Sons of the Forest — you have been redacted.
Removed from the minutes. Expunged from the official records. The photographs have been burned, the witnesses relocated, and anyone asking awkward questions will be told that the CCF spent several perfectly normal Friday evenings discussing lawn maintenance.
We can’t recall another game we have quit so quickly.
Even GTFO, which is pretty brutal.
There was therefore no tearful farewell to the island, no ceremonial burning of Craig’s latest structurally questionable dwelling, no final salute to the cannibals. Somewhere, presumably, a mutant is standing outside our abandoned base wondering why nobody has come out to play.
Instead, tonight we started Nightingale — a Gaslamp fantasy set in the Victorian era, roughly 1820 to 1914, a historical period apparently best remembered for steam, waistcoats, colonial confidence, magnificent facial hair and inventing an astonishing number of words for being drunk.
A cataclysmic event known as the Pale has thrown Earth into chaos, forcing humanity to flee through a network of portals into the mysterious realms of the Fae Wilds.
Our mission is to become Realm Walkers: survive hostile lands, master the portals and search for humanity’s last refuge, the enclave of Nightingale.
It all sounded wonderfully mysterious.
Craig promptly asked:
“Gaslamp – does that mean Dave is gaslighting us, and I just paid $10 for a game that doesn’t really exist?”
This was, it has to be said, an entirely reasonable concern.
“Did you even read the 10 things I wish I knew before playing article I linked?” Replied Dave, “I even sent a link for a Video.”
Dave had prepared.
Of course Dave had prepared.
Before the rest of us had even escaped through the first portal, Dave was already overloaded with enough materials to provision a moderately ambitious expedition to the North-West Passage.
“But hey the bowler hat makes me look like a right gent doesn’t it lads?”
“More like a right Toffer” – replied Myles.
And with that, adventure awaited.
A Gentleman Never Waits Five Minutes Longer Than Necessary
We started at the regular time, 7:30 pm.
Well.
Myles and Dave started at 7:30 pm.
This distinction matters.
By the time Zaph and Craig joined 15 minutes later, Dave had already backslanged it down the road to adventure with his chuckaboo Myles.
There had technically been a waiting period.
“Its not my fault!” Dave exclaimed, “I waited an entire 5 minutes … that’s a new personal best.”
And, in fairness, it probably was.
The others should count themselves fortunate. Dave is normally capable of hearing the phrase we’ll wait until everyone arrives as immediately sprint towards the largest unexplored landmark visible on the horizon.
There had also been a character creator memo.
Everyone read the character creator memo.
Except Craig.
This surprised absolutely nobody, including Craig.
The first thing you would notice when we were finally assembled was that everyone was wearing essentially the same outfit: coat, gas-pipes and bowler hat.
A small troupe of Victorian gentlemen prepared to stride forth into the unknown, possibly to discover a lost civilisation, perhaps to inspect its railway timetables and complain about the tea.
Except Craig, who had a fly rink.
Of course he did.
Craig doesn’t read the instruction manual.
Craig doesn’t read the quest instructions.
Craig doesn’t read any memo Dave sends.
Sending Craig preparatory material is largely a ceremonial activity, like placing a bottle of champagne against the bow of a ship. Nobody expects the bottle to read it either.
The Abeyance Realm — And Your Personal Muse
Our first proper destination was the Abeyance Realm.
And there we met Puck.
Puck it!
This is now our new curse.
It is primarily deployed whenever the quest log tells us that we must talk to Puck again.
Puck is an annoying Fae mischief character who floats around dispensing riddles, instructions and insults concerning our intelligence, skills and overall fitness to become Realm Walkers.
Basically, Clippy for interdimensional survival.
It looks like you're trying to survive the Fae Wilds. Would you like me to explain, at considerable length, why you're unworthy?
It's like he knows us.
Fortunately, we didn’t get the morbs, so its all good.
As for teamwork, that would still make a stuffed bird laugh.
Nightingale — The Tutorial
Here we are in the Abeyance Realm, an easy realm which works as the tutorial for Nightingale.
Four hours later, we are still here.
But the camp is coming along great.
This is roughly equivalent to spending the first semester of university standing in the orientation hall because someone discovered the tea-making facilities.
To be fair, we learnt quite a lot.
We learnt how to cook.
We learnt how to sew gloves.
We learnt how to make umbrellas capable of supporting our entire body weight, allowing us to leap casually off cliffs and drift serenely towards the earth like heavily armed Victorian Mary Poppins impersonators.
We solved the musical puzzle ruin.
We solved the symbol ruin.
We smashed fractured walls to find hidden chests.
We killed floating wisps for essence.
We built backpacks that allow us to carry more weight, an innovation Dave immediately regarded as less useful equipment and more a formal invitation to collect absolutely everything.
We enslaved allies to chop trees and mine for us.
And we learnt how to use climbing picks.
Well.
Some of us learnt how to use climbing picks.
There were questions.
There was experimental swinging.
There was staring at cliff faces while pressing buttons hopefully.
There was at least one moment in which someone dangled from a wall with all the dignity of a possum caught halfway through stealing fruit.
We also picked flowers, mushrooms and berries, because apparently Realm Walking involves considerably more artisanal foraging than the brochure suggested.
Then we cooked bow wow mutton for food.
Nobody asked too many questions about the provenance of the bow wow mutton.
Sometimes civilisation depends upon knowing when not to read the label.
What Shenanigans Did We Get Up To?
Let’s just say it was rather enthuzimuzzy, with a fifteen puzzle thrown in, and nothing skilamalink.
There were a few collie shangies.
There were disagreements regarding puzzles.
There were disagreements regarding which button operated particular pieces of equipment.
And “damfino” was Daves response when asked how the climbing picks worked.
This from the man who had sent an article entitled 10 things I wish I knew before playing.
Apparently number eleven was climbing picks.
And, strangely for a new game, Myles did not come down with foot-and-mouth disease.
This represents substantial progress.
Usually a new survival game gives Myles approximately seven minutes before he eats an unidentified mushroom, drinks from a suspicious puddle, catches three parasites and requires emergency medical attention despite ostensibly being the group member responsible for knowing better.
This time, nothing.
Civilisation may yet prevail.
Our First Base
Our home in the realms is bang up the elephant.
It is magnificent.
In the sense that abandoned Victorian masonry covered in crafting benches can be magnificent.
We haven’t built a single wall.
We haven’t built a floor.
We haven’t built a roof.
Instead, we simply took over an abandoned ruin, installed our estate cairns and immediately began dismantling everything the previous owners had inexplicably left unattended.
Anything destructible became raw materials.
Anything not destructible became something we walked around while looking annoyed.
Soon the ruin contained every crafting bench we could unlock, several boxes for storage and enough bedrolls for the company.
In other words, we had achieved home ownership the traditional way: occupy an abandoned property, smash the fixtures for timber and declare sovereign title.
At one point we did try to sleep.
But Craig pulled a major macfluffer.
Further details are unnecessary.
The important point is that the beds existed.
Sleep did not.
Somewhere in that sentence lies the distilled essence of thirty years of Friday nights.
How Did We Go in Combat?
We were totally bricky.
We batty-fanged the Boundless.
They won’t be annoying us anytime soon.
There was firing.
There was stabbing.
There were enemies attempting to engage us in the traditional heroic struggle between good and evil, only to discover Zaph had already worked out optimal firing angles and Dave was approaching them carrying enough gathered materials to alter the local gravitational field.
Or as Myles put it:
“The combat is easy.”
From somewhere nearby came the metaphysical equivalent of an exhausted sigh.
“Oh my foolish realm walkers,” muttered Puck, “this is the tutorial, and it's meant to be easy”
Puck had a point.
Nobody acknowledged this.
Was There a Boss Fight?
You know there was.
After all, one does not spend four hours learning to make gloves without eventually being expected to murder something enormous.
Lewis Carrol summed it up perfectly when he wrote:
’Twas brillig, and the slithy tove, did gyre and gimble in the wabe, all mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome raths outgrabe. “Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Which is approximately as clear as most boss-fight instructions Craig has ever read.
After solving many puzzles, fighting off the Boundless and climbing stairs, we finally faced the Jabberwock.
The Jabberwock was a squirmy reptile that teleported around the arena, presumably because simply standing still while four elderly gamers shot at it would have lacked dramatic tension.
It jumped.
It twisted.
It disappeared.
It reappeared elsewhere.
Zaph began shooting.
This dramatically reduced the amount of time the creature had available for interpretive movement.
With Zaph firing, we pinned the creature down, carved our names into its skin and then, because apparently Nightingale has been written by the Brothers Grimm after a particularly difficult camping trip, skinned it for dinner.
Yum.
Jabberwock steaks.
A rare realms delicacy.
Next on our to-do list:
Jubjub bird.
And the frumious Bandersnatch.
At this rate Dave will have recipes for both by next Friday.
How Did the Night Finish Up?
Puck it.
Back to the crossroads to talk to Puck.
Again.
This time Puck explained how to open a portal into another realm, an ability which theoretically means next week we might finally leave the tutorial.
Theoretically.
Then it was back to camp to unload our ill-gotten gains into the growing collection of storage boxes.
Dave presumably required several.
To sum it up:
It was nanty narking.
Tonight’s Campfire Song
Sung by Craig a la Whooperups.
Craig gathered himself beside the campfire, gazed mournfully into the middle distance and delivered an original lament dedicated to Dave and the promises upon which ten Australian dollars had been spent.
The Ballad of Dave’s Completely Reliable Game Recommendation
Dave brought us all to Nightingale,
To chase the dream he’d sold,
Of towers stacked impossibly high
And jumping brave and bold.
He promised puzzles by the score,
And feats above the trees,
Whole Fae realms spread beneath our boots
Whenever we should please.
“A splendid game,” Dave told the lads,
“A wonder to behold.”
Craig checked his wallet afterwards:
Ten dollars lighter. Sold.
Then someone started fighting things,
And someone found a flame,
And sensible routes up the hill
Were clearly far too tame.
We climbed, we fell, we built a bed,
We gathered, cooked and mined,
Then someone introduced that bed
To fire of the open kind.
So raise a glass to Dave tonight,
Whose promises inspire:
There may be puzzles. There may be heights.
But mostly things catch fire.
Did We Learn or Achieve Anything This Week?
We learnt several valuable lessons.
These may one day be essential to the survival of humanity.
Don’t run through the cooking fire, that will set you on fire.
This sounds obvious.
It was apparently not obvious.
Don’t umbrella glide into the cooking fire, that will set you on fire
Again, the scientific method required independent verification.
This means we have now established that fire operates consistently whether approached horizontally or from above.
Puck would surely be proud.
Or leave.
Probably leave.
If you are going to solve puzzles, don’t get them wrong, as that summons the bound, who are bound to attack your friends whilst they are trying to solve the puzzles.
This produced an interesting new tactical paradigm.
Normally, failing a puzzle simply means trying again.
In Nightingale, failing a puzzle can mean that three other people suddenly have monsters attempting to remove their spleens while they are concentrating on coloured symbols.
Consequently, “have you got the sequence right?” has acquired substantially more urgency.
And finally:
Rain napper’s are the quintessential tool
Quite right.
The ordinary umbrella has spent centuries suffering the indignity of being regarded merely as protection from weather.
Nightingale finally recognises its true purpose:
Personal aviation.
Disclaimer
Any suggestion that Dave tried to fit as many Victorian slang terms into this blog as possible is a serious case of the evening wheezes.
The CCF rejects this scandalous accusation absolutely.
The fact that half the post now reads like Charles Dickens suffered a minor head injury in a pub is entirely coincidental.
Achievements Unlocked
Despite four hours spent heroically refusing to leave the tutorial realm, we all learnt:
First fledgling steps
(complete the abeyance main quests)
Dave achieved:
Podsnappery
(put on superior airs)
Myles achieved:
Not orf chump
(perpetually hungry)
Craig achieved:
umble-cum-stumble
(thoroughly understood the mechanics)
This is perhaps the most fantastical element Nightingale has introduced so far.
And Zaph achieved:
Not shooting into the brown
(Didn’t miss)
Which, unlike Craig’s achievement, is entirely believable.
Thus ended our first evening as Realm Walkers.
Humanity remains lost.
The portals remain largely unexplored.
The mysteries of the Fae Wilds stretch endlessly before us.
But we have gloves.
We have several boxes.
We have a ruined house full of benches.
We have umbrellas.
And thanks to rigorous experimental work conducted by Craig and associates, we now possess conclusive evidence that cooking fires are hot from every direction.
Puck it.
Next realm.
Appendix
Editorial note: No guarantee is offered that using any of these expressions in modern conversation will make you sound Victorian. It may simply make people move away from you on public transport.| Slang | English translation |
|---|---|
| Toffer | A suspiciously well-dressed gentleman. Or Dave in a bowler hat, according to Dave. |
| Backslanged it | Wandered off somewhere he probably wasn’t supposed to go. Dave’s default movement mode. |
| Chuckaboo | A close friend or companion. Someone foolish enough to follow Dave when everyone else hasn’t logged in yet. |
| Fly rink | An exceptionally fine or stylish gentleman. Craig’s reward for ignoring the character-creation memo. |
| The morbs | A fit of melancholy or low spirits. Victorian depression, but with better vocabulary. |
| Bow wow mutton | Dog meat. A phrase which does absolutely nothing to improve the dining experience. |
| Enthuzimuzzy | Excessively enthusiastic. The state normally preceding an avoidable accident. |
| Skilamalink | Secretive, suspicious or underhanded behaviour. In CCF terms: probably Craig touching something before anyone has read the instructions. |
| Collie shangie | A noisy quarrel or argument. Four people confidently explaining four different solutions to the same puzzle. |
| Damfino | “Damned if I know.” Dave’s technical documentation for the climbing picks. |
| Bang up the elephant | Absolutely first-rate; excellent. Our roofless, wall-less, floorless stolen ruin was apparently premium accommodation. |
| Macfluffer | A serious blunder or embarrassing mistake. Usually followed by three people asking Craig what he just did. |
| Bricky | Brave, tough or courageous. How we felt immediately before Puck reminded us this was the tutorial. |
| Batty-fanged | Thrashed, beaten or battered thoroughly. What happened to the Boundless once Zaph started taking things seriously. |
| Nanty narking | Great fun; a splendid time. Four hours in the tutorial and somehow nobody demanded a refund. |
| Whooperups | Inferior or noisy singers. Therefore the traditional CCF campfire choir. |
| Rain napper | An umbrella. Victorian technology later perfected as an emergency personal aviation system. |
| Evening wheezes | Foolish evening amusement or nonsense. Any allegation that Dave deliberately filled the blog with Victorian slang. |
| Podsnappery | Putting on airs; pompous self-satisfaction. Dave wearing a bowler hat for approximately thirty seconds. |
| Not orf chump | Not off one’s food; still very interested in eating. Myles, perpetually. |
| Umble-cum-stumble | Thoroughly understanding something. Awarded to Craig, making this the least historically credible phrase in the appendix. |
| Shooting into the brown | Firing into a mass of targets without aiming particularly carefully. Zaph’s achievement was specifically not doing this, because apparently professionals have standards. |
