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Rumors and Tales

Started by Grevenon Apr 5, 2004 11 posts Locked

  1. Rumors and Tales

    #1
    in this thread feel free to express any pieces of writing of tales that go to certain weapons, settings, or characters. it's all up to you.

    Erda and the Tale of the Ice Caves of Melnor:

    The Ice Caves of Melnor were vast, almost unending spirals and mazes of tunnels completely made of ice. The caves take up the entirety of the largest mountain in the mountains of Melnor, but no traveler has yet proved that. There are still adventurers that seek to find the staff buried deep within in the labyrinth of ice and to unveil its secrets. None of which have ever returned. How the staff found its way into the caves still remains a mystery. Some say it grew from the ice, and others say that Erda the Wanderer placed it their in her dying breaths. Here is one such tale:

    Erda was a nomad that wandered the land in search of magical items and adventure. She had no real family, friends, or quest, only the drive to make herself known in the world. Throughout her days she collected, from what she claimed, "magical" items, but none has been confirmed to have any real power. Until the day she found the caves.
    The sheer ice covered the paths of the caves, which split in every direction. Enormous stalagtites hung from the ceiling, and ice-like flowers sprouted from the ground in all different shades of blue. As she made her journey down the caves, she found spots of ice that would seem to whisper to her. Whenever she tried to find the source of the whisper, it would stop. The caves were a cool temperature that never seemed to change as the tunnels grew their never ending tunnels.
    Time went on and soon Erda found what seemed to be a maze of sheer ice. Voices from the walls beckoned her to them and whispered where to turn. Hours went by as she followed the voices through the twists and turns of the maze. Abruptly Erda reached a dead end in one of the passages. As she turned around, the ice turned into a mirror, as if not letting her out. Erda started to panic and ran at one of the walls. She passed through and fell, fell, fell, and fell, until at last she hit the bottom. The impact of the landing shattered both of her legs; a wave of pain shot through her like cold sword slicing her legs apart and turning her blood to fire. When the pain partially subsided and she looked around, she could dimly make out a pedestal ahead of her. Erda started to drag herself toward it when the voices came again:
    'Erda, The One chosen by the Gods of Ice, come forward and place that staff into the pedestal'. She looked around in a crazy gesture and noticed the staff protruding from her backpack. As if controlled by some unkown force, she summoned all of her remaining strength and plunged the staff into the pedestal. When it was done, she drew her last breaths and died hearing the last words: 'The Staff of Veritas shall be forever protected untill The One shall call again'.

    The Staff of Veritas has never been moved since then, though many people still try to find the lost relic.

  2. Rumors and Tales

    #2
    Its rumored that if a werecat gets bit by a werewolf it becomes a normal person again

  3. Rumors and Tales

    #3
    It is also rumored that the only way to become a vampire is if you are bitten by one and then drink the same vampire's blood.

  4. Rumors and Tales

    #4
    it is also rumored that if a dwarf gets drunk and starts a bar fight, the dwarfs will rally and slay all who oppose them. Actually no, thats not a rumor, thats a fact. I have seen it happen before, and it WILL happen again my friends. Dwarfs are very VERY mysterious creatures. Proceed with caution.

  5. Rumors and Tales

    #5
    Its rumored that if you kill a dragon and drink its blood you will become a weredragon

  6. Rumors and Tales

    #6
    Cast/Mentioned beings:
    Shastalar: The god of the Weather and the Oceans
    Fhalgharod: The Sun God
    Aahr: The Supreme God, The Lord of Time, Death and Judgement
    Tear: The Spririt of Nature
    Lumaratha: The Goddess of Wild Nature, Faeries. Sylvan creatures and Elves

    The Tale of Tear and Shastalar
    In the lands of the Ardamians there is a tale. A tale of the weather god, Shastalar, and of Tear, the spirit of nature. This tale is often told when the weather grows bad and the children huddles in front of the fireplace.

    When the world was yet young and the gods marvelled at their creation, a particular beauty caught the eye of Shastalar, the Stormfather, younger brother of Aahr and Fhalgharod. Amidst the running rivers and the blowing winds, above the forest leaves and the flowers of the plains, there was a dancing spirit. Her hair tossed as the wind blew and the water rushed. How gentle her nature, how fragile her soul.

    "Tear is her name" Aahr said, "she is the creation of Lumaratha, our little sister". But Shastalar heard naught as he was consumed by desire, and thus the aeons passed and the gods grew weary of creation. Yet even as the other gods found new venues of creativity, Shastalar looked back at what had already been done, and his eyes sought Tear, the most lovely being in creation. With a haste born of rapacious desire, the god descended from the starry heavens.

    To a glade full of blossoms both red and white, in a forest filled with nature’s delight. His arrival was heralded by torrential rain, his coming an epiphany of inner pain.

    “Who are you?� asked Tear, wonder in her eyes.

    “I am the one you love!� Shastalar barked imperiously, his voice the clapping of thunder.

    “Yet I do not know you, do not know your name. And as for love, my heart speak of no such thing!� Tear stared at the stranger, wondered at the reek of ozone and the fierceness of the wind, the downpour of rain. It was if as the ocean itself had been trapped in the heavens and was only now making it‘s escape.

    “But you will love me, don’t you see? There is nothing else, for you and me� Shastalar was broken, his head hung low, he ascended the skies, Tear in tow. And they arrived at the heart of Makura, the heavenly cloud, Tear was chained in the heavens above. You can hear her wail when the wind blows by, and when the rain is soft you can hear her cry.

    So it came to be that Tear, most loveable and free willed of all, was chained in the heart of the heavenly skies. And as summer arrives, she stands fair and tall, yet when autumn comes her heart grows cold. Winter brings Shastalar, full of ire, the god wants her love, but succumbs to desire. Her chains rattle, winter winds bring her howl, fear is her child in the winter so cold. Eventually the darkness of winter is done, spring brings endurance and the pain will be gone.

    At this point in the telling, an elder woman will sing the song of the four seasons. And this concludes the Ardamian tale of Tear.

    Edit: Grammar

  7. Rumors and Tales

    #7
    Ur-Kanesh. Rhyme of the Shievren

    This is a popular children’s rhyme in the city of Ur-Kanesh. It is chanted while the children run down the street on St. Arakis eve. The children are dressed in black shirts on this night, a tradition that runs back to the pre-imperial days. The children are “the heralds of death� come to fetch an old crone of the Shievren, a witches coven that has been rumoured to exist in the nearby forest, the Nebelwald, for several centuries.

    Shiver withered Shievren Crone,
    Skin of parchment, heart of stone.
    Cackle miracle freckled skin,
    Will you let us children in?

    Now the forest old and cold,
    Told you stories of the mold.
    Will it claim you or let you rest,
    Let this be the final test!

    At this point the children will surround an adult, which has to give the children a coin to let them pass. Otherwise they “collect his soul� (They throw rotten fruit on him and run away).

    Not all strangers to town cherish the moment when these strange kids dressed in black, surround them and yell demands in a language they cannot comprehend. The experience is not improved when the children bombard them with rotten fruit and run away...

    Note: St. Arakis was a valiant knight from Ur-Kanesh, who ventured into the Nebelwald and supposedly put an end to the Shievren.

    (This was inspired by Halloween)

  8. Vampire Caves

    #8
    There is nothing quite like a blood sucking hole in the ground. Not very sexy, or manipulative, but they have REALLY REALLY big fangs.

  9. Rumors and Tales

    #9
    You know the colony of wererats living under the city? I heard they have a hoard of gold down there - a king's ransom! - from all the years they've spent thieving off us honest folk.

  10. Rumors and Tales

    #10
    The Bridge of Fates
    During the reign of Khahan Deghul there was a lovely princess, Khao-Mei was her name and she was like a rose among daisies, beautiful yet full of thorns. Vain and proud she was, full of herself and contemptuous of others. Still men fell for her heavenly good looks, her perfect shaped lips and her hauntingly beautiful brown eyes. They fell in love and when stumped, they fell in ruin.

    One such suitor was Prince Lehio the Brave, the hero of the Kalthurian war, the slayer of Grund, Lord of Dhalia. He was a popular man bringing cheers and laughter of joy wherever he went. The peasants named their eldest sons after him, the nobility sent their daughters to ask for his hand, and the Khahan himself valued him above all of his Generals.

    Then one day, as the Khahan threw a party to celebrate the conquest of Bloodmoor, Prince Lehio met Princess Khao-Mei and Lehio stopped dead in his tracks, forgot about his followers, a flock of hopeful girls. But Khao-Mei was used to such attention and she discarded it, for she knew not who he was. Later during the feast as the Khahan led his generals and their chosen escorts to the dance floor, Lehio approached the vain Princess, asked for her hand in the dance. “It is Lehio milady, the Slayer of Grund, the hero of the Kalthurian war. Some say he is the Khahan’s favourite and the rumours tell that he was decisive in the Bloodmoor campaign” the words were whispered by one of the Princess’s chambermaids. Her manner suddenly changing, the Princess opened her petals, turned on her charms and the Prince was smitten, struck to his knees by lust and desire, love and foolishness.

    For his new won love, the Prince ordered a bridge built from his home isle of Caoju to the mainland city of Dhalia. And as the flowers blossomed in May, they were married in the cathedral; the Khahan even graced the bride with a private word and a blessing before the wedding. Nothing was good enough for his favourite general the people whispered, and he had must have ordered her to be an obedient and good wife. Afterwards the bride and groom walked home from Dhalia. Crossing the bridge they stopped, kissed deep and all the while the people cheered. Their hero had gotten his fairy tale princess. His head swam, tears fell and the people rejoiced.

    But there came a time when the Khahan once again went to war and the first to be summoned was Lehio, chosen of the Khahan, hero of the people. So Lehio fought. He fought for his Khahan, he fought for his people, and he fought for his bride. Through the swamps of Kandarra he waded, drenched in the blood of enemies, wounded a dozen times. Through the highlands of Keldon he marched, his men tired beyond humanly possible but still carrying on, inspired by their relentless lord, willing to die if such was his demand. At last Lehio won the war. In the enemy capital of Mothanderon he accepted the former king’s oath of fealty and he returned home, happy, for his bride was waiting.

    At the gates of Dhalia the gatemen cried, their heads lowered as he rode into town. Within the city the streets were emptied and only a child yelled “My Prince, My Prince! Do not come!” As he crossed the bridge, the colourful pendants were gone and the fishermen in the ocean took of their hats, lowered their heads. Deeply worried the Prince rode on. Never had he had such a strange welcome. There were no flowers, no shouting maidens, no admiring boys, and no proud and smiling old men. There was only eerie silence.

    Entering his compound the Prince looked about. There stood the Princess, silent and cold. She looked as lovely as ever but something had changed. He ran to her, but she rejected him with a cold shoulder, not even offering him as much as a glance or a smile. Confused the Prince went to his bedroom, but unknown soldiers blocked his way. “You may not enter while the Khahan sleeps” the soldiers said. But the Princess could and so she did.

    Confused, Lehio meditated in the shrine, prayed to his gods, to his forefathers that what his mind told him was untrue. And there came an answer, as if in a mocking reply, the wind brought moans of pleasure, moans he knew all too well. And Lehio cried.

    As the days went on, the Khahan and the Princess flirted openly, walked past the shivering figure of Lehio, even ordered him to fetch them dinner, fruit and wine. Nights brought moaning, the perverted screams of the black bride. At the seventh day Lehio broke.

    He went to the river, cold and torn.
    He walked the bridge, his soul forlorn.
    He pulled his dagger, cried for his whore.
    He slit his throat, and was no more.

    At this time an old man, one who told the Prince wondrous tales during his childhood, walked upon the bridge and witnessed the prince commit suicide, saw him fall into the water. “This is the Bridge of Fates. I foresee great sorrow and happiness. This bridge shall never remain neutral, shall know tears of joy and the blood of innocents”.

    And thus it came to be.

    Many years later it was known as the hero’s end, until the sacking of Dhalia when a fleeing flock of school children was cut down by charging cavalry on the bridge. Then some years later a jealous husband drowned his wife, beating her head violently against the stonework and the bridge was thought of as an ominous place, haunted by restless spirits who floated beneath the surface of the water, staring with dead eyes at those who walked upon their grave.

    Nowadays the Bridge of Fates is the property of the Dancers of Jhalion. During sunrise they dance in ecstatic circles, praising their lord. During sunset they hold hands and chant, praising the glory of his creation. By their will is the history of the bridge told, generation after generation. By their will was this tale brought to you.

  11. Rumors and Tales

    #11
    I have heard by a good friend of a traveler I once knew that the blood of a Unicorn is very potent and magical. That if you drink the blood of a Unicorn you will become immortal.

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