician of the pond," it replies in a voice, deep and buzzing but otherwise perfectly understandable. "I have not heard of you before, bard Pik." Which stings a little, you have to admit, but you suppose you can't blame it; the world is very big, after all.

1) Ask it to play with you on the stage

>1
[Ask it to play with you on the stage]

"Musician of the waters, I wish to play the moon down from the sky. Will you play with me on the great stage?"

"Play with you? And leave my pond? There are a million million lives here, a million million deaths, exchanging in a wheel that never stops turning, and yet from here, it is still. This place is the most beautiful I have ever seen, and the most alive. Unless you could play me music that is as vibrant as this pond, I could not bear to leave it."

>play
You improvise a flat little crowd-pleaser.

>tu
You pause your tune just long enough to turn the tuning pegs, tightening the strings.

You finger a rapid little tune.

>tu
You pause your tune just long enough to turn the tuning pegs, tightening the strings.

You pluck a sharp little melody.

>tu
The strings are so taut they're nearly humming with tension. Any tighter and they'll break! Better not.

You jam a sharp little march.

>td
You pause your tune just long enough to turn the tuning pegs, slackening the strings.

You play a microtonal little ditty.

>td
You pause your tune just long enough to turn the tuning pegs, slackening the strings.

You finger a flat little dirge.

>td
The strings are already slack. Loosen them more and they won't make any music! Better not.

You strum a flat little song.

>tu
You pause your tune just long enough to turn the tuning pegs, tightening the strings.

You noodle a rousing little melody.

>tu
You pause your tune just long enough to turn the tuning pegs, tightening the strings.

You play a sharp little song.

>sp
You mute your strings with the sensory bristles of one wrist.

>l
Island
It's cold out on the water this early in the day. The island is a low hump of rock covered in stringy filaments of green algae like a wet beast's fur. There's a cloud of tiny insects dipping low over it but never seeming to land, and a snail oozing slowly through it. 

Also here is the most magnificently strange dragonfly you've ever seen; it cradles a large banjo in its four arms and is standing on two legs like a folk. 

>commands
Most actions in this game (apart from the basics like "look," "listen," "take," and similar) are accomplished with your bugdolin, and there is a special set of commands to go with it:

 - String X - attach X to your bugdolin (as long as X is a set of strings)
 - Unstring - takes the current strings off your bugdolin
 - Tune up / tu - tighten your strings, raising the pitch
 - Tune down / td - loosen your strings, lowering the pitch
 - Strum - play a chord
 - Pluck - play a single note
 - Play - play music; you'll continue playing every turn until you STOP PLAYING
 - Stop playing / stop / sp - stop playing music
 - Perform for X - play for someone with intent to impress

Bugdolin can be abbreviated as "b". 

This game features multiple choice-based menus; to select a choice, enter the corresponding number. You can still examine, listen, and smell things while in choice mode. To print the list of choices again, type MENU. 

For a location-specific hint on how to proceed, type HINT or GOAL.

>perform for dragonfly
Before you begin, you remember your bugdolin isn't in tune; that was a close one! Tune down first!

>td
You carefully turn the tuning pegs, slackening the strings.

>perform for dragonfly
You do your best to play a song as vibrant yet peaceful as the pond, but a place this big is hard to capture. 

"Not as beautiful as my pond," the dragonfly rumbles. It inches closer. "But you have skill. Try once more." 

You played as well as you can, which is quite well indeed. Maybe you just need the right strings for the job, but what strings are as quietly alive as this pond?

>l
Island
It's cold out on the water this early in the day. The island is a low hump of rock covered in stringy filaments of green algae like a wet beast's fur. There's a cloud of tiny insects dipping low over it but never seeming to land, and a snail oozing slowly through it. 

Also here is the most magnificently strange dragonfly you've ever seen; it cradles a large banjo in its four arms and is standing on two legs like a folk. 

>get algae
You choose several of the longest strands.

>string algae
First, you quickly unstring the bugdolin.

With a whispered apology to your bugdolin, you do your best to loop a slimy strand around each hook on the tailpiece and then thread them through the tuning pegs.

>perform for dragonfly
The music of the pond should be performed on the most pondful strings, and there is nothing more pondful than this algae. The music you play is green, oozing, alive and wet, slack and slow and slapping, played on strings that feed and are fed the wheel that never stops. The strings break, one by one; you only stop playing when the last has sloughed away, sinking to join the muck. 

When you've finished, the dragonfly rubs its forelegs over its golden eyes before saying, "Most unusual, but I cannot deny that your music was alive. Very well, great bard Pik. I will go to the stage and wait for you, and our music will call the moon from the sky." And then it's gone, flying away in a red-golden flash, banjo and all.

As soon as the dragonfly has disappeared into the mist, the whole island lurches under your feet; you nearly slip in the slick algae.

>n
You jump from the island turtle's back onto the nearest lily pad, which bobs in the creature's wake as it sinks below the pond's surface.

Shore
South of the stage the soil becomes spongy, the grasses and herbs become reeds and tangled jewelweed. A vast pond stretches to the south, surface still and glinting in the sun, bordered just offshore by towering reeds. It would be peaceful if it weren't so loud with frogsong; the frogs themselves are hiding at the base of the reeds or in the water, invisible. 

To the east are piles of leaves, wet and rotten. To the west the ground is an impassable marsh. North is the stage, there's a large stone chimney to the northwest, and there's an oak tree to the northeast.

>nw

Hearth
West of the stage, the remains of a human chimney rise out of the field. It was made of river stones, and most of the tall throat has collapsed in a pile, blocking the mouth of the chimney. Fallen stones have sunken into the ground around the chimney, warming in the midday sun, and vegetation is sparse here. Between tufts of tall grass are low, thick mats of wild thyme, fragrant in the warming ground.  

The stage is to the east; southeast is the shore of the pond and the tunnels are to the northeast.

>get thyme
Not worth occupying a hand; you've only got four, after all.

>up
Unfortunately, getting up there won't be that easy.

>x thyme
Low, dense mats; it's hard to walk through, and the smell is overwhelming up close, but there's not much of it in the field. It prefers open, sunny ground.

>smell thyme
Nice from a distance, but up close it's so strong that it makes your spiracles clench.

>x stones
Round and smooth, very hard to climb. They're pleasantly warm in the spring sunlight.

>ne
At the north edge of the field are patches of bare earth pocked with mounded tunnel entrances, wide and dark. One of these tunnels is ringed in flat, white stones, and from somewhere below you hear a breathy, musical drone. These are mole tunnels, dangerous places to be, but this is where the map says to go... You make your way down into the earth.

Beetleburrow
The tunnel soon opens on a wide chamber. A few narrow shafts have been dug to the surface, letting in a little light. Stringy roots reach down from the high ceiling, and the floor is paved with more of those white stones. In the middle of the room is the strangest stag beetle you've ever seen, huge and standing on two legs like a folk. They're playing an immense accordion, respirating in long harmonies.

A narrow tunnel continues north. Back outside, if you go straight south you'll reach the stage; traveling southeast will take you to the tree, and southwest to the base of the ruined chimney.

>get roots
You gently shake a handful of roots, loosening them from the ceiling so you have more slack but being careful not to break them.

>string roots
They're coarse, gritty with soil and shaggy with tiny root-hairs. They're thicker than any string you've ever played, but you loop each around the hooks on your tailpiece, careful not to break them. The other ends disappear up into the soil. The angle is awkward, but if you tilt just the right way maybe it'll work.

>talk to beetle
"Who is this," they ask in a deep voice. With a mighty heave, the beetle draws the ends of the accordion apart, and it sighs again, long and low.

1) Introduce yourself
2) Compliment the accordion

>2
[Compliment the accordion]

"That is a fine instrument, musician," you say. "I've never seen its like before." 

"A strange and lungful thing, it's true," they says. "Made from mammals whose bodies found their way to us down under the earth. Playing it gives them a sort of life again, if only for a while. I am honored to carry it."

1) Introduce yourself

>1
[Introduce yourself]

"Hello, great musician! I am the great bard Pik. I have traveled the deepest tunnels and, with only a song, soothed the cicada at the heart of the world whose waking ends the age. What is your name?"

"Great bard Pik," the beetle says in a voice as dark and deep as the tunnels. "I have heard of you. Welcome, fellow musician; I gave up one name when I shed my final skin, and I have not yet earned another."

1) Ask them to play with you on the stage

>1
[Ask them to play with you on the stage]

"Musician of the tunnels," you say. "Will you play with me on the great stage? Tonight my love, the moon, is full, and I wish to play her from the sky."

"Bard Pik, I would be honored to play with you," the beetle says. "But I cannot leave. I wait for my child, who has waited too long and is now in danger. I will wait for him until he joins me or is lost."

1) "What danger?"

>1
["What danger?"]

"A mole, the greatest danger below the earth." Their antennae shiver. "My child should have emerged, but he grew too comfortable underground, too afraid of the world above. A mole has dug near his resting place." The beetle points toward the tunnels to the north. "A looping tunnel, through there, and the mole hunts for anyone who enters. If my child were to emerge now, the mole would sense his movement and devour him. I can do nothing against the mole, and my heavy steps draw its attention. I'm sorry, great bard, but I must stay here and wait, for tragedy or for the mole to go elsewhere."

1) Offer your help

>1
[Offer your help]

"I will help! I am small and clever; where can I find your child?" 

They point to the north. "He rests in the walls of the tunnels; the place is marked with a smooth stone. But how will you make your way in the dark?" 

"I have sharp ears," you say. "I'll use echoes to tell me where to go."

"Any sound you make in the tunnels will draw the mole. If it approaches, find a nook to hide in, and it will soon return to its lair." The beetle's voice drops to a whisper as they speak the words. "Be careful, great bard Pik. Be clever."

>n
Before you leave, you gently unstring the roots from your bugdolin, careful not to snap or gouge them.

Sound bounces, and higher pitches bounce better. Your ears are sharp (figuratively; literally, they're just slightly concave patches on your abdomen); if you do this right, you think you'll be able to hear your way through the tunnels.

Tunnels
To the south is the beetle's chamber. The tunnel disappears into darkness to the northeast and west.

>w

Tunnels
The tunnel is completely dark and too wide for you to touch both walls at once; you can't see, and it'll be hard to navigate by touch alone.

>
I beg your pardon?

>ne
You walk into the tunnel wall. There must be a better way to navigate in here than blindly wandering in the dark.

>commands
Most actions in this game (apart from the basics like "look," "listen," "take," and similar) are accomplished with your bugdolin, and there is a special set of commands to go with it:

 - String X - attach X to your bugdolin (as long as X is a set of strings)
 - Unstring - takes the current strings off your bugdolin
 - Tune up / tu - tighten your strings, raising the pitch
 - Tune down / td - loosen your strings, lowering the pitch
 - Strum - play a chord
 - Pluck - play a single note
 - Play - play music; you'll continue playing every turn until you STOP PLAYING
 - Stop playing / stop / sp - stop playing music
 - Perform for X - play for someone with intent to impress

Bugdolin can be abbreviated as "b". 

This game features multiple choice-based menus; to select a choice, enter the corresponding number. You can still examine, listen, and smell things while in choice mode. To print the list of choices again, type MENU. 

For a location-specific hint on how to proceed, type HINT or GOAL.

>pluck
You loop one end of each silver string around the beetle-claw hooks of the tailpiece, threading the other end through a tuning peg at the end of the neck.

The single note bounces, but the echoes are too faint and unclear; if only there was a way to pitch the sound a little higher...

Almost as soon as you've played the first note you half-hear, half-feel the rumbling and scraping of something huge stirring in the tunnels, coming closer.

>hide
You don't need to use that command in this story.

>w
You walk into the tunnel wall. There must be a better way to navigate in here than blindly wandering in the dark.

You half-hear, half-feel the rumbling and scraping of something huge moving through the tunnels.

>tu
You carefully turn the tuning pegs, tightening the strings.

You half-hear, half-feel the rumbling and scraping of something huge moving through the tunnels.

>s
You walk into the tunnel wall. There must be a better way to navigate in here than blindly wandering in the dark.

You half-hear, half-feel the rumbling and scraping of something huge moving through the tunnels.

>pluck
You pluck a single string. The echoes reveal that the tunnel continues to the east.
The echoes reveal that the tunnel continues to the north.

You half-hear, half-feel the rumbling and scraping of something huge moving through the tunnels.

>e

Tunnels
To the south is the beetle's chamber. The tunnel disappears into darkness to the northeast and west.

From the northeast you can hear the shuffling, clawing movement of the mole; it's close.

>w

Tunnels
You've been here before; from here the tunnel runs north and east.

From the east you can hear the shuffling, clawing movement of the mole; it's close.

>n

Tunnels
Usually darkness is comforting; down here it feels oppressive, menacing.

You half-hear, half-feel the rumbling and scraping of something huge moving through the tunnels.

>pluck
You pluck a single string. The echoes reveal that the tunnel continues to the south.
The echoes reveal that the tunnel continues to the northeast.
They also reveal a small nook in the wall, just big enough to hide in.

From the south you can hear the shuffling, clawing movement of the mole; it's close.

>in

Cramped nook
This nook is small enough that your antennae are bent against the ceiling and your bugdolin barely fits all the way inside.

From the outside you can hear the shuffling, clawing movement of the mole; it's close.

>z
A few moments pass.

You half-hear, half-feel the rumbling and scraping of something huge moving through the tunnels.

>z
A few moments pass.

You half-hear, half-feel the rumbling and scraping of something huge moving through the tunnels.

>z
A few moments pass.

You half-hear, half-feel the rumbling and scraping of something huge moving through the tunnels.

>z
A few moments pass.

All is quiet.

>out

Tunnels
You've been here before; from here the tunnel runs northeast and south, and there's a roughly-dug nook gouged into the wall, big enough to hide in.

>ne

Tunnels
Each movement you make seems loud.

>pluck
You pluck a single string. The echoes reveal that the tunnel continues to the southwest.
The echoes reveal that the tunnel continues to the northeast.

You half-hear, half-feel the rumbling and scraping of something huge moving through the tunnels.

>ne

Tunnels
You miss the sunlight.

From the east you can hear the shuffling, clawing movement of the mole; it's close.

>pluck
You pluck a single string. The echoes reveal that the tunnel continues to the southwest.
The echoes reveal that the tunnel continues to the east.
They also reveal a small nook in the wall, just big enough to hide in.

You half-hear, half-feel the rumbling and scraping of something huge moving through the tunnels.

>in

Roomy nook
You're in a low alcove, too small for the mole to enter but big enough for you and your bugdolin. You feel a flat, cool stone under your feet. 

You half-hear, half-feel the rumbling and scraping of something huge moving through the tunnels.

>x stone
A smooth, flat stone, cool to the touch, set neatly into the ground. The pupa must be hidden in the soil nearby, probably in the wall.

You half-hear, half-feel the rumbling and scraping of something huge moving through the tunnels.

>talk to pupa
That's either not here, or not something you need to look at closely.

>x pupa
That's either not here, or not something you need to look at closely.

>x wall
Roughly hewn; you can imagine the beetle risking their life to scoop this hidey hole out of the wall, then running with the mole just inches behind. Your antennae tremble at the thought.

You half-hear, half-feel the rumbling and scraping of something huge moving through the tunnels.

>x soil
You can't see it, but it's loose enough that you could easily dig by hand.

You half-hear, half-feel the rumbling and scraping of something huge moving through the tunnels.

>dig
Your hands aren't made for digging, but you do your best, carefully shifting your bugdolin so it doesn't get dirty. It isn't long before you break through into a small chamber and feel the hard edge of a pupa. You've found him!

You half-hear, half-feel the rumbling and scraping of something huge moving through the tunnels.

>get pupa
After a few experimental attempts (and some whispered apologies), you find a way to use your second set of arms to heft the pupa up by the mandibles; they make convenient handles.

From the outside you can hear the shuffling, clawing movement of the mole; it's close.

>z
A few moments pass.

You half-hear, half-feel the rumbling and scraping of something huge moving through the tunnels.

>z
A few moments pass.

All is quiet.

>out

Tunnels
You've been here before; from here the tunnel runs east and southwest. A nook has been dug into the tunnel wall, big enough to hide in.

>sw

Tunnels
You've been here before; from here the tunnel runs northeast and southwest.

>sw

Tunnels
You've been here before; from here the tunnel runs northeast and south, and there's a roughly-dug nook gouged into the wall, big enough to hide in.

>s

Tunnels
You've been here before; from here the tunnel runs north and east.

>e

Tunnels
To the south is the beetle's chamber. The tunnel disappears into darkness to the northeast and west.

>s
Beetleburrow
A few narrow shafts have been dug to the surface, letting in a little light. Stringy roots reach down from the high ceiling. In the middle of the room is the beetle. They're playing an immense accordion, respirating in long harmonies.

A narrow tunnel continues north. Back outside, if you go straight south you'll reach the stage; traveling southeast will take you to the tree, and southwest to the base of the ruined chimney.

As soon as you emerge from the tunnels, the beetle leaps up, shouting, "You've found him!" They almost knock you over in their excitement, taking the pupa in their arms as if it weighed nothing, playing short and happy harmonies on the accordion. They whisper to their child, brushing it with their antennae, but after a moment, the accordion sighs into silence. 

"He still doesn't want to emerge," the beetle says. "He only knows hiding in the dark, and I cannot make him understand anything I say about the world above." 

If words aren't working, maybe music will?

>perform for pupa
Before you begin, you remember your bugdolin isn't in tune; that was a close one! Tune down first!

>td
You carefully turn the tuning pegs, slackening the strings.

>perform for pupa
As you play you think about the sun warming the soil, the smell of green leaves and flowers, the sound of pollinators. Your song is good, but the pupa barely twitches. You let your music die away. Maybe you just need the right strings. But what strings would make music that would speak to a creature hatched in the soily dark?

>i
You're carrying:
  an embroidered cape (being worn)
  a bugdolin
  a map

>l
Beetleburrow
A few narrow shafts have been dug to the surface, letting in a little light. Stringy roots reach down from the high ceiling. In the middle of the room is the beetle. They're playing an immense accordion, respirating in long harmonies. With their lower arms they cradle their pupa.

A narrow tunnel continues north. Back outside, if you go straight south you'll reach the stage; traveling southeast will take you to the tree, and southwest to the base of the ruined chimney.

>string roots
First, you quickly unstring the bugdolin.

You gently shake a handful of roots, loosening them from the ceiling so you have more slack but being careful not to break them.

They're coarse, gritty with soil and shaggy with tiny root-hairs. They're thicker than any string you've ever played, but you loop each around the hooks on your tailpiece, careful not to break them. The other ends disappear up into the soil. The angle is awkward, but if you tilt just the right way maybe it'll work.

>perform for pupa
What strings would a soil-hatched creature understand better than roots? They make awkward, too-thick strings, but they're connected to stems and leaves that feel the sun and the wind, the brush of pollinators and the scurrying of taterbugs. Creatures sleep and eat and hunt and lay eggs in their leaves, shelter from the winter in their stems, and when those creatures die, their bodies become the soil that nourishes the roots. Your soily strings still reverberate with that exchange and gift and theft, and it echoes in your music. 

You play, and the beetle watches, as the child slowly pulls itself free of its case, leg by leg, freeing its mandibles last. The great musician stands and calls out, "They call you great bard, but the greatest bard would be more true! You have pulled my son from his fear. Tonight I will play with you on the stage, and together we will play the greatest song that the moon has ever heard! I will wait for you on the stage!" And taking their accordion in one pair of arms, their son in another, they barrel back up the tunnel and out to the surface.

>s
Before you leave, you gently unstring the roots from your bugdolin, careful not to snap or gouge them.

The Foot of the Stage
Most smaller bugs are keeping to the shadows as the heat of the day peaks, but pollinators shake the stems, looking for flowers with an almost frenzied focus. 

Up on stage you can hear two instruments, a quiet duet. 

You can see a tree to the east and a stone chimney to the west. To the south you can smell a lot of water, and there are holes or burrows to the north.

>e

Trunk
In the tree's shadow the grass is sparse, and every breath of wind scatters spots of sunlight. Near the trunk is a huge fallen limb, hollowed by many tiny jaws and rot, big enough to go into if you need to hide from the sparrow. 

Up above you is the oak, and nearby is a hollow log you could go inside. West is the foot of the stage; to the northwest are several tunnels into the earth, and to the southwest is the shore of a large pond.

>save
Ok.

>up
You'll be easily spotted while you climb; better wait until that sparrow isn't around.

>l
Trunk
In the tree's shadow the grass is sparse, and every breath of wind scatters spots of sunlight. Near the trunk is a huge fallen limb, hollowed by many tiny jaws and rot, big enough to go into if you need to hide from the sparrow. 

Up above you is the oak, and nearby is a hollow log you could go inside. West is the foot of the stage; to the northwest are several tunnels into the earth, and to the southwest is the shore of a large pond.

>i
You're carrying:
  eight silver strands
  an embroidered cape (being worn)
  a bugdolin
  a map

>string strands
You loop one end of each silver string around the beetle-claw hooks of the tailpiece, threading the other end through a tuning peg at the end of the neck.

>play
You strum a crooked little tune.

>in

Hollow Log
Creatures burrowed and chewed their way through the heart of this branch, and you can see daylight at both ends. The inside is soft with decaying bits of wood and old cobwebs and white wood-eating fungus. You can hear the faint ticks and taps of bugs burrowing within what's left of the walls, their movements made louder in this enclosed space. A woodlouse meanders up the curved wall nearby.

You finger a zippy little walking song; the log's rounded walls bounce and amplify the sound. Your antennae vibrate with how loud it is. This might help you put on an impressive performance for that sparrow...

>z
A few moments pass.

You pluck a peppy little song; the log's rounded walls bounce and amplify the sound.

[Achievement unlocked: Bravo!]

(Command ACHIEVEMENTS to see a list of your achievements.)

>achievements
You have unlocked the following achievement:

Bravo!: Play music for 15 turns

>z
A few moments pass.

You noodle a saucy little ballad; the log's rounded walls bounce and amplify the sound.

>sp
You mute your strings with the sensory bristles of one wrist.

>pluck
You pluck a single note, and you can hear it bounce off the walls of the log, made louder by the curved walls of this small space.

>strum
You strum a single chord, and then feel almost rattled as the notes rebound off the walls.

>tu
You carefully turn the tuning pegs, tightening the strings.

>strum
You strum a single chord, and then feel almost rattled as the notes rebound off the walls.

>tu
The strings are so taut they're nearly humming with tension. Any tighter and they'll break! Better not.

>td
You carefully turn the tuning pegs, slackening the strings.

>td
You carefully turn the tuning pegs, slackening the strings.

>strum
You strum a single chord, and then feel almost rattled as the notes rebound off the walls.

>tu
You carefully turn the tuning pegs, tightening the strings.

>l
Hollow Log
Creatures burrowed and chewed their way through the heart of this branch, and you can see daylight at both ends. The inside is soft with decaying bits of wood and old cobwebs and white wood-eating fungus. You can hear the faint ticks and taps of bugs burrowing within what's left of the walls, their movements made louder in this enclosed space. A woodlouse meanders up the curved wall nearby.

>x webs
That's either not here, or not something you need to look at closely.

>x cobwebs
Old webs, and not the kind that make for good string; these were thickly woven platforms that told spiders when prey was walking nearby. Now they're just dusty tatters, no good for anything. You steer clear; they could easily cling to the long neck of your bugdolin and become a problem.

>x fungus
A mat of white, almost papery fungus growing along the curve of one wall. This fungus will slowly break down the log until it's just wood chips in the soil.

>x woodlouse
Flatter and faster than a taterbug and unable to roll into a ball. It's looking for any good bits of fungus or rotting wood.

>out

Trunk
In the tree's shadow the grass is sparse, and every breath of wind scatters spots of sunlight. Near the trunk is a huge fallen limb, hollowed by many tiny jaws and rot, big enough to go into if you need to hide from the sparrow. 

Up above you is the oak, and nearby is a hollow log you could go inside. West is the foot of the stage; to the northwest are several tunnels into the earth, and to the southwest is the shore of a large pond.

>up
You'll be easily spotted while you climb; better wait until that sparrow isn't around.

>in

Hollow Log
Creatures burrowed and chewed their way through the heart of this branch, and you can see daylight at both ends. The inside is soft with decaying bits of wood and old cobwebs and white wood-eating fungus. You can hear the faint ticks and taps of bugs burrowing within what's left of the walls, their movements made louder in this enclosed space. A woodlouse meanders up the curved wall nearby.

>play
You pluck a folksy little riff; the log's rounded walls bounce and amplify the sound.

>perform for bird
First you stop playing, letting the strings fall quiet. What kind of song do you want to use to prove yourself the superior musician?

1) Virile; copy his phrases and play them even better
2) Loud; no need for artistry if you're loud enough
3) Silly; hard to attract a mate while a tiny bug is mocking you
4) Intimidating; fiercely chopped chords and fast runs will make him fear your talent!

>3
[Silly; hard to attract a mate while a tiny bug is mocking you]

You listen for a moment to catch the repeated phrases in the sparrow's song, then improvise something similar with a rollicking, rocking rhythm, unnecessary slides and trills, syncopated rhythms. Your tune is lighthearted, mocking; even better, it's loud. Your shell rattles as the sound echoes and bounces around the log. It isn't long before the sparrow stops singing, then flies away. Is that a dejected slump to his shoulders? 

>out

Trunk
In the tree's shadow the grass is sparse, and every breath of wind scatters spots of sunlight. Near the trunk is a huge fallen limb, hollowed by many tiny jaws and rot. 

Up above you is the oak, and nearby is a hollow log you could go inside. West is the foot of the stage; to the northwest are several tunnels into the earth, and to the southwest is the shore of a large pond.

>up

Oak
The oak's bark is easy to climb, even with your bugdolin on your back. You follow the sound of drums and singing out onto a wide limb. 

Below you is the field; you can see the stage, the open throat of the chimney to the west, the pocked ground to the north, the pond to the south. Overhead, wasps are humming a working song, busy sisters building their paper nest. The air is shimmering with silk threads as new-hatched spiderlings make long web strings. 

At the end of the branch is the strangest katydid you've ever seen; he stands on two legs like a folk, holding a pair of drums in two hands and playing them with his other set. As he plays he rubs his wings together in a rasping, wordless song, buh-BA, buh-BA, buh-BA-BA-buh-BOM.

>talk to katydid
You approach the katydid, a little cautious of his wild leaps and swaying, but before you can speak he crouches, tapping more softly on his drums, and says with great intensity, "Little bug, do you feel it?"

1) "I do!"
2) "Feel what?"

>2
["Feel what?"]

"Everything, little bug! The leaves are growing, the nest is being built, the entire world is turning, and everything is alive! How have you missed it? We must go higher so you can see better!"

1) Quickly introduce yourself

>1
[Quickly introduce yourself]

"I am the great bard Pik," you say quickly. "I once held back the winter winds for five days with only a song. What is your name?"

"Too many to choose from," the katydid says. "Too much to see, no time to be only myself. Ah, do you see, down there, a grasshopper has just molted! A bee has pollinated a flower! One spider has just tried to eat another!" He points down into the grass with one antenna, not breaking the rhythm of his drums. You can't see anything that small from this high.

1) Compliment his drums
2) Ask him to play with you on the stage

>1
[Compliment his drums]

"Those are fine drums, musician."

He turns toward you, changing the rhythm of the drums, and you can feel the new beat pulse in your shell, down to your soft core. "They've got life in them, bud to seed." Your own shell is brightening, scrapes and scuffs from your travels fading as the rhythm of the drums seems to fill you. Then he turns away again. "Your own instrument is..." He hesitates, seeing the residue left by the previous strings, then continues, " very fine as well. Ah, up there, an eagle; just weeks ago it was half a world away, and now it's come back!"

1) Ask him to play with you on the stage

>1
[Ask him to play with you on the stage]

"Musician of the oak, I wish to play the moon down from the sky. Will you play with me on the great stage?"

"And leave the oak? Here at the end of spring? What could be more exciting that watching everything become more alive? I couldn't leave, couldn't miss a second! No, unless you could show me something more exciting than all of this, I couldn't possibly leave!" He skips away again, leaning over the branch to look at something on the ground.

>l
Oak
Below you is the field; you can see the stage, the open throat of the chimney to the west, the pocked ground to the north, the pond to the south. Overhead, wasps are humming a working song, busy sisters building their paper nest. The air is shimmering with silk threads as new-hatched spiderlings make long web strings. 

At the end of the branch is the strangest katydid you've ever seen; he stands on two legs like a folk, holding a pair of drums in two hands and playing them with his other set. 

>x wasps
They're busy adding to the nest with wood pulp, making room for more grub-siblings. Late spring is a busy time for a small colony, so busy that these first-hatched sisters quickly wear themselves out. All of them will be dead by mid-summer.

You can't help thinking that you could match the pitches of their buzzing wings on your bugdolin. If you tuned down to loosen the strings you think you could even manage a similar buzz. Has anyone ever trained a wasp to harmonize before?

>td
You carefully turn the tuning pegs, slackening the strings.

>strum
You play a chord, four notes, strings so loose they buzz against the neck of your bugdolin. One helpful yellowjacket hovers down to you and pats you, curious and friendly. She reaches out her first pair of legs towards you; take hold?

yes

Where do you want to go?

1) The base of the tree
2) The shore of the pond
3) The dirt patch to the north
4) The base of the chimney
5) Inside the chimney

>5
[Inside the chimney]

You take hold of her two front legs, and then she lifts back into the air. With gentle tugs you guide her toward the chimney; she's strong, but you're heavy, and it feels like falling as much as it feels like flying. She hovers over the dark mouth of the chimney before diving fast into the dark, depositing you with a bit of a bump and then flying back up and out into the sunlight.

Chimney
It's a cavernous space, empty and dark except for a lit candle in the center, thin threads of smoke rising up and out of the chimney opening overhead. Hunched and staring fixedly at the flame is the biggest moth you've ever seen. She stands on two legs, like a folk. Behind her on the ground is a guitar.

>talk to moth
The moth acknowledges you with the smallest flick of her antennae, which is barely a greeting and certainly not polite. 

1) Introduce yourself
2) Compliment the guitar

>2
[Compliment the guitar]

"That's a fine instrument."

"Hm," the moth says. "Made with my own hands, strung with silk from my cocoon." She reaches without turning, listlessly plucks a string; the music is visible, a pulse of cool yellow light that fades as the sound dies away. 

"But music holds no beauty for me now. What could I play that would match the beauty of this flame? Why play if all I make is no more than ash?" Which seems, you think, flawed on several points, though you don't say so. "Soon I will use it to feed this flame, for the candle burns low."

1) Introduce yourself

>1
[Introduce yourself]

Well, even with such a poor start, a good bard makes themself known politely and boldly. "I am the great bard Pik," you say, bowing. "I stole the gilded cricket from the sun itself with only a song. What is your name?"

"Go away, small bug. I am busy." Her voice is a whisper, and she doesn't look away from the flame as she feeds it another handful of scales.

1) Ask her to play with you on the stage

>1
[Ask her to play with you on the stage]

"Once-musician, I wish to play the moon down from the sky. Will you play with me on the great stage?"

"Music is nothing more than ashes to me now," the moth whispers. "If you could play me something that speaks to the yearning of my heart more beautifully than this flame, perhaps I would consider it, but that is impossible. If you were to try, and you were to disappoint me, I would feed my guitar to the flame, and then myself."

>string silk
You would never touch another musician's instrument uninvited.

>l
Chimney
It's a cavernous space, empty and dark except for a lit candle in the center, thin threads of smoke rising up and out of the chimney opening overhead. Hunched and staring fixedly at the flame is the biggest moth you've ever seen. Behind her on the ground is a guitar.

>ask for guitar
That's either not here, or not something you need to look at closely.

>x guitar
A hefty beast of an instrument made from sanded walnut shell and strung with some kind of silk.

>x silk
They aren't spider silk; they're darker, a little coarser.

>ask about silk
That's either not here, or not something you need to look at closely.

>ask moth about silk
If you want to talk to someone, use "talk to [person]".

>talk to moth
The moth acknowledges you with the smallest flick of her antennae, which is barely a greeting and certainly not polite. 

1) Back

>1
[Back]

>perform for moth
Before you begin, you remember your bugdolin isn't in tune; that was a close one! Tune up first!

>tu
You carefully turn the tuning pegs, tightening the strings.

>perform for moth
You do your best to play a song as insubstantial as yearning, as choked as longing, but such emptiness is hard to capture. 

"Not as beautiful as my flame," the moth whispers. "But you have skill. Try once more, if you want." 

If your skill isn't enough, maybe you just need the right strings?

>l
Chimney
It's a cavernous space, empty and dark except for a lit candle in the center, thin threads of smoke rising up and out of the chimney opening overhead. Hunched and staring fixedly at the flame is the biggest moth you've ever seen. Behind her on the ground is a guitar.

>get strings
What do you want to get those things from?

>guitar
That's either not here, or not something you need to look at closely.

>l
Chimney
It's a cavernous space, empty and dark except for a lit candle in the center, thin threads of smoke rising up and out of the chimney opening overhead. Hunched and staring fixedly at the flame is the biggest moth you've ever seen. Behind her on the ground is a guitar.

>x candle
Burned short, the beeswax candle is wider than your arms can reach. It's humped thick with melted wax. Its reed wick is lit, crackling out a thin strand of smoke that runs up and out through the top of the chimney.

>x smoke
A thin ribbon of smoke rises up and out of the chimney, though on closer inspection what first looks like a single ribbon is really trails of particles, strings of tiny ash and vapor.

>string smoke
First, you quickly unstring the bugdolin.

You take a handful of smoke strings, even finer than your silver strands, almost invisible, feeling like nothing at all. Away from the heat of the flame they stop rising, draping slowly over your hand.

It's very difficult to keep hold of something so fine, but you manage to loop their ephemeral ends around the tailpiece, then thread them through the tuning pegs.

>perform for moth
Music of yearning should be played on something that barely exists. You play music clouded and aching, all scattered dust and a rising upward that is never satisfied, a song without resolution. One by one the strings fade away; you don't stop playing until the last has dissipated into nothing but a faint smudge on your bugdolin.

When you've finished, the moth turns from the flame. "What was that, great bard Pik," she asks in a voice much stronger than before. "What was it you played?"

1) "A song of my own longing."
2) "A song of your longing."

>2
["A song of your longing."]

"Only a song of your longing," you reply.

"So unfinished. It's different, hearing it. It should be finished." She bends to pick up the guitar, holding it as if it were a strange thing. "It has been some time since I've played. Do you still wish for me to help?" 

"I have only one wish more dear," you answer. 

"Then I'll wait for you at the stage, and together we will call the moon from the sky." With a rush she scoops you up in her arms and leaps into the air, blowing out the candle with the gust of her wings. In only a few bouncing moments you're set gently back at the foot of the stage, and the moth is gone. From somewhere nearby you hear the first hesitant notes plucked on a guitar.

>l
The Foot of the Stage
The sun is setting; the ground is still warm, but the field is shadowed again, cooling; the ants are making a final patrol, a slug is sliming slowly along the underside of a leaf, a taterbug slowly exploring the base of the stage. 

From the stage you hear three instruments in a hesitant ensemble, the sound of musicians feeling out each other's styles. 

You can see a tree to the east and a stone chimney to the west. To the south you can smell a lot of water, and there are holes or burrows to the north.

>e

Trunk
In the tree's shadow the grass is sparse, and every breath of wind scatters spots of sunlight. Near the trunk is a huge fallen limb, hollowed by many tiny jaws and rot. 

Up above you is the oak, and nearby is a hollow log you could go inside. West is the foot of the stage; to the northwest are several tunnels into the earth, and to the southwest is the shore of a large pond.

>up

Oak
Below you is the field; you can see the stage, the open throat of the chimney to the west, the pocked ground to the north, the pond to the south. Overhead, wasps are humming a working song, busy sisters building their paper nest. The air is shimmering with silk threads as new-hatched spiderlings make long web strings. 

At the end of the branch is the strangest katydid you've ever seen; he stands on two legs like a folk, holding a pair of drums in two hands and playing them with his other set. 

>talk to katydid
You can't seem to get his attention.

>up
There's nowhere to go in that direction. You could head down.

>down

Trunk
In the tree's shadow the grass is sparse, and every breath of wind scatters spots of sunlight. Near the trunk is a huge fallen limb, hollowed by many tiny jaws and rot. 

Up above you is the oak, and nearby is a hollow log you could go inside. West is the foot of the stage; to the northwest are several tunnels into the earth, and to the southwest is the shore of a large pond.

>in

Hollow Log
Creatures burrowed and chewed their way through the heart of this branch, and you can see daylight at both ends. The inside is soft with decaying bits of wood and old cobwebs and white wood-eating fungus. You can hear the faint ticks and taps of bugs burrowing within what's left of the walls, their movements made louder in this enclosed space. A woodlouse meanders up the curved wall nearby.

>i
You're carrying:
  eight silver strands
  an embroidered cape (being worn)
  a bugdolin
  a map

>string strands
You loop one end of each silver string around the beetle-claw hooks of the tailpiece, threading the other end through a tuning peg at the end of the neck.

>play
You strum a heartfelt little reel; the log's rounded walls bounce and amplify the sound.

>z
A few moments pass.

You finger a chromatic little march; the log's rounded walls bounce and amplify the sound.

>z
A few moments pass.

You noodle a sentimental little walking song; the log's rounded walls bounce and amplify the sound.

>out

Trunk
In the tree's shadow the grass is sparse, and every breath of wind scatters spots of sunlight. Near the trunk is a huge fallen limb, hollowed by many tiny jaws and rot. 

Up above you is the oak, and nearby is a hollow log you could go inside. West is the foot of the stage; to the northwest are several tunnels into the earth, and to the southwest is the shore of a large pond.

You pluck a swinging little jig.

>sp
You mute your strings with the sensory bristles of one wrist.

>up

Oak
Below you is the field; you can see the stage, the open throat of the chimney to the west, the pocked ground to the north, the pond to the south. Overhead, wasps are humming a working song, busy sisters building their paper nest. The air is shimmering with silk threads as new-hatched spiderlings make long web strings. 

At the end of the branch is the strangest katydid you've ever seen; he stands on two legs like a folk, holding a pair of drums in two hands and playing them with his other set. 

>string threads
First, you quickly unstring the bugdolin.

There are so many thin strands drifting up that you easily reach out and waft a handful toward you. They're not sticky, but they catch in your arm's sensory bristles.

With a simple knot you loop each around a hook on your tailpiece, careful not to snap them and rob a spiderling of their chance to fly.

>play
You play a tense and waiting tune.

>z
A few moments pass.

You play a tense and waiting tune.

>z
A few moments pass.

You play a tense and waiting tune.

>tu
You pause your tune just long enough to turn the tuning pegs, tightening the strings.

You play a tense and waiting tune.

>td
You pause your tune just long enough to turn the tuning pegs, slackening the strings.

You play a tense and waiting tune.

>td
You pause your tune just long enough to turn the tuning pegs, slackening the strings.

You play a tense and waiting tune.

>sp
You mute your strings with the sensory bristles of one wrist.

>strum
You play a chord, four notes, strings so loose they buzz against the neck of your bugdolin. One helpful yellowjacket hovers down to you and pats you, curious and friendly. She reaches out her first pair of legs towards you; take hold?

y

First you gently unloop the webs; the spiderlings are working hard on them, it'd be a shame to break them.

Where do you want to go?

1) The base of the tree
2) The shore of the pond
3) The dirt patch to the north
4) The base of the chimney
5) Inside the chimney

>4
[The base of the chimney]

You take hold of her two front legs, and then she lifts back into the air. With gentle tugs you guide her toward the base of the chimney; she's strong, but you're heavy, and it feels like falling as much as it feels like flying. With a bit of a bump she drops you in front of the towering chimney, landing on one of its sun-warmed stones to rest.

Hearth
West of the stage, the remains of a human chimney rise out of the field. It was made of river stones, and most of the tall throat has collapsed in a pile, blocking the mouth of the chimney. Fallen stones have sunken into the ground around the chimney, still pleasantly warm though the day is cooling, and vegetation is sparse here. Between tufts of tall grass are low, thick mats of wild thyme. The yellowjacket that brought you here is resting on one of the stones. 

The stage is to the east; southeast is the shore of the pond and the tunnels are to the northeast.

>e
You hear the hum of the yellowjacket's wings as she flies off.

The Foot of the Stage
The sun is setting; the ground is still warm, but the field is shadowed again, cooling; the ants are making a final patrol, a slug is sliming slowly along the underside of a leaf, a taterbug slowly exploring the base of the stage. 

From the stage you hear three instruments in a hesitant ensemble, the sound of musicians feeling out each other's styles. 

You can see a tree to the east and a stone chimney to the west. To the south you can smell a lot of water, and there are holes or burrows to the north.

>up
It isn't time!

>e

Trunk
In the tree's shadow the grass is sparse, and every breath of wind scatters spots of sunlight. Near the trunk is a huge fallen limb, hollowed by many tiny jaws and rot. 

Up above you is the oak, and nearby is a hollow log you could go inside. West is the foot of the stage; to the northwest are several tunnels into the earth, and to the southwest is the shore of a large pond.

>up

Oak
Below you is the field; you can see the stage, the open throat of the chimney to the west, the pocked ground to the north, the pond to the south. Overhead, wasps are humming a working song, busy sisters building their paper nest. The air is shimmering with silk threads as new-hatched spiderlings make long web strings. 

At the end of the branch is the strangest katydid you've ever seen; he stands on two legs like a folk, holding a pair of drums in two hands and playing them with his other set. 

>talk to katydid
You can't seem to get his attention.

>play drums
I only understood you as far as wanting to play.

>d

Trunk
In the tree's shadow the grass is sparse, and every breath of wind scatters spots of sunlight. Near the trunk is a huge fallen limb, hollowed by many tiny jaws and rot. 

Up above you is the oak, and nearby is a hollow log you could go inside. West is the foot of the stage; to the northwest are several tunnels into the earth, and to the southwest is the shore of a large pond.

>sw

Shore
South of the stage the soil becomes spongy, the grasses and herbs become reeds and tangled jewelweed. A vast pond stretches to the south, ribbons of mist hanging low and red in the setting sun. Towering reeds grow just offshore. It would be peaceful if it weren't so loud with frogsong; the frogs themselves are hiding at the base of the reeds or in the water, invisible. 

To the east are piles of leaves, wet and rotten. To the west the ground is an impassable marsh. North is the stage, there's a large stone chimney to the northwest, and there's an oak tree to the northeast.

>e
You can see that greed-driven frog still lurking near the worm's burrow, too foolish to realize he's missed his chance. Better steer clear so he doesn't try to devour you instead.

>nw

Hearth
West of the stage, the remains of a human chimney rise out of the field. It was made of river stones, and most of the tall throat has collapsed in a pile, blocking the mouth of the chimney. Fallen stones have sunken into the ground around the chimney, still pleasantly warm though the day is cooling, and vegetation is sparse here. Between tufts of tall grass are low, thick mats of wild thyme.  

The stage is to the east; southeast is the shore of the pond and the tunnels are to the northeast.

>e

The Foot of the Stage
The sun is setting; the ground is still warm, but the field is shadowed again, cooling; the ants are making a final patrol, a slug is sliming slowly along the underside of a leaf, a taterbug slowly exploring the base of the stage. 

From the stage you hear three instruments in a hesitant ensemble, the sound of musicians feeling out each other's styles. 

You can see a tree to the east and a stone chimney to the west. To the south you can smell a lot of water, and there are holes or burrows to the north.

>e

Trunk
In the tree's shadow the grass is sparse, and every breath of wind scatters spots of sunlight. Near the trunk is a huge fallen limb, hollowed by many tiny jaws and rot. 

Up above you is the oak, and nearby is a hollow log you could go inside. West is the foot of the stage; to the northwest are several tunnels into the earth, and to the southwest is the shore of a large pond.

>commands
Most actions in this game (apart from the basics like "look," "listen," "take," and similar) are accomplished with your bugdolin, and there is a special set of commands to go with it:

 - String X - attach X to your bugdolin (as long as X is a set of strings)
 - Unstring - takes the current strings off your bugdolin
 - Tune up / tu - tighten your strings, raising the pitch
 - Tune down / td - loosen your strings, lowering the pitch
 - Strum - play a chord
 - Pluck - play a single note
 - Play - play music; you'll continue playing every turn until you STOP PLAYING
 - Stop playing / stop / sp - stop playing music
 - Perform for X - play for someone with intent to impress

Bugdolin can be abbreviated as "b". 

This game features multiple choice-based menus; to select a choice, enter the corresponding number. You can still examine, listen, and smell things while in choice mode. To print the list of choices again, type MENU. 

For a location-specific hint on how to proceed, type HINT or GOAL.

>up

Oak
Below you is the field; you can see the stage, the open throat of the chimney to the west, the pocked ground to the north, the pond to the south. Overhead, wasps are humming a working song, busy sisters building their paper nest. The air is shimmering with silk threads as new-hatched spiderlings make long web strings. 

At the end of the branch is the strangest katydid you've ever seen; he stands on two legs like a folk, holding a pair of drums in two hands and playing them with his other set. 

>hint
You need to play something that's as exciting as, well... everything.

>perform for katydid
You loop one end of each silver string around the beetle-claw hooks of the tailpiece, threading the other end through a tuning peg at the end of the neck.

You play as well as you ever have, and your song is full of life, but no one can fit everything into one song. The katydid doesn't stop to listen, doesn't even seem to notice that you're playing. 

If your skill isn't lacking, maybe you just need the right strings. But what string could carry the weight of everything? Maybe you should find strings that could carry anything instead...

>string webs
First, you quickly unstring the bugdolin.

There are so many thin strands drifting up that you easily reach out and waft a handful toward you. They're not sticky, but they catch in your arm's sensory bristles.

With a simple knot you loop each around a hook on your tailpiece, careful not to snap them and rob a spiderling of their chance to fly.

>perform for katydid
There isn't much tension in these thin webs, and your song is quiet, but it hums with the excitement and fear of the moment just before a decision, with the immense chaos of the world that makes everything that exists improbable, everything that doesn't possible. 

The katydid watches you, letting his drums fall quiet. You play without trying to find an end to your song, play until one by one the strings grow long enough to lift their spiderlings up and away. Finally you slip the last web string from your bugdolin and let your song go with it. 

"Not knowing," the katydid says slowly. "A new kind of excitement." After a moment he slaps the drums, ba-BOM! "What a gift, tiny bard! In thanks, I will play with you tonight!" He leaps to the trunk, calling out, "If you need any help getting out of the tree, or going anywhere else hard to reach, ask my neighbors!" He points to the wasp nest over your head, and then he's gone.

The stage is set! All that's left is to climb the stage and perform for the moon!

>d

Trunk
In the tree's shadow the grass is sparse, and every breath of wind scatters spots of sunlight. Near the trunk is a huge fallen limb, hollowed by many tiny jaws and rot. 

Up above you is the oak, and nearby is a hollow log you could go inside. West is the foot of the stage; to the northwest are several tunnels into the earth, and to the southwest is the shore of a large pond.

>w

The Foot of the Stage
It's night, almost entirely dark under the cover of the field's growth. You feel your way through deep shadows by touch and smell and sound, moving carefully to avoid the many small creatures--taterbug herds, slugs--that are emerging for the dewfall. From atop the stage you hear the unmistakable sliding notes of musicians tuning their instruments in sync, and the moon is high and bright overhead. It's time to climb the stage and perform!

>up

The Spring Stage
You climb up over the edge of the stage. It's an almost perfectly flat stone, wide enough for dozens of bugfolk. The moon is high, though she's long passed the peak of her arc; her light is tinting everything blue-silver. All four of the great musicians are here, tuning, quietly practicing, assembled in a circle with a single space left for you. The former pupa is here, too, standing near the beetle and looking overwhelmed to be alive. The beetle waves, and even the dragonfly nods a hello as you take your place.

>play
You loop one end of each silver string around the beetle-claw hooks of the tailpiece, threading the other end through a tuning peg at the end of the neck.

You play a heartfelt little walking song.

>z
A few moments pass.

You finger a melodious little tune.

>z
A few moments pass.

You noodle a heartbreaking little jig.

>perform for moon
First you stop playing, letting the strings fall quiet. Finally you stand with the four musicians, all of them much taller than you. With the sun finally set, your silver strands, strings made from moonlight, gleam bright and clear, spotlighting the five of you. "You should start," the dragonfly says to you. The katydid slaps his drums twice, saying, "We're here because of you. Lead us, little bard!" 

So you do, and then one by one each of the musicians joins you, and it only takes a moment for each instrument to become a part of a single tune. No song can hold everything, but this one is full of your cleverness, your admiration, your appreciation for each musician who plays with you. The dragonfly's banjo weaves notes in and around your melody, drawing clouds of night bugs to fly low and dance around you and worms to wriggle up from the earth and writhe in the grass. The katydid's drums guide you all, carrying the rhythm of the song, and each beat straightens bent stems, refreshes wilted leaves, and the rich, green smell of the field rises around you. You can't cry, but the moth's guitar is so sweet and warm it makes you want to weep; with each note she plays, lights bloom around you, fading slowly. The beetle harmonizes, swaying as they pump the bellows of their accordion, and as they play ghostly shapes flicker in and out of existence, echoes of creatures long-gone and buried underground, familiar and ancient beyond comprehension.  

When it feels right, you end your song, your final ornamentation falling quiet, each of you leaning forward in hope and anticipation.

  ([[[[){ 

And she comes down from the sky, and the stars follow, each a shining white moth, circling her like a halo. Her shape slowly grows clearer, her light brighter, until she's hanging in the air just above you, the moon moth herself come down from the sky. Her antennae and face are a soft gold, eyes black as the new moon. She's gorgeously fat, body furred in silver, thick arms in burgundy. Her cloak-wings, cool green, end in trailing tails. She takes you all in, her gaze landing on you as she says, "Pik, you never returned my strings." Which is true, but not what you hoped she'd start with.

1) Return the silver strands
2) Pointedly gesture to your fellow musicians

>1
[Return the silver strands]

You unstring the gleaming strands from your bugdolin, bundling them in a neat coil and then tossing them up into the air as hard as you can manage. At the peak of their arc her gravity catches them, and instead of falling they start to circle her. She continues to look at you, stern. 

"I took very good care of them?" You didn't mean it to come out like a question, but you shrink under her heavy gaze. The beetle surreptitiously reaches to pat your back. Then she thaws, laughing despite herself, a fresh wind that sweeps the grass, every stem flashing silver. 

"You have, and you've been very clever with them, and it's annoying because I can't manage to be upset with you." She stretches out her coiled mouthpart to give you a gentle probos-kiss right between your eyes, her glow shading slightly pink. "Though I wish you'd taken the same care of your instrument." She points to the smudges that still streak the top and neck of your bugdolin.

1) Pointedly gesture to your fellow musicians

>1
[Pointedly gesture to your fellow musicians]

"Ah, of course. Players," she says, turning to your fellow musicians, all of whom seem a little shocked and overawed. "Truly, no one in this world has played with greater skill for many ages." She looks at each of them, ending (a little confused) with the newly-emerged beetle. "I will treasure your song forever. Wherever you walk in my light, you will not be harmed by any creature. Even this one," she says, pointing at the new-beetle. Then her strings complete a full circuit, hovering past her face, and she plucks them from her orbit, saying, "I've missed these. I've had to borrow strings from other moons whenever I want to play, and it's not the same. And I've missed you, my little bard, but I can't stay. I'm in the middle of setting, and the tides are already late."

1) Ask her to take you with her
2) Ask her to stay

>1
[Ask her to take you with her]

"My moon, I've had every kind of adventure the world could show me, and I've played every kind of music that the world could teach," you say. "And I miss you! Take me with you!" 

"Pik, you have no wings," she says. (Which isn't true, you're very proud of two entirely flightless wings, but you take her point.) "And what will you do while I'm rising and setting and leading the stars back and forth?" She gestures to the star-moths, who by this point have been joined by several hundred very confused earthly moths. 

"You can carry me! You're very strong. I'll make you laugh while you work. You won't need to carry me forever; I'm never bored for very long. I'll find adventures of my own, and we won't be so far away!" 

"Oh, the things you'd get into up there," she says, but she's laughing. "Alright, yes, come with me. But quickly!" 

You leap into the air, as high as you can, and you feel her gravity catch you. "Thank you," you call to the musicians as you float away. The katydid and the beetle are laughing, the dragonfly is waving, the moth is gazing after you, smiling a little sadly. 

Then the moon draws you into her soft fur, asking, "But what will you play with now that I have my strings again?" 

"Oh, I'll find something," you say. And you do, in your many adventures across the skies; but those are their own songs. For the rest of that night you rest in the cool, soft fur of the moon, watching the world turn below you, and it is the perfect end to this one.



    *** The End ***


You unlocked 1 achievement out of 12.


Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT, UNDO the last command, or list your ACHIEVEMENTS?
> undo
The Spring Stage
[Previous turn undone.]

>undo
The Spring Stage
[Previous turn undone.]

>l
The Spring Stage
A flat stone that almost glows with the brightness of the moon's light.

>up
That command isn't available in choice mode.

>2
There is no choice corresponding to that number.

>1
[Pointedly gesture to your fellow musicians]

"Ah, of course. Players," she says, turning to your fellow musicians, all of whom seem a little shocked and overawed. "Truly, no one in this world has played with greater skill for many ages." She looks at each of them, ending (a little confused) with the newly-emerged beetle. "I will treasure your song forever. Wherever you walk in my light, you will not be harmed by any creature. Even this one," she says, pointing at the new-beetle. Then her strings complete a full circuit, hovering past her face, and she plucks them from her orbit, saying, "I've missed these. I've had to borrow strings from other moons whenever I want to play, and it's not the same. And I've missed you, my little bard, but I can't stay. I'm in the middle of setting, and the tides are already late."

1) Ask her to take you with her
2) Ask her to stay

>2
[Ask her to stay]

"My moon, I miss you! It's been so long since I've seen you. Stay a little longer, just one night. We can play music together! You work too hard." 

She runs a finger over the coil of strings. "It has been a long time," she says to herself. You look at the beetle, flicking your antennae toward the moon. 

"Oh, uh, your... radiance? It would be the greatest honor of our lives if you would play with us." The dragonfly and katydid nod their antennae, and the moth murmurs, "The greatest honor." 

She shrugs her cloak-wings up and around her; her glow lessens and tints green, and she turns to the star-moths, shouting, "Go on, you're free for a night! Listen out for bats, don't go too far!" The stars scatter back into the sky, wandering and out of order. "This will be such a headache tomorrow," she says, but she's laughing, and with a flash she pulls her moondola from under her cloak and begins to string it. "What will you play, my love?" 

"I'm sure I'll think of something," you say, and you do. You all play, long into the night, and with the moon out of the sky the night lasts for many weeks, the world is thrown into disarray, and the star-moths are stolen and lost, and it will be years before the world and the sky are set to right; but all of that is another song. For tonight, in your love's green glow, you play music more beautiful and strange than was ever played before or has ever been played since, and it is the perfect end to this one.



    *** The End ***


You unlocked 1 achievement out of 12.


Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT, UNDO the last command, or list your ACHIEVEMENTS?
>