Stories in Blue

[AKA Azure]

A story recently 'remembered' in the Dundee Inn after some talk of colors. Thanks to Lowrenzo, Narian and others for the inspiration.


Once, long ago, or so I'm told...there were only a few colors in the world. There was yellow, red and blue. I admit, I like the color blue, but to have it only one of three colors in the world must have been rather...boring. The spirits and creatures that were about came in only three hues of course. It made it rather confusing to tell them all apart.

The colors had long ago decided though that they liked the world just as it was. Each had a third of things, so they were all happy. The other being weren't as happy , and they sent a delegation to the colors. Of course there was confusion as the delegates were mostly confusing themselves with each other. It was hard when there weren’t easy ways of telling folks apart. Finally, they pinned badges of different colors to themselves. One who was red might wear a badge of yellow as well. This helped a bit but not fully.

The colors didn't listen, They were happy after all. Red, in fact, was rather rude. I'm sorry to say Blue and Yellow probably weren't much better. So the delegation went away unsatisfied. At this point, they weren't really sure what to do. They'd exhausted the polite ways and had to come up with something more.

Finally, Fish came up with a cunning plan. It wasn't easy for Fish to be part of this, having to sink back into the water every so often, but it was Fish who hatched the plan they decided to follow. “If they won't help us, we'll need to help ourselves," Fish declared. "We'll trick them into mingling and blending into other shades and colors." The others were curious and asked Fish how this would happen. "We challenge them to a drinking contest" Fish stated. "There's no way they can outdrink me.”

And that was true, for no one could drink like Fish. They issued the challenge, and Yellow was the first to respond. Red and Blue soon followed. They might have agreed to divide the world into three parts, but it didn't mean they liked each other. Soon all were gathered to see the contest.

Fish was true to his word. He drank more then all three of them put together! When it was done, and they were in muddled heaps on the floor, the others set to work pushing and pulling them. They shoved the three colors towards each other into different blends.

As the one who came up with the plot and saw to it working, Fish was given the ability to show all the colors that were made that day. Every shade and hue can be found on Fish or his descendents to this day.

And the others? Each left with if not different colors, different hues and shadings of the same colors. When the three colors came back to their sense and saw what was wrought, they agreed it was good. They had more choices and chances for being places after all. You just have to look to Fish and his iridescence to see them all. And that is the story as I first heard it.

[AKA Azure]

A tale recently told in the Dundee when Lowrenzo informed her it was 'story time with Az.' It was mostly inspired by the contests that are springing up about spooky or scary tales.



A Trip Through the Mirror

Once, long ago, lived a trickster. He wasn’t a bad man particularly. In fact many would call him a good one. His tricks were meant in good humor, and when they weren’t they were committed on those you might not have a problem with seeing embarrassed or brought down a notch. He had more friends then enemies, and isn’t that a good thing after all?

None the less, he upset one powerful man. (People get upset when their ill-gotten gains are taken away and shared back with their victims.) This man swore revenge and after due consideration hired a powerful enchanter.

“Make him suffer,” he commanded. “Make him realize what it means to cross me. Make all that were good to him foul, and all foul fair.”

The enchanter bowed, “As you say it will be done.” He was more interested in coin then justice after all. Perhaps he wasn’t a nice man, but who else would be hired for such a reason? The enchanter asked him, “Is there a length of time you would like this to go on for?”

The powerful man shook his head and growled. “He crossed me. He went against me and made me a laughing stock. Make it last forever.”

The enchanter nodded and said mildly, “It will cost you.” And he held his hand out for the second heavy bag of coins.

Incantations poured forth and like smoke on the breeze wafted their way to the trickster. They wound about him - inhaled with each breath. He awoke bewildered. When he walked into the forest as was his wont, he found himself turned about and lost. The light of ‘rifter wavered oddly, but he thought little of it in his confusion.

After much searching he found his way back to town. Friends glowered at him and muttered under their breath. When he asked what was wrong, they turned aside or spat cruel words. He approached one he’d fought in the mud with as a child, joked with as a teen, and stood up for at his bonding. That one drew a dagger and made as if to gut him. But he drew it with his left hand and not his right. It was then he realized something was wrong.

The trickster soon found that other things were reversed too. Salty was sweet and sweet salty. Sunrifter rose in the west and sank in the east. It was a nightmare, but try as he might he couldn’t wake from it. Such was the power of the fell enchantment.

There he stays, even to this day. He avoids those he once called friends for they hate him and would do him harm. Those he once considered villains are his only friends, and he must curtail his own desire to shrink away from them. For here they are the only good and kind folk he can find. Or at least, they are as good and kind as the mirrorlands let them be. And the trickster? He keeps up his hopes but despairs behind his façade

[AKA Azure]

A tale told at Shieldwall's recent Fall Festival event.



Once there was a man who made his living through study and quest. But it was not as straightforward a living as many of the adventurers who are gathered here do. His study was of old burial sites, and his quest was breaking into them and taking the goods he could find.

It was a good living even if others might find it reprehensible. He enjoyed the study and even, it an odd way, the questing There were times, like during the darkest night while the wind whispered its secrets on the air, that he was a bit nervous. On the whole though he enjoyed what he did and ignored those who scorned him for it.

“Easier to take from the dead,” he would often be heard to say.

After one long and arduous time of study he found references to a place that sounded like a treasure trove. Some ancient clan leader had been buried with all his belongings. Ignoring the mention of dire guardians, for he’d heard them much too often before, he set out. It was a long trip through uncharted and what seemed unexplored country but he thought that was all to the good. After all, the further away from people it was, the less chance of it having been plundered.

He made it there eventually but by that time the soles of his boots were so thin he could feel every branch and twig beneath his feet.

The tomb was forbidding. Nothing had grown in front of it, and the dull grey rock stood alone in a clearing. Even the scrub and grass blades seemed to bend away from it but ignoring that he went in. He'd seen worse you see. He approached the tomb and set to work. Soon enough he had it opened. A stench rolled out, but undeterred he merely waited for it to clear.

He tossed in lit torches as he had so many times before to clear the air. After a time he cautiously entered. The tomb was all that he had thought it would be and more. It was when he was loading up his pack animal from his third trip down there that he first heard it. There was a slow but inexorable "thock...thock...thock" sound.

At first he thought it was a branch or a loose stone…something like that. But it began to wear on his nerves so he packed faster. As he was tying the last bundle, a strange stony figure lurched into view. "Thock...thock...thock," was the sound he heard as it placed each foot precisely in front of the other. He knew he couldn't fight something like that so he ran. He and his pack animal left rapidly, and soon the sound behind him died away.

Not satisfied with that he drove his animal far into the evening and night. They spend the night waiting for the sound but nothing was heard. Soon enough, in the bright light of morning he decided whatever it was he was long rid of it. "Propably the fumes from the tomb," he mused.

He spent the next few days working his way back to civilization.

It was a week later, when he was returning from a visit with a congenial female companion that he heard it again. "Thock...thock...thock." In the distance he thought he saw a form moving slowly but ever onward.

He fled to a seaport with what funds he had and took the first ship he could to a distant land. He settled there and for a time all was well. He mostly forgot about things and started a new life

Maybe a year later, he started from his sleep hearing an ominous sound, "Thock...thock...thock."

With a shriek he fled his house. Now, ever traveling, rarely resting in the same place more then a day, he keeps one ear tuned for the ominous sound of "thock...thock...thock."

[AKA Azure]

A tale inspired by Dobroc’s costume and a saying in the Dundee inn the night before.


This is a tale of a man, his love, and the mighty fish he caught.

One fine morning, a man, walking along the shore saw a female sea dweller sunning herself. Being young, impetuous and the slightest bit lonely, he fell in love.

She was wary at first, for she'd heard of land walkers and feared them a bit. When she saw him she would disappear beneath the waves. In time, after watching from afar he was able to get closer. He'd return every 'rifter rise to look for her. For her part, she soon realized he meant no harm. Soon they were closer, though the water was still between them, exchanging glances and tokens as those who care for each other might

However, other eyes watched them too, jealous eyes. For the sea dweller girl was coveted by another. These eyes belonged to one of the guards her father employed for she was of sea dweller nobility and wore a necklace of gold.

He came to her father and whispered wicked words in his ears. He said how she'd been enchanted and how the land walker would steal her away. The father grew wroth and summoned up the powers of the sea against them. His daughter was hidden away deep, where her love could not follow.

For days he mourned, thinking she spurned him, but a small messenger fish sent by his love reassured him of her affections and told of her peril.

He realized he had not ability to follow and searched for a way to rescue her... or at least get to her father to explain things. He traveled far and wide to find out what he could do. Some scorned him for his hunt. Others told him there was no chance of rescue. But he wouldn’t give up.

After a long journey he found an old wise woman who told him to play the harp of the sea king to settle the seas and find his love. At first he had no idea what that meant and was ready to stalk off thinking she too was making fun of him. Then he remembered an old tale he'd heard calling the shark the true ruler of the sea, and her words made more sense.

He paid a fisherman to aid him and he went out to catch a shark. For one who'd not sailed before he did well. (That's what the fisherman said, but he was being paid after all.) But the man didn’t get seasick nor did he give up easily. In fact, he brought back a fine shark and taking its mighty jaw, crafted a harp.

Oh, he used proper strings, but the mighty shark jaw and teeth were the base. And a fine harp it was.

He strode into the waves and began to play. As he did, the waves rolled away clearing him a path. He found the messenger fish and followed it down to where his love was held captive. Her father, finally realizing the depths of their affection, allowed them to be together. How after all could her suitor have meant ill when he went to such extent to free her?

And the fish he caught? The jealous guard of course, caught in the web of his own treachery and lies.

They settled near the shore, in a cave where the water lapped and the fish swam. And the shark bone harp? It’s still there I'm told - keeping their home safe from all harm.

[AKA Azure]

Recently told in the Dundee Inn



This tale begins with a young girl who laughed as if she'd invented laughter. The world was a fine and beautiful place to her. Strangers were friends not yet met, and friends were there to become closer ones She lived in a small town, so perhaps it was easy to see why this was the case. Everyone knew and cared about her and the other children.

Children were a gift to these people. It was common for them to play where they wished and when hungry go to the nearest home to share food. They played like puppies tumbling in the streets. However, such places and times do not last long..

Unfortunately for this girl, her town's time had come.

War came to the land, and a battle was fought near the town. The townsfolk went to do what they could and brought some wounded back so they could tend to them. What side were they on? They hadn't one and perhaps that was their undoing.

They brought back wounded from both sides - not caring or noticing their markings. Not caring or noticing the fact that the men were bitter enemies. As they healed, the men didn't fight there. They were too cunning for that. Instead they thanked the townsfolk and slipped away. They told their commanders of the place and the townsfolk aided and abetted the enemy, even offered them succor. Of course they forgot to tell their leaders that the offer had been done for them as well.

Their leaders thought and planned, and they set out to teach the traitorous town a lesson. Of course it must be a traitor for aiding the other side. Even though the town belonged to no one, it must have a side.

Two groups of troops closed in on the town at the same time. One was from the north and the other came from the west. Huge dust clouds presaged their coming.

The children who saw the sight were at first enchanted. They'd never seen such a thing. . They’d seen a visitor or two at a time and the small dust they raised, but nothing like this. They ran to tell their parents - save a few who ran to meet the visitors coming from the west... the friends not yet met. They'd not learned you see, for it had never occurred to them that some might not greet them with joy and kindness. The cries of the first one trampled under trampled underfoot taught them that quickly though. And they scattered like a flock of scared birds.

The other dust cloud was of course as large a force from another direction. All scattered in fear, save the girl who lay there mortally injured. But in her pain and terror she held to one thought - that they hadn't meant what they'd done. That they didn't really know what they were doing. And she felt terrible sorrow for them in their mistake.

Perhaps she was right, or perhaps she was wrong, but something... someone heard her. The remaining children and the villagers as well were turned in to the very birds their flight so resembled.
The two forces met and clashed...over an empty village. The only person they could say that they'd even injured was a small, laughing girl.

When they went back to look, she was gone. But it's said, that if you go to this far off place and look hard enough, you'll see the old, worn away outline of a village. If you look at the cliffs nearby, you'll see an intricate bird village built into the very stones and crannies. Is it the descendents of that village? I don't know, nor did the scroll I read this in say.

But I'd like to think it is - especially since these birds have a cry that sounds like... children's laughter.

[AKA Azure]

This tale was told at the PoV get together. It was inspired by an earlier conversation with Srenna after a demon spider raid in the forest.


The Tale of Yarla

The mirrorlands or N'rolav as many call them are strange and twisted places. Some grow worried at being there too long and fear that dying there might cause them not to reform at a life monument.

Such was Yarla's fear. He was an enchanter from long ago, or so I'm told. He would tentatively travel into the mirrorlands, conduct what business he had there and flee. They terrified him…at first.

This went on for quite some time, but soon he found himself well enjoying being there more and more. It became familiar and almost comforting. His earlier fears were forgotten. Some are drawn to odd things I suppose.

He would spend more time there, and less time in Valorn. After a while he grew upset when he saw others there, fighting creatures he'd come to consider friends. Or maybe he was just considering them less dangerous then he did before.

He would stand in the forest and watch with hate-filled eyes as adventurers slaughtered the demon bears and wolves. Later, those going after the scorpions and zombies attracted his ire too. Finally, so twisted had he grown that he chose to stay there...forever

Yarla is still there even to this day I hear. Occasionally, upset at the invasions from us, he opens portals here and there for his friends so they can travel through and turn the tables on us. They come through and wreck what havoc they can until we turn them back. If we could just find him, find Yarla, perhaps some of these invasions would end.

And that is the tale of Yarla, and why creatures come through from the mirrorlands. Of course it is only a tale – or is it?

[AKA Azure]

A brief tale told to pass the time in the Dundee Inn. Thanks to Dobroc for asking for one.
ooc I am sure there are many versions of something like this. As I was typing it in game, it had the feel of something whose theme I'd heard before.

A Learning Opportunity

Once, long ago there lived a young man. He was a pleasant enough sort. He wasn’t rude or mean, but he wasn't overly kind either. In fact, most would probably call him average.

Neighbors moved in nearby, at was once an old abandoned farm and strange things began to happen. It wasn't much at first, though the perpetual gloom over the recently purchased properly should have hinted at something. After a while small animals began to vanish, and birds would swerve in flight around the edged of the property. Soon the grass edging the property withered and turned brown.

All in all it was a bit troublesome, and the young man decided Something Must Be Done. Plucking up his courage, he went over to the neighbors, polite as could be and tried knocking on the door. There was no answer.

He wasn't sure what to do, and as he thought the more about it, he became less convinced he even should be there. So he turned and began to walk away. He was a bit muzzy headed at the time you see, but the further away he got, the more clear his head became. F inally he remembered what he was supposed to do, what he had set out to do, so he walked back up to the door and rapped on it again. He did it quickly so the air of the place wouldn't change his mind again.

The door creaked open and a wizened old woman stood there. "What do you want?" she snapped. "Some of us are busy."

“Excuse me ma'am, but I can't help wondering what's going on here. Ever since you moved in strange things have been happening” His question was phrased polite as could be, but it must not have been polite enough for she stared at him with a glittering, hate-filled look. He took a hasty step back, turned on his heels, and ran like the demons themselves were after him.

"She's a witch" he thought. "An evil old witch!" And with that he set off to town to tell people so he could learn what to do to stop her. Witches were bad you see, or so he thought. He'd stop the witch, save the area, and become a hero he decided. When he reached town he sat at the inn and listened to the old tales and prompted some more. Once he learned all he could he went back home and gathered his supplies. He went back to the farm to confront the witch.

Boldly he strode up to the door and pounded on it. She opened it again after a bit of time. "What are you doing back?" she snarled.

"You're an evil witch and I'm going to give you one chance to leave" he declared

Her immediate response was, “Am not!”

They bickered back and forth a bit until he noticed her eyes were beginning to glow faintly green. This was too much for him and he threw the bucket of water he'd brought on her. He had been told they melt you see.

Now she stood there, wet and angry instead of just angry. And her eyes glowed more. "Leave boy while you still can" she said. There was a rough edge to her voice that should have told him to flee, but he was too certain of what he'd learned.

He just shook his head and brought out the next item he'd been told would banish a witch.

"I'm no witch" she repeated again and then she snapped her fingers. With that a bolt of lightning hit him and fried him where he stood. "Witches" she said with great satisfaction to the pile of ashes "Now witches turn people into frogs and toads. I'm an enchanter. I blast them."

And the moral of the story? Learn to tell your witches and enchanters apart.

[AKA Azure]

A story recently told in the Dundee inn. Thanks to Lital, Asrai, and Narian for their contributions to the tale.


An Ale Painting

Once, long ago, before the golden age cracked, there lived a powerful enchanter family. Their youngest child, a daughter, wished nothing more then the study of art. Happily enough, they were wealthy and powerful enough to indulge her. She had the finest paints. Her brushes ranged in size so she could paint the most minute piece or large canvasses as she desired.

Most importantly, her talent matched her desires. She was a fine artist indeed.

One day though she woke with a desire to paint, but no idea of what to paint. It was the first time this ever happened to her and she was shocked. There are days we all might wake up with no clear direction, but this was the first time it had ever happened to her. Soon enough she remembered advice from another artist to her long ago and headed to the kitchen to paint a still life. She filled a mug with cold, clear cistern water and made the preliminary sketch. Even the drops of condensation on the outer part of the mug were encompassed in her preliminary sketch.

While she was doing this, and getting ready to paint it for true, her father came in and said, "The mark of a true artist is to change what is there, not merely to replicate." And then he left. Probably it was in a puff of smoke and fog as enchanters are wont to do.

So the girl stared at her sketch, determined to show her father she was a true artist. And she changed the water to ale. It was a very good, very lifelike painting. And it was a perfect mimicry of a full, cool mug of ale. Just the thing you'd want on a hot summer day. She framed it and hung the picture near her parents' workroom where her father would see it every day.

He told her it was a very fine painting, but she remembered his words. She mulled over their meaning "to change what is there." After a while she took up the study of enchanting. It was not the more limited forms we have now, for this was the golden age and things were different. She learned how to enchant her very paints and chalks. One day, as her father was discussing the weather and how hot it was, she painted a bowl of flavored ice, muttered a few words, and handed him the painting. He nearly recoiled in surprise for the painting was cold. "Reach out father, and take the ice I made for you," she said.

And so he did.

He enjoyed the ice a great deal, but what he really was proud of was his daughter, and how she melded magic and art so well that it was hard to see the difference. He kept the painting near him in the seat of family power for many years. And he and his wife would often look at it happily and think about their very talented baby girl who grew into a lovely young woman, capable of altering the very world around her. All due to a chance comment over... ale.

[AKA Azure]

Not a story but a brief poem on the occasion of the Viscontessa's party.

Marking time by Sunrifter’s shine.
In a shower of red sparks descending.
Rare smile gracing her face,
and goblet of empathy close at hand.
Now gathering us for contest or talk,
daring us to be better then we are.
Always watching, waiting, with us

[AKA Azure]

A brief tale, told in teh Glass Tavern at Ryce's request

ooc The specfiic example used I've heard a variety of ways, so I can't quote just which source it came from.


A tale of force

Once, long ago, after the golden age cracked and folks were scrambling to pick up the pieces... two brothers were born. Their parents were surprised, for they'd only expected one, but they loved them equally. Or rather they tried to as parents always do. One was brash and impetuous, the other calm and thoughtful. The calm one, Sorrel, would look at a problem a few times before figuring out the answer and taking care of it. Borno, the impetuous one would charge ahead, right into it a few times.

Both could often solve the problem, but Sorrel's solution was more delicate and tended not to leave as much wreckage and debris.

Demons came through one day, and the farm was destroyed and their parents as well. Sorrel suggested they wait and look about, finding clues before charging in, and gathering information, but his brother would hear nothing of it. He gathered his things and ran as fast as he could following the demons' trail. The only problem was... there were lots of demons.

There were too many for him, and soon he too was gone. Sorrel fumed and fussed, but knew he alone could not take on the demons. He gathered others around him and learned what he could about them. In time, he became a fierce warrior and a great tactician.

Demons and other foes from that time feared his name, and sometimes would retreat in terror, just from hearing he was about. Many times he tooks smaller forces against larger, and with cunning tactics won the day. But he remembered the lessons of his youth.

Once, a young, impetuous warrior came to him furious at being told to hold back from attacking a band of demons.

“In time," Sorrel told him. "In time. We will build up our forces and take them before they do any more damage."

"We need to act now" the youth angrily responded. "Now, with cunning and stealth we can..." But Sorrel raised a hand and the young man stilled .

"We will gather the forces and crush them entirely,” he said. And with that, Sorrel reached for a nut from a bowl nearby. Turning to the astonished youth he said, "How would you open this?"

The young warrior rolled his eyes but obediently showed him how with just a little force in the right spot the nut cracked open, revealing the nut meat inside

Sorrel nodded and agreed that this was well done. Then he picked up another, and placing it on the ground, stomped his foot on it shattering the nut completely. “Your amount of force, neat and finessed, works most of the time," the wily warrior said. "My way always works. We have the time to gather our forces and overwhelm them completely. Another time we may not, and then we will rely solely on cunning and finesse."

And that was Sorrel, cautious and wise, able to come up with cunning plans, yet not afraid to use force against the foe.

[AKA Azure]

A quick tale recently todl at the athletic grounds to caution about jumping to conclusions.

ooc You might recognize the basis of this one as the car jack story. I know I was told it years ago.


The warrior and the smith

Once there was a warrior who'd been in a horrible battle. His armor was dented and scored, but worst off was his shield and the joints on his gear.

He looked about and decided he needed to beat out the dents before traveling much further. It was difficult to walk you see. The man found a smithy nearby and started in that direction. But his armor was dented, and it was hard going. As he lurched on he began to worry "What if the man won't help me? What if he won't loan me the tools I need."

He worried more and more until finally, he was worried to an angry frenzy. He'd convinced himself the smith wouldn't give him the tools he needed nor help in any way. “How dare he,” he thought angrily. “All I need are a few minutes with these tools. It’s the only way I’ll ever make it home.”

He stalked up to the door of the smithy and knocked on it. He was so angry he couldn’t even see straight, but when the smith opened the door he punched him right in the nose.

"That's for not loaning me the tools" he said as he lurched off.

[AKA Azure]

A silly tale told in the Milltown Inn after Syrus Swift asked for one on misadventures.


Toad's Travels

Once, Toad decided he wanted to become a hero. He found an old sword and polished it up...of course he forgot to sharpen it though. He found some armor and cleaned off the zombie muck and other stuff on it. Then he put it on. Of course he didn't really know how to fasten the straps so figured string and twine would do.

He tried to put on boots but his feet were just too big so he fastened large leaves to the underside of his feet. “I'm going to be heroic" he declared to anyone who would listen. And off he hopped, err... went.

The day was a bit warm so he stopped at a well to refresh himself. A rude boy came by and pushed him right in. KERSPLOSH! He struggled up out of the well and puffed up a bit in anger. "How dare you! I'm the great and heroic Toad!" And with that he leapt at the boy, and the boy ran away in a fright.

And on he went. He was determined to be heroic...soaking wet or not. The string holding his armor together began to fray so he stopped to try to repair it. It was at this time a great big dog leapt out at him and barked fiercely at him.

Toad knew heroes didn't retreat, or he thought. Scared as he was at the sight of the dog, he advanced on the dog waving his unsharpened sword. It was now the armor string broke completely and the chest piece fell forward hitting the dog on the nose. THUMP!

The dog raced off yelping.

But Toad, what was he to do? His armor had fallen off. He thought a bit and took the string from the leaf around his foot to resecure his armor. This of course left his foot bare so he took off the other leaf too. He wanted a matched set you see.

Toad knew heroes should have boots and stuff to protect their feet, but after a few steps he realized his feet weren't bothering him, even though he didn't have any footwear on. Silly Toad sat down and was rather sad, for he knew he wasn't a hero at all.

He was ready to give up when he heard a faint cry of help. He got up and hopped, errr... raced in that direction. Toad saw a young squirrel had fallen in the water and couldn't get out. It looked like he was going to drown.

Without thinking Toad leapt in to save the squirrel. His armor was too heavy, and the string broke again, freeing him from it Because of the way the water was, he just couldn't make it to where the squirrel was so he stretched out his hand, the one with the useless sword and said "grab hold!"

The young squirrel grabbed onto the dull sword and was pulled to safety.

"Thank you" he said happily. "I thought I was a goner." Afterwards he sat with Toad in the warm sun to dry off after his harrowing adventure. Toad was happy he could help, but knew he was no hero. He could swim so it wasn’t a problem. He was telling Squirrel this when a young girl came up

"Thank you!" she said. "You stopped a really mean bully from bothering people anymore. He was always pushing people and now he won’t. That was really heroic."

Toad looked startled before he remembered the boy at the well. "I was just angry at him for being mean," he protested. "I wasn't being heroic."

As he was pondering this, a kitten came up and licked him on the nose. "Thank you for scaring that mean dog" she said. "He was always so nasty to me."

"But that was a mistake" Toad said. "My armor string broke.” He didn’t want to say how scared he had been too.

"The girl, squirrel and kitten all looked at each other and then at Toad. "No!" they said loudly. "You helped us. You're our hero."

And with that Toad was content. Through his misadventures he'd helped out and found three new friends. And though he never did consider himself heroic, they did.

[AKA Azure]

A tale recently told in the Dundee Inn when Olaf asked for a fable.


Mouse's Move

Mouse was a worrier and a planner. Everything had to be just so. When it wasn't, Mouse would get even more worried and fuss even more. It could drive a person to distraction watching him worry. However, Mouse was also a good friend and others put up with his worrying ways. We tend to overlook or ignore um.... problems in our friends after all.

Things came to a head one day as Mouse was planning a move to a new mouse hole. He worried himself into a frenzy that things just wouldn't go right. His friends watched with more and more concern. Finally they asked what was wrong. "What if the movers don't come on time?" "What if they break things?" "What if it costs more than I thought it would?" These were all the things he was worried about.

Finally Sparrow spoke up. "If the movers don't come, we'll help you move" His other friends nodded in agreement.

Squirrel spoke as well. "If they break things, we'll help you fix them. Or we can go get new things. Shopping is fun!" Again his friends nodded.

Newt, dripping messily on the floor, spoke next, "And if it costs too much, we'll all chip in and help." And once again, his friends showed their support.

Mouse looked between his friends and his whiskers straightened with joy and pride as it finally sunk in. "I hadn't thought about that," he said. "I hadn’t realized you would help me if I needed it. I was just worrying alone."

For you see, Mouse forgot the most important thing of all. He had friends, and they were willing to see him through whatever troubles might come. Now the move went flawlessly, but after that Mouse worried less, knowing his friends would help him, just as he would help them if the need came. For that is what friends do.

And that is the tale as I first heard it.

[AKA Azure]

A more serious tale. Told in the Dundee inn after some discussion of healing.


A 'healing' tale

Once, though this tale comes from far away, and perhaps is not of Valorn at all, clerics healed differently. Or so I read in one of my mother's scrolls. Instead of clearing the injury with a touch, they took it on themselves. And they would heal themselves of this wound.

This was obviously painful and only the most dedicated studied the healing arts - or the most fanatical of learning. One man in particular studied and learned, and worked some more. He figured the technique behind moving an injury or a harm from one to another. And it didn't have to go to the one who moved the injury. Nor did it have to be an injury. It could be a disease or deformity as well.

He could use it to harm, but he healed just enough that he was considered protected. Who would harm a healer after all? Once though a woman came to him with a disease would be mortal. He would not take it on himself but told the sufferer he could move it. When the individual it went to died of it, the disease would be gone.

But without a willing transfer, he needed the ill one to give him someone he could transfer it to. He told her to think of a person. She needed to think of them so carefully that he could see them and thus transfer it. Scared and desperate, she did. But the only one she could think of so clearly was her best friend. But she did it anyway and knew she’d condemned her to die.

The healer did his job as well, and the woman went home feeling better already

In the following days she watched her friend weaken and grow ill. Finally she could stand it no more and tried to find the healer. He was nowhere to be found though. So she returned to her friend and told her what she had done.

Her friend listened, without saying anything at first. Finally she nodded and stood. In her weakness it seemed she could barely support her weight . "If you had asked, I may have done it for you. For we are friends. But you didn't ask. You didn't think anyone would sacrifice themselves." And she looked at her friend who nodded mute agreement and cast her eyes downwards.

The ill woman thought over what she had been told and made her way to the door. "You will not profit from this" was all she said as she headed out the door, wobbly and weak. But her friend did not, could not, follow.

Within a few marcs it felt as if crabs were clawing at her chest as the disease returned full strength.

The two were such good friends that their neighbors buried them together. One dead of a disease that lodged in her guts, the other of an... accidental fall from a nearby cliff. Happily this is from a place different from here. And the healers and clerics here heal our injuries without exacting such a price.

Such is the tale as I first read it.