Part 439: Contest 1
Thus Ends the King of Dragon Pass Contest A big special thanks to everybody who participated, poets, artists and storytellers alike. Below in this massive post please find the entries. If I have neglected your particular entry and somehow missed it, then I do apologize. Just let me know and I'll add you in as one of the contestants.
Without further ado...
Master Poet Bobbin Threadbare got the ball rolling with an excellent ballad of the Stormriders:
Bobbin Threadbare posted:
Slammin' the poetry down!
Skalds shall sing our song,
Of tests and torments true,
Stormriders, Pharaoh’s foes,
Windslayers weary,
Kings of Dragon Pass.
Elmal’s allies we,
On Orlanth’s wedding day.
Humakt hallows our hands,
With dreadful Death we face our foes,
The elder elves do fear our forms.
Chaos cursed our clan,
“Bad Luck Clan” they call.
Still our fields fill.
We will weather weakness,
Clouds shall climb, but cannot kill.
Tribal talks we took,
Eurmali will yearn for years.
Our fitting fate is fortune,
The future fixed for fame.
The clan is Kerro’s kin.
Few feud who do not feel
The Storm’s steel sword,
Our righteous red wrath.
Just one wisdom we withhold:
Elmal Guards the Stead.
And shortly after, Geokinesis added Jorator's own little ditty to the mix:
Geokinesis posted:
:
"We are an Elmali clan" I say,
Pretending day after day.
I really love Broos,
And saying "Fuck you!"s,
To Uroxi that come round our way.
My Dad gave us the inside scoop on what happened to our first trickster...
my dad posted:
Let's see... Mushrooms, mushrooms, beer, engravings of cheese, renditions of engravings of cheese, engravings of dwarves trampled by elephants set on fire, magma pipelines, a middle finger shaped lever... I actually like that last one. Wait, what's that noise?
Better put my disguise back on.
Of course I was right to ridicule him. He knocked up a six titted troll woman. Twice. What kind of a Humakti is that?
What, feeling jealous?
TO: Drunken Uroxi Buffoon
AT: Pile Of Vomit In Some Clan Hall
Attached to this message is the evidence of chaos in the "Bad Luck Clan" I expect you to take appropriate action.
A Concerned Citizen
While a successful 15 cows sacrifice to Precambrian gave us the details into the founding of the Stormrider clan (along with a bonus Vostangi edition):
Precambrian posted:
THE FOUNDING OF OUR CLAN
In a Great Time Before, there was much our people did not know. Though we had survived under King Heort, there was much confusion about our place and what was the right thing to do. Much as other clans, our ancestors turned to the gods to learn their wisdom and establish our traditions, but our route was a much more difficult one.
It all began with the Knowing God, Lhankor Mhy, who struggled to understand the Truth he had gathered. Amongst the other gods, the Truth was hard to discern, as Issaries would try to bargain it away, and Storm Bull would try to eat it. Crying out that it was an impossible task to understand the Truth amongst such people, the Knowing God went off into a secret cave to meditate upon the Truth and draw up a way for people to live right, know things, and be less stupid.
But the cave he went to was one frequented by Eurmal, the Stickpicker. “Away with you, Fool,” Lhankor Mhy cried out, “I have no time for your japes!” “But wait, oh Bearded One,” replied the Trickster, “I have come to warn you of the dwarves! I have just visited them to see if their women have beards! They do, but now they are after me! You must run!” But the Knowing God was unimpressed. “Do you think me as foolish as yourself? Begone!” And so Eurmal scampered away as Lhankor Mhy pondered the truth.
But the Trickster had spoken the truth, and the Dwarves quickly set upon Lhankor Mhy and threw an iron cage upon him. Despite every precedent and statute the god knew that forbid this unlawful detainment and restriction of his person, the Knowing God could not outwit the cage that contained him. He cursed the darkness, until he heard another approach.
It was Eurmal. “Oh, Graybeard, what could have done this to you! What unforeseeable foe could have ambushed your great personage! I shall warn Orlanth, but what is the use? Surely no warning could prepare us for such-” “Shut up, Trickster, and let me out.”
But with this, Eurmal cracked a large, wicked grin, a grin that revealed his most wicked and delightful glee. “I shall let you out, Wise One, but only if you will promise me a favor.” “I cannot oppose your-” “And I want it to be exactly what I have requested! Swear to it upon Humakt and Ernalda!” Seeing no other option, Lhankhor Mhy agreed to give Eurmal exactly what he requested and swore oaths to Humakt and Ernalda. Upon his agreement, Eurmal began insulting the cage, with mockery so severe that the cage was forced to admit that it was a shoddy example of a cage and could not bar a man’s passage any more than it’s mother could “bar a man’s passage”, as Eurmal mocked. It sprang open, and Lhankhor Mhy was freed.
“Now, as for my promise,” the Stickpicker began, “I demand a clan.” “Unthinkable!” sputtered the Knowing God, “This is a most unprecedented, clan formation is dictated by the laws set down in-” “Ah, then,” said the Trickster, “I wonder what Humakt, or should I say, Humakt’s sword would have to say about this.”
For once, the Lawspeaker had no words. He clamped his jaw down and nodded his acquiescence to the deal. Eurmal was overjoyed, and called together all the gods. “The Bearded God has a very important announcement. Very important, and this one isn’t a joke like the last three times.” But Lhankor Mhy was a clever god of Law, who knew that things were never quite as clear as they may seem to others. “Why yes, I have found a home for the Storm Rider clan. They shall stand…” he smiled smugly towards the elated Trickster, “with Elmal Horsefriend”
Eurmal shook with such a rage he was unable to speak. He had to bind his body with leather straps and put an iron clamp upon his jaw before he could contain his anger. “You deceived me, before Humakt and Ernalda, you deceived me!” “Not quite!” The Lawspeaker quickly rebutted, mindful of grim Humakt’s sword, “Though the Storm Riders shall stand watch with Elmal and be a clan known as his, all will know that, in truth, they are your clan, Trickster. They shall be as you are, and their decisions will honor you far more than they shall ever honor their true patron.”
Though Humakt knew that he could not best the Knowing God on the matter of the Law, he was still angered by the abuse of his oath, and swore, “That may be so, Graybeard, and you have saved yourself much today. But know this- my favor shall never truly be with these “Storm Riders”. I may bless them some days, but they must always be wary in war. They shall lose battles with every advantage, as a great warning to all who believe they can outspeak their own words.” With this the grim keeper of Death stalked away. Ernalda, too, was angered by this abuse, and placed her curse upon the Clan. But Ernalda is ever the mother of all, and her mercy tempered her curse, so that she would never fully abandon the Storm Riders when they called upon her. But Issaries, alone amongst the gods, saw the good humor in the situation. “I see, Oh Wise One, that you know your side of the bargain table! I would have offered my help, but it seems that you have hidden a great haggler within you! I will favor this clan, so that this story may be spread down every road they travel, in every market they visit!”
At last, every god had left the moot, save for Eurmal, Elmal, and Chalana Arroy. Eurmal, his anger calmed by his new toy, rejoiced over his good fortune, proclaiming out loud his plans for the future. “They shall be a peace clan- no! War, all the time! And collect many treasures! Oh, no, I have it! A lump of dirt for their tribal regalia! I am so smart!” And so on and so on, as the Horsefriend and Healer solemnly discussed the future of our clan. “They shall have much hardship,” foresaw Chalana Arroy, “for they do not control their own destiny.” “Your insight is wise,” Elmal agreed, “and so I shall give them my steadfastness and count them among my clans, even if they never request it, even if they never honor me.”
The Vostangi Version
"Ahem, Once upon a time there was this clan that was soooo dumb and sooooo stupid that nobody wanted anything to do with them. So this big dumb baby clan started whining and crying until Elmal finally accepted them under his roof, just to shut them up. And so they have remained, big gay babies unto this day."
Geokinesis takes a hard line against Garstali worshipers from Mystic Mongol's LP.
Geokinesis posted:
Tricksters are overrated.
I'm an Eurmal worshipper you see,
So the goons all fawn over me,
When I do tricks,
They start rubbing their dicks,
And go on about Garstal from the other LP.
Somebody's SlothfulCobra gives us an insider's account of the Chaos Cultists within our clan...
SlothfulCobra posted:
Yes, my lord. A great beast would do well to spread chaos. Wait-what's that I hear?
J-Jorator! What are you doing in this secluded part of the forest?
I...uh...
Don't worry, Jorator. I'm a chaos cultist as well.
I...uh...
You can't stop me. I'm stronger than the two of you put together.
Damn! They've already fled! I swear to Orlanth, I'll find these chaos cultists and put them down, even if I have to fly all the way back to Heortland to do it!
My Dad makes another entry, complete with hot warriors.
my dad posted:
And so Humakt claims his due. It's a proof of their nobility that they accepted their fate bravely and with faith, like a true Orlanthi should.
I hate funerals. I know they were old and died peacefuly, but still I feel sorry for being unable to help them live longer. Jorator was a wise leader and Elmalandti was like a father to us all.
SPIRIT PLANE
I sense someone coming. I guess we'll find out soon.
Welcome, noble warriors. Welcome to the spirit world. You have made Storm Rider proud and can now enjoy the rewards of your heroic lives.
Meanwhile WhitemageofDOOM shows us some cut content.
WhitemageofDOOM posted:
Youths of your clan are reenacting the battle of three hills, where harver killed or injured three score vostangi. One of the boys is dressed as harver and seeks secrets of the death rune from this hero quest.
- Remind the youths of the dangers of hero quests
- Praise the youths for honoring a revered ancestor
- Make it a contest, reward the youth who shows the most skill and daring
- Allow your clan magician to assist in the quest
- "This is not a matter for the clan ring"
Harver served the clan well for many years, to have a man follow in his footsteps would be a blessing.
Not all hero quests are done by entire clans, individuals can perform hero quests to lesser figures than the gods.
Though heroquests are rewarding, they can also be dangerous.
I don't have anything to say about this.
Do we really need more warriors?
Sharpest Crayon puts in the first original artwork:
Sharpest Crayon posted:
So here's how I imagine the battle went down with Harvar and the chaosbeast.
There's no way you'll convince me the single weaponthane wasn't pissing his pants somewhere while Harvar beat chunks off the thing with a rusty spoon.
WhitemageofDOOM follows up this amazing art with a quick story.
WhitemageofDOOM posted:
Zagglezig jumps on the Poetry Train:
Zagglezig posted:
Eesh, I catch up and start a contest entry and by the time I'm done there's an awesome picture and two updates.
Go with the poem. We've already lost one trickster to trying to take someone's stuff.
Come gather round lis'ners, my tale receive
Of a clan that, post founding, could not find reprieve
From Chaos, nor raiders, nor angering gods
But rode out the storm and bested the odds
Stormrider, their luck was so poor
It's shocking they didn't become piles of gore
Stormrider, we see them today
Each season of Fire, attacking Blue Jay
In raids that they made and ones that were sent
Their livestock were stolen. Their soldiers were rent
The men lost their lives on those fields of war
The widows thrice claimed they would have no more
Stormrider, they suffered fate's forge
With each passing blow, more blood they disgorged
Stormrider, they weathered the pain
Now it is their enemies fortunes they strain
A creature of chaos invaded their lands
And would not be stopped by any man's hands
On cattle and horses it gorged with free reins
And left filled with a belly full of seventeen thanes
Stormrider, the creature returns
A taste, now, for children and zero concerns
Stormrider, no help from the clans
Defeated the beast with two Urox, one man
Stormrider, their hero quest failed
All our maps scrambled til Issaries was hailed
Stormrider, their treasures would break
Now relics aplenty and the power of quake
Stormrider, their fortitude shown
Faithful to Elmal, steadfastness is known
Stormrider, they formed a new tribe
And to their honor, these words I ascribe
HenessyHero shares the secret of how Penterest managed to stay alive in the early days.
HenessyHero posted:
Now to stand between them
Jenx reminds us of the bad luck clan's reputation for bad luck:
Jenx posted:
This is pretty damn awesome, though you just know that with this clan's luck that moment will be followed by something like this:
Also don't send anyone, because we just never learned not to steal from elder races. I mean, you guys seriously just want to lose another trickster, do you?
and Jenx also shares the pencil verison:
Jenx posted:
Here's a pencil version, without the shitty coloring. (I'd color this one too, but
DaveWoo thinks that all these contest submissions are a distraction from our true threat.
DaveWoo posted:
Yeah, right. "Living".
The aptly named Soulfucker gives us this tribute to Harvar's chaos slaying efforts:
Soulfucker posted:
HARVAR STORMRIDER
Not sure if the contest is still ongoing, I just happened to whip this up during class today. Harvar's pose is liberally inspired by an excellent goon painting I saw on this site a couple of years ago.
Anyway, excellent LP Haifisch!
Illegal Username gives us the after battle report on Harvar.
Illegal Username posted:
Harvar sat on the stump as the auxiliaries worked on him. Elmalandti was amazed to discover that most of the blood was not his.
"Is it dead?", he asked.
Harvar stared at him, his unfocused eyes wandering between the sky and the broken sword hilt still clutched in his hand.
"It died hard. Had to chop it to bits", Harvar muttered. "Anyone else make it?"
Elmalandti sighed "You and Thadart are the only ones fit to fight. He went after Jorator after the beast hurled him into the woods and missed most of the fight. The rest are either dead or wounded".
Harvar shuddered. "Thing died hard. Chief all right?"
"Broke both his legs, but is already planning the victory speech."
Their chuckle died into frozen silence as a otherwordly howl cut the air.
Elmalandti felt the despair well up inside him. "By Orlanth, what do we do now?"
Harvar stood up. "Easy. You keep moving the fallen, and i'll wait here until Thadart gets back from the Treasure Hall."
"Thadart is going to the treasure hall?"
"Yes. I think i need a new sword"
Vaga42Bond shows us some content related to Dread Arenjee.
Vaga42Bond posted:
Dread Arenjee, probably. Which reminds me...
A strange malady grips several of your King of Dragon Pass games. Each is suddenly stricken with a fit of bad rolls, causing easy actions to be botched and simple raids to fail. The fits arrive with no warning, and last anywhere from several rolls to a few sessions. Some of the Goon Ring think they are brought on by lack of stupid shinies; the malady strikes most often on "By Eurmal's Balls! Let's Play King of Dragon Pass!".
-Conduct a divination.
-Propitiate Dread Arenjee to avert her dreaded gaze.
-Sacrifice to Saevi Skeum to cure our bad rolls.
-Send for the mods.
-Sacrifice your trickster to the Dwarf Fortress LP to divert the bad rolls.
-Wait for the bad luck to pass.
Dread Arenjee is a chaos goddess. It would be a grave offense to propitiate her.
Mods are sometimes difficult to find, but are cheaper than Saevi Skeum, who is the busiest KODP goddess.
We must find out who did this to us, so we can raid them!
I'll send those spirits packing!
My Dad is just showing off now.
my dad posted:
Last month, around the time the ducks departed...
Me? Why such accusations are complete rubbish. What made you think I know anything about it?
Braking Gnus wants to know why we don't love Vandarl as much as we loved Garstal. C'MON GUYS!
Braking Gnus posted:
Vandarl, your ring trickster, has decided to run away. He claims that no matter what he says or how kooky he acts, no one pays any attention to him. "All everyone wants to do is reminisce about Garstal and how great he was." Feeling unappreciated, he is leaving to seek refuge with another clan. How do you respond?
-Compose a poem about how awesome Garstal was and lamenting the fact that everyone else is so boring.
-Convince Vandarl to come back and change his name to Garstal, thus making it seem like it's him everyone loves.
-Tell Harvar that Vandarl is really a zombie in hiding and let him loose.
-Sacrifice to ensure that the clan Vandarl ends up joining is the Vostang.
I'm just happy that there isn't anyone in the past that could possibly outshine my brilliance
Coincidentally, Bad King Urgrain had this exact situation come up during his reign and fucked things up even worse by picking one of these options. Which one? Well ... uh ... that is to say ... if only I could...
Never allow Sejs Cube to be your matchmaker:
Sejs Cube posted:
Well it took some doing but we finally found a bride for you, Thadart.
Thank you, the clan has been good to me. I know this couldn't have been easy, given my face. Ancestor's blessings upon all of you.
Hogge Wild laments the passing the great Harvar.
Hogge Wild posted:
For Harvar:
In Stormrider fields
the barley grew aided by
blood from Harvar's sword
After the Blue Jays told us that they were planning to murder us all, Green Intern suggested an appropriate poetic response:
Green Intern posted:
Roses are Red
Your Blood is Too
We think you're real Stupid
Get Fucked by a Broo.
Pittsburgh Lambric also had a few choice words for the Blue Jays as well:
Pittsburgh Lambic posted:
There once was a Blue Jay named Steve
Whom Oranda asked kindly to leave.
He stammered out, "What?"
And was stabbed in the gut;
For this shithead, no carl would grieve.
Zoe also jumped on the "fuck you, Blue Jays" bandwagon.
Zoe posted:
Blue Jays beg us to be nice, please take their cows
then think they're gonna come to our house
threaten us and hide behind hospitality rules
Well we say the Blue Jays are fools
And they smell funny too.
...yeah I think our poetry's really suffered ever since we let the dwarves take our book.
TheGreatGildersneeze also took great offense.
TheGreatGildersneeze posted:
My fellow Storm Riders
Come sit down on the grass
And listen to this tale
Whether Chieftain or lass
They've feathers for brains
For faces, their ass
The worst fuckin' clan
In the whole Dragon Pass
Best go there at night
If you visit their place
Their tula is trashy
Their girls have no grace
Their men are like boys
Their thanes are a waste
And their wives frighten horses
When they show their face
The bird-brained clan leaders
Rival Urgain, they say
The unpleasant fellows
Smell worse day by day
Are there any more questions
Of whom we should slay?
Of course not, Storm Riders!
Let's crush the Blue Jays!
Samuel gaves the Blue Jays whatfor!
Samuel posted:
Bravo!
Look my fellows upon the Blue Jay,
A horrid disgrace to speak of, if I may.
A boon to none and an obstacle to all,
Their hardest worker does less then a thrall.
Their chiefs brawl over the smallest thing,
savage hooligans their entire ring.
So look at their fields and look at their land,
none of it beautiful all of it bland
So run Blue Jay while you still can,
your empty threats will bereft you of land.
We're coming for you and your time is nigh,
oh hide Blue Jay, time to die.
Thoughtless lays down a poetic beat-down on the Blue Jays.
Thoughtless posted:
To our high halls of heroes they happened
Boorish Blue Jay broo-kin
Wormtongues of violence whispered
Swore to slay Stormrider stock
Hilarity from hollowness we harvested
Laughed them off our lavish lands
We knew the knaves knit falsehoods
Their sword-arms slack and sleeping
...it's me, I am Bad Poet Thoughtless.
I nearly missed out on Precambrian's story!
Precambrian posted:
Harvar Worships His God
He is an older man, now. Not old, not quite yet, just older. His hair and beard is as bushy as ever, but the crimson has faded with streaks of gray and distinctly appears to be combed, even trimmed. His axe, and woe betide any thane that assumes that age denies his ability, hangs above his mantle. It’s a great mass of iron, enormous enough that he could drag it behind him to plow a field, and the head is crossed with countless notches, each for a victory against chaos beasts, much as his belt has picked up additional notches for defeats at the hands of his wife’s cooking. He is Korstardos, a Berserker of Urox.
He leans back in his chair, well worn from the prosperous years since he settled down and returned to his people, quaffs his just as well worn drinking horn, and lets out a mighty belch. He quickly quiets himself and sits up straight when the tiny silver-haired woman in the corner looks up from her knitting and shoots him a glare the Uroxi understood well enough. He looks down at the two children, an older boy and a younger girl. He looks at them sternly. “Well,” he growls, “what do you-”
The girl, barely four seasons old, cries out, “Stories, gra’pa, stories!” before the old Uroxi can finish speaking. She's a fearless one, and always following him onto the practice field, trying to lift his axe. Maybe she even had one of Urox’s runes, he muses. “Alright, then,” he booms, “your choices are, ‘The Time Urox Punched A Chaos Beast's Head Off’ or ‘The Time Urox Kicked A Chaos God So Hard His Legs Exploded’, both fine legends of the Storm Bull. Your other option is, ‘Garstal Deceives His Clan’, which the missus doesn't think you're old enough to hear.”
“Grandpa,” this was the older child, the boy. He was tall, and thin, with a shock of sandy hair and a few wisps of a beard. He was close to initiation, now. Not much of a warrior, but a strong back, and he heard the whispers of the Barley. The warrior usually looked down on those destined for the plow, but this boy had a way with the Known Drinks, and any who served that aspect of Babeester Gor had high honors among Uroxi. “We want to hear stories about the Bad Luck Clan!”
“The Storm Riders? You want to hear about the Storm Riders?” He cracks a grin. “Then I’ll tell you the story ‘Harvar Worships His God’! I would know it... I was there.” The children cheer. He's smiling now. When he was younger, the only tales he would tell were boasts of his many battles and scars, but now that he had grandchildren, and a daughter-in-law frequently sent on missions, tale-spinning had become a new delight in his hold age. “I was a much younger man, hadn’t even met that young beauty over there,” he winks at his wife, who blushes and waves him away, “and I was a traveling Berserker for the Storm Bull. And I wandered the lands, smiting evil and seeking out Chaos-”
The little girl hops up and thrusts her hand upwards in a fist, “I ha’ Chaos!” she cries, with as much fury as she could muster. “Good!” roars her grandfather, and turns to his grandson, “and how about you!” “Chaos is bad.” He says severely. “Also good!” He reaches into a pouch hanging from his belt, and pulls out a few candies he purchased in Fire Season and tosses them to the kids. They scramble to grab them and greedily stuff them in their mouths. “Bash th' Broos!” the girl cries, her voice muffled by candy. They were good kids, he thought, and their father would have been very proud of them.
He continues on his story, “And while I was wandering, a heard a story from some of my brothers, of a clan that had been attacked by a great Chaos beast. A good battle, but the beast still lived. And then, I heard the call for Uroxi Berserkers, and traveled there as quickly as I could.” He smiles. This is his favorite part of the story. “It was a full days journey, and I had to get myself mad. For lunch, I ate the toughest roots and mushrooms. I punched trees all up and down the path. I ate rocks for dinner. I threw a dwarf up a tree and shoved an elf in hole. I picked up a fox and screamed at him as loud as I could.”
The girl jumps up again. “How lou’ was it!” He leans forward, face to face with the child. “I was THIS LOUD” His voice booms, filling and shaking the house. The roaring fire cringes before his volume, and his cheering granddaughter topples over, giggling. A wooden bowl glances across his horned helm, spinning it around on his head. His wife is standing now, quieter, but no less powerful, “KORSTARDOS! NOT! IN! THE! HOUSE!” But the warrior smiles, fixing his helmet, “What can I do? The kids love it,” and gestures towards the clapping grandkids. His wife rolls her eyes and goes back to her knitting.
“Anyways, where was I, oh, yeah,” he continues, “I finally made it to the tula of the Storm Riders. I’m as angry as I could be and ready to smite Chaos. I stomp my way out of the woods, and I can see the devastation. Homes destroyed, men running about, an Elmali trying to rally the defense, and the stink of chaos everywhere! But, here,” he delays to build tension, lowering his voice to make the kids lean in, “here, I could tell, something wasn’t right. I was worried the beast had escaped again, until I saw a battle-scarred warrior cleaning his sword in the midst of the chaos. This was no ordinary warrior. Only a Humakti could be so calm, so disciplined in chaos, and this warrior, he chilled the very air around him. Cold as the grave they worship. And his sword! That was a wonder! You couldn’t find a blade that fine anywhere but the Godplane.”
By now, Korstardos’ voice was almost a hush. “But as cold as he was, my blood was still boiling with rage. I stormed up to the man and bellowed, ‘Humakti! What of the creature!’ He doesn’t even look up. Just says, ‘Dead,’ and keeps cleaning the blood off the sword. I was stunned, until he spoke again, ‘Find our chief, Jorator, and our magician, Elmalandti. They’ll appreciate your help with the proper ceremonies to Urox, to cleanse the land,’ and not another word. I wanted to fight him, for his rudeness, but knew better of it. I could still smell the disgusting taint of Chaos in the air, so I followed it until I found the source. It was huge!” He threw his arms wide to emphasize the massiveness of the beast as his grandchildren gasped, “taller than a tree, almost as big as our Great Temple of Orlanth. Smelled worse than an entire legion of Uroxi after an innkeeper asks them to inspect his kegs for Chaos! Bristling with spears and wounds, most slight, but I could see many deep ones, the death wounds, and I knew which warrior had given those. I grabbed a passing noble, some tiny graybeard and bellowed, ‘The warrior! What was his name!’ and he answered, ‘Harvar, and by his sword, he honors Humakt.’ And that he surely did.”
The warrior leans back, satisfied that the children were spellbound with his tale. In a moment, though, his grandson speaks up, “But grandpa,” he said, “What about the time the Bad Luck Clan-” “Ha!” Kostardos laughed, “You paid attention well! Yes, I know exactly what you mean to ask me, but that is a story for another night.” It is late in the Dark Season, and snow blankets the home. But inside, the warrior is with his wife, his grandchildren, a roaring fire, and good drink. He is content; he is happy. He silently toasts many gods for his good fortune, and says, “But I suppose, since you’ve been so good all season, I can maybe fit in another story tonight…”
HenessyHero is my hero, and pointed out that I forgot to grab this entry!
HenessyHero posted:
Your explorers find an old series of sacred stones in a forest clearing while exploring your tula. Your magicians say that the stones are probably inhabited by sleeping spirits. After accidentally awakening the spirits, they lead you to a hidden crevace in the woods containing a chamber marked with strange, chaotic runes. Some pieces will be missing, as the earth itself has swallowed some of the names to hide them forever, but your magicians now say they might be able decipher some of the details of an obscure, perhaps forgotten, myth from these graven images.
-Allow them to do it.
-Allow them to do it.
-Allow them to do it.
-Allow them to do it.
The details were as follows:
"Most say that Chaos only knows how to sacrifice others and never could understand the power of self-sacrifice but, in truth, only Chaos rightly knows the depths of the soul and the limits of how much of it one could chop off for other patrons.
Knowing this |||||||||| embarked on a journey. First |||||||||| made sure ||| was body was whole. All 25 pieces were accounted for and the one thought most important was hacked off and put outside the tula’s boundary rocks as an offering. At night the great darkness would come to take it if it was good enough. Though in the morning the dark was all gone, a piece of the night might just slip inside. When |||||||||| swallowed the offering to become whole again, the unseen shadows of world could now be glimpsed even in the full sun, so long as there was darkness inside to see through the light. The world is like a book, held as one it flows together and makes sense but Chaos knows when ripped apart it loses direction and gains meaning.
The web that held the world together was strong but it was made from things that did not exist anymore so it’s easy to slip things through sometimes. |||||||||| knew this now. After cutting out the body's most beautiful piece |||||||||| left another offering for Chaos. Hungry Ragnalgar came to take it and asked why he did what he did so long ago when Orlanth still called him brother. After answering wisely, and quickly, both agreed it was a good reason at its heart and Ragnalgar departed to hunt elsewhere. Before he left, he asked to leave behind gift to help spread amity and |||||||||| answered him. Persistent Malia soon came after the one piece she’d like best was offered up. No matter what, Malia said, she would look after anyone who came to her and would teach them the things she knew best, so long as they remembered to always respect her. She asked |||||||||| what this meant and a wise answer was given. Both agreed it was all for the best. Malia asked to leave behind present to help others respect her too and then left. At last Thed came, without provocation. Thed asked if |||||||||| knew how vain Justice really was. |||||||||| said yes but to prove it 3 more pieces had to be given up, and each piece had to be filled with a bad memory of being wronged. The pieces were soon wet with sad reminiscence. It still wasn’t enough to understand justice’s emptiness so more and more pieces were given. Once |||||||||| was as empty as justice, Thed departed and left behind a gift without asking. The gift was an idea. When it was blown into another’s ear, it helped them see things as Chaos did. Before leaving this plane |||||||||| counted up the remaining pieces and saw how little of ||| body was left behind. |||||||||| laughed at this new emptiness. The laughter was multiplied with more voices, echoes from that new hollow space."
