Told recently in Cerbies - inspired a bit by the rat attack and then Jezzara's drinking song.
Rat's 'Revenge'
You may have heard how Rat lost his hands and was given paws instead for his rudeness and greed when the Spirits tested him. Other animals were happy about his fall from importance and jeered at him. Hatred burned like an ember in his belly and rat swore to get revenge.
Even though it was his own fault, sometimes when one is humiliated one just wants to strike out sometimes. So it was with Rat.
He thought and thought, wrapped his tail about his waist and thought some more. Finally he decided since the Spirit pretended to be a cat, he would get revenge on Cat. Now Cat had nothing to do with it, but Rat was determined. He had to make someone pay.
He researched Cat - all her friends and enemies, though there weren't many of the latter, and he studied her. Poor foolish Cat didn't realize it.
Rat discovered that Dog was a good friend of her,s and then he began to hatch a plot. Revenge and hatred are good incubators you know. We just need to ask Balthazar's minions that.
Soon he lit upon a plan. He would drive a wedge between these two friends. It wouldn't be as terrible, he thought, as losing his hands, but it would be a start. Rat waited for a day when Dog was a bit late for a meeting with Cat, something about trailing the scent of something, and disguising himself he went to where Cat waited.
"Are you Cat?" he asked.
"Why yes" was her response.
"Well, then I have a message for you. Dog says he can't make it today, something more important came up. But he'd like to meet with you tomorrow." Then he told Cat where to meet Dog. Now, Rat knew that Dog wouldn't be there...and he was pretty sure Cat would go there. And he was right on both counts.
However, that wasn't enough for Rat. For he knew friends would forgive each other that. So he went to Dog and told him that Cat was bad mouthing him. And he led him to where Cat was telling someone how Dog had stood her up. She wasn't angry, more puzzled, but Dog didn't know that from the brief exchange of words he overheard.
Dog was now upset and wondered aloud why Cat was being so mean. Another animal overheard and soon animals were talking about how they hated each other. Thus it continued. Neither thought to directly ask the other, and Rat was fanning the flames.
Soon the two friends hated each other, and they've passed it on to their descendents
And today, dogs and cats hate each other. In all this time they've at least learned some sense...for they hate rats too.
They left it for too long though. Too long to speak to the other, and too long listening to those who didn’t know the full story.
edited to fix transfer problems
Stories in Blue
94 posts • Page 2 of 5 • 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
by AKA Azure » Tue Sep 25, 2007 5:16 pm
Recently told in Cerbies after a mysterious mention of Snail's lost tale. Directly inspired by Skylsganin's tale of the Slug and the Spirits.
Snail's Lost Tale
Once when the world was younger and the animals could all speak and the spirits had not yet removed themselves from mortal ken came the announcement of a gathering. It was not the Wind Lady's attempt to throw another party, so it wasn't something destined to go wrong. Instead, it was just a normal gathering of the times.
Perhaps Hedgehog called it, or a flower Spirit. Nowadays none of us know who called the gathering, we know merely that it happened. Many came from all around. The Egret was there, the proud Wolf with his new mate, Breeze, since Wind Lady was too busy planning her party, even Frog, not yet stripped of his healing abilities.
And of course, arriving late as usual, came Snail.
Snail's lateness was habitual and since she carries her home with her, she was able to set out early, rest a bit and still be late! All her friends knew this of her, but they loved her dearly and forgave her her bad habits. For we often overlook in a friend what might be considered rude or unforgivable in another.
That has its good and bad parts, but in this case, her friends had never told Snail that her timing might be a problem. Perhaps before now it had never been a problem. Be that as it may, Snail came late. She came during the storytelling. Yes, just like us today, Animals and Spirits enjoyed telling and hearing tales, songs, and verse.
Snail had a wonderful tale, or so we are told. For Snail, taking so long to travel from one place to the next could weave tales better then the finest weaver her cloth! She had all this thinking time you see. Some few of Snail's tales survive to this day, but others have put their names on it. Snail probably wouldn't have minded, for in her thoughts, a tale shared is a tale enjoyed.
One tale ended and before the next could begin, Snail offered, in her sweet voice, to weave a tale for them. Snail didn't know that folks had already agreed to a telling order and that a prize would be given. She wouldn't have cared about that anyway. But some were so elated at the thought of having a chance at winning a prize, and that Snail hadn't been there for the order choosing that they raised their voices in protest.
They didn't want Snail telling any tale and they said her lateness disqualified her. When Snail tried to explain that she had just wanted to share a story, and not compete, they laughed. When we are laughed at, it is bad enough, when it is those we thought of as friends, it is worse. And Snail was hurt, hurt deeply. Even with her armoring house, she could feel the pain of the laughter.
Snail, being so deeply wounded, slipped away. When everyone was busy laughing or arguing with those who laughed, no one noticed her leaving.
Since then, Snail has told no more of her marvelous tales. But she must have them strung throughout her house like crystals on fine wire. For Turtle mentioned hearing her soft sweet voice once, telling a snippet of a wondrous tale, but once Snail saw someone was about, she fell silent and spoke no more.
And that is the tale of Snail's lost tale, or tales. For how many she may have had by now, we don't know.
Snail's Lost Tale
Once when the world was younger and the animals could all speak and the spirits had not yet removed themselves from mortal ken came the announcement of a gathering. It was not the Wind Lady's attempt to throw another party, so it wasn't something destined to go wrong. Instead, it was just a normal gathering of the times.
Perhaps Hedgehog called it, or a flower Spirit. Nowadays none of us know who called the gathering, we know merely that it happened. Many came from all around. The Egret was there, the proud Wolf with his new mate, Breeze, since Wind Lady was too busy planning her party, even Frog, not yet stripped of his healing abilities.
And of course, arriving late as usual, came Snail.
Snail's lateness was habitual and since she carries her home with her, she was able to set out early, rest a bit and still be late! All her friends knew this of her, but they loved her dearly and forgave her her bad habits. For we often overlook in a friend what might be considered rude or unforgivable in another.
That has its good and bad parts, but in this case, her friends had never told Snail that her timing might be a problem. Perhaps before now it had never been a problem. Be that as it may, Snail came late. She came during the storytelling. Yes, just like us today, Animals and Spirits enjoyed telling and hearing tales, songs, and verse.
Snail had a wonderful tale, or so we are told. For Snail, taking so long to travel from one place to the next could weave tales better then the finest weaver her cloth! She had all this thinking time you see. Some few of Snail's tales survive to this day, but others have put their names on it. Snail probably wouldn't have minded, for in her thoughts, a tale shared is a tale enjoyed.
One tale ended and before the next could begin, Snail offered, in her sweet voice, to weave a tale for them. Snail didn't know that folks had already agreed to a telling order and that a prize would be given. She wouldn't have cared about that anyway. But some were so elated at the thought of having a chance at winning a prize, and that Snail hadn't been there for the order choosing that they raised their voices in protest.
They didn't want Snail telling any tale and they said her lateness disqualified her. When Snail tried to explain that she had just wanted to share a story, and not compete, they laughed. When we are laughed at, it is bad enough, when it is those we thought of as friends, it is worse. And Snail was hurt, hurt deeply. Even with her armoring house, she could feel the pain of the laughter.
Snail, being so deeply wounded, slipped away. When everyone was busy laughing or arguing with those who laughed, no one noticed her leaving.
Since then, Snail has told no more of her marvelous tales. But she must have them strung throughout her house like crystals on fine wire. For Turtle mentioned hearing her soft sweet voice once, telling a snippet of a wondrous tale, but once Snail saw someone was about, she fell silent and spoke no more.
And that is the tale of Snail's lost tale, or tales. For how many she may have had by now, we don't know.
Last edited by AKA Azure on Sat May 24, 2008 7:34 am, edited 1 time in total.
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AKA Azure - Social Leech
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by AKA Azure » Wed Oct 24, 2007 3:34 pm
A tale recently told in Cerbies at an impromptu party for Shirila.
I know I got some of the imagery from the fairy tale genre, but I'm not sure from which tales.
Golden Berry Wine
You are all familiar with wine I suppose and how it comes from fermented berries.
Once, some time ago, two brothers shared a farm and raised the most beautiful golden berries you had ever seen. Folks would come from miles around to buy the golden wine these bushes produced. In time they each courted and married a fine lass from the nearby town. And they swore that they would split the field fairly so each family would have enough to not just live on, but prosper on as well.
Thus it was done. The fields to the north were given to one, and the fields to the south given to the other. For a generation all were happy. The brothers had children for such often follows, and the children grew up.
The elder brother had three children, but only one wished to be a vintner and inherit the berry farm. The other two went off to seek their fortune elsewhere. Now the younger brother had four children, and three of them wished to carry on the family wine business
These three children got together and decided it wasn't fair - they would have to share half of the original farm, ending up with a sixth interest each, while their cousin would get half of the farm. At first, they thought to speak with their father about it, and have him speak with his brother. However, they soon realized that their father would have nothing to do with a redivision of the farm. He felt that there had been a fair division. And he began hinting that maybe some of them should change their plans.
Their minds were made up though. "We'll speak to our cousin," one said. "Surely she'll understand and be willing to redivide the farm"
So the youngest went to see what their cousin might think. Now he was a sly one and didn't ask his cousin directly. Instead he brought up, casually, how a nearby farm was subdivided into tiny plots because it was such a large family. He was dismayed when the young woman merely shook her head and said "I'm glad my siblings and I each want different things. Dividing father's farm would not only break his heart, but be bad for business as well."
He said nothing else to her, but thought and plotted for a time and went back to his siblings - his brother and sister who also wanted to farm. "There is no hope for it" he said. "When I brought it up, she merely sneered and mocked us for wanting to make changes." He said such words to stir up his siblings' anger towards their cousin, and in that he succeeded.
With those and other words, over time, his sister and brother were convinced that their cousin would take great pleasure in watching their ruination. He convinced them that she WANTED them to fail so she could eventually buy their shares from them.
"What can we do?" they asked him, seasons after he first began his plotting. He was pleased they had finally been swayed, and he told them his plan. He suggested they go out late one day, when she was alone with the bushes and kill her and hide the body making it look as if she ran off. The two were so stirred up and angry, they agreed without much hesitation
One day soon after, as Sunrifter was stretching out its arms in one last caress of the fields, they went looking for her. They found her carefully pruning one last berry bush in the fading autumn light. She looked up delighted to see them. "Oh look cousins" she said happily "see how I'm shaping this bush! It will bear better next year!”
They said nothing, but merely fell on her with their sharp, sharp daggers. She had no thought of treachery, for were they not family? Each stabbed her so they were all in the business together, and they hid her corpse where it would never be found. They then returned and cleaned up the area so there was no sign of a scuffle.
For a time it worked. They made it seem that she had run off, and although the family was sad she was gone, they thought she was out making her fortune elsewhere. Fall turned to winter, and winter to spring. And still no one knew. The three were pleased, for the brothers, their father and uncle, had been speaking of dividing their two farms into three so as to keep the farms in the family as it was large enough for a three way division.
Then spring truly got underway and the flowers came out, then the berries. What was once golden was now red. The plants themselves mourned the loss of the one who cared for them and the berries spoke out in the only way they knew how.
The two brothers wondered what happened to the berries, but the three plotters, now no longer so gleeful, began to worry and truly think on what they had done. One might say they were...haunted by the fields, and silently accused. The two who had been egged on by their sibling finally confessed to what they had done, and begged forgiveness. But the one who began it all said nary a word.
To this day, the farm still grows red berries instead of golden. It is now the only memory of a woman who loved and respected the fields and her father's wishes perhaps too much. So when you drink wine, think of her and the work that goes into the fields. Think also of why it all occurred in the first place.
What happened to the plotters? Ah, that’s another tale.
edited to fix board transfer problems
I know I got some of the imagery from the fairy tale genre, but I'm not sure from which tales.
Golden Berry Wine
You are all familiar with wine I suppose and how it comes from fermented berries.
Once, some time ago, two brothers shared a farm and raised the most beautiful golden berries you had ever seen. Folks would come from miles around to buy the golden wine these bushes produced. In time they each courted and married a fine lass from the nearby town. And they swore that they would split the field fairly so each family would have enough to not just live on, but prosper on as well.
Thus it was done. The fields to the north were given to one, and the fields to the south given to the other. For a generation all were happy. The brothers had children for such often follows, and the children grew up.
The elder brother had three children, but only one wished to be a vintner and inherit the berry farm. The other two went off to seek their fortune elsewhere. Now the younger brother had four children, and three of them wished to carry on the family wine business
These three children got together and decided it wasn't fair - they would have to share half of the original farm, ending up with a sixth interest each, while their cousin would get half of the farm. At first, they thought to speak with their father about it, and have him speak with his brother. However, they soon realized that their father would have nothing to do with a redivision of the farm. He felt that there had been a fair division. And he began hinting that maybe some of them should change their plans.
Their minds were made up though. "We'll speak to our cousin," one said. "Surely she'll understand and be willing to redivide the farm"
So the youngest went to see what their cousin might think. Now he was a sly one and didn't ask his cousin directly. Instead he brought up, casually, how a nearby farm was subdivided into tiny plots because it was such a large family. He was dismayed when the young woman merely shook her head and said "I'm glad my siblings and I each want different things. Dividing father's farm would not only break his heart, but be bad for business as well."
He said nothing else to her, but thought and plotted for a time and went back to his siblings - his brother and sister who also wanted to farm. "There is no hope for it" he said. "When I brought it up, she merely sneered and mocked us for wanting to make changes." He said such words to stir up his siblings' anger towards their cousin, and in that he succeeded.
With those and other words, over time, his sister and brother were convinced that their cousin would take great pleasure in watching their ruination. He convinced them that she WANTED them to fail so she could eventually buy their shares from them.
"What can we do?" they asked him, seasons after he first began his plotting. He was pleased they had finally been swayed, and he told them his plan. He suggested they go out late one day, when she was alone with the bushes and kill her and hide the body making it look as if she ran off. The two were so stirred up and angry, they agreed without much hesitation
One day soon after, as Sunrifter was stretching out its arms in one last caress of the fields, they went looking for her. They found her carefully pruning one last berry bush in the fading autumn light. She looked up delighted to see them. "Oh look cousins" she said happily "see how I'm shaping this bush! It will bear better next year!”
They said nothing, but merely fell on her with their sharp, sharp daggers. She had no thought of treachery, for were they not family? Each stabbed her so they were all in the business together, and they hid her corpse where it would never be found. They then returned and cleaned up the area so there was no sign of a scuffle.
For a time it worked. They made it seem that she had run off, and although the family was sad she was gone, they thought she was out making her fortune elsewhere. Fall turned to winter, and winter to spring. And still no one knew. The three were pleased, for the brothers, their father and uncle, had been speaking of dividing their two farms into three so as to keep the farms in the family as it was large enough for a three way division.
Then spring truly got underway and the flowers came out, then the berries. What was once golden was now red. The plants themselves mourned the loss of the one who cared for them and the berries spoke out in the only way they knew how.
The two brothers wondered what happened to the berries, but the three plotters, now no longer so gleeful, began to worry and truly think on what they had done. One might say they were...haunted by the fields, and silently accused. The two who had been egged on by their sibling finally confessed to what they had done, and begged forgiveness. But the one who began it all said nary a word.
To this day, the farm still grows red berries instead of golden. It is now the only memory of a woman who loved and respected the fields and her father's wishes perhaps too much. So when you drink wine, think of her and the work that goes into the fields. Think also of why it all occurred in the first place.
What happened to the plotters? Ah, that’s another tale.
edited to fix board transfer problems
Last edited by AKA Azure on Sat May 24, 2008 7:20 am, edited 2 times in total.
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AKA Azure - Social Leech
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by AKA Azure » Sat Oct 27, 2007 5:15 pm
Written for the Advocates of New Hope and their Fall Festival party (nice party Marvin, you worked hard on it!)
(untitled)
Once there were two friends. They had scrimped and saved and finally could purchase a farm and orchard. Each stood surety for the other. For that’s what friends do, they each aid the other. And each year they would faithfully pay their mortgages and neither regretted standing for the other.
One year, there was a bad frost, before planting time but after the trees began to flower. And the fruit crop was blighted. The friend who owned the farm went to the bank and spoke with the banker. He knew his friend wouldn’t be able to pay his mortgage this year and wanted to avoid worrying him. So he paid it instead.
He never said anything about it, but after a while he wondered why his friend didn’t either. This grew inside him like a canker, and he didn’t visit his friend as often. Instead, he sat and tended his crops and grew angrier and angrier that he was taken for granted. It was his hard work and coin that saved his friend after all!
Came the harvest, he went to the bank to pay his own mortgage. When he got there, and he was still griping inside for his friend’s action, he was amazed to find his own mortgage had been paid off by *looks about and grins* an unknown benefactor
He went to his friend finally, after all this time, and confronted him. “Did you do this? Did you pay my mortgage?”
His friend smiled and admitted that indeed he had. “For I always save a little, each fall harvest and put it away in time of need.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? After I paid your payment and all?”
His friend turned red and looked anywhere but at him “I didn’t have the words of thanks. I kept hoping they would come to me, but they didn’t. You trusted me with so much, not even coming to talk of your deed. I felt that to honor you I should do the same”
He took a deep breath and continued “And now it is harvest, soon to be fall festival. At the turning of the leaves I couldn’t leave it be. I had to do something to repay you and show you how much I value our friendship. I realized how busy you were this year, so this was the only way I could think of.”
The two friends looked at each other and grinned; their anger and uneasiness gone as quickly as sandy footsteps at high tide. For fall festival isn’t merely a way to celebrate the harvest and the season’s turn. It is also a way to close one chapter of one’s life and to open another.
So let us all toast Fall Festival and those who celebrate it. Long may we enjoy it and the chances it gives us!
edited to fix board changeover problems.
(untitled)
Once there were two friends. They had scrimped and saved and finally could purchase a farm and orchard. Each stood surety for the other. For that’s what friends do, they each aid the other. And each year they would faithfully pay their mortgages and neither regretted standing for the other.
One year, there was a bad frost, before planting time but after the trees began to flower. And the fruit crop was blighted. The friend who owned the farm went to the bank and spoke with the banker. He knew his friend wouldn’t be able to pay his mortgage this year and wanted to avoid worrying him. So he paid it instead.
He never said anything about it, but after a while he wondered why his friend didn’t either. This grew inside him like a canker, and he didn’t visit his friend as often. Instead, he sat and tended his crops and grew angrier and angrier that he was taken for granted. It was his hard work and coin that saved his friend after all!
Came the harvest, he went to the bank to pay his own mortgage. When he got there, and he was still griping inside for his friend’s action, he was amazed to find his own mortgage had been paid off by *looks about and grins* an unknown benefactor
He went to his friend finally, after all this time, and confronted him. “Did you do this? Did you pay my mortgage?”
His friend smiled and admitted that indeed he had. “For I always save a little, each fall harvest and put it away in time of need.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? After I paid your payment and all?”
His friend turned red and looked anywhere but at him “I didn’t have the words of thanks. I kept hoping they would come to me, but they didn’t. You trusted me with so much, not even coming to talk of your deed. I felt that to honor you I should do the same”
He took a deep breath and continued “And now it is harvest, soon to be fall festival. At the turning of the leaves I couldn’t leave it be. I had to do something to repay you and show you how much I value our friendship. I realized how busy you were this year, so this was the only way I could think of.”
The two friends looked at each other and grinned; their anger and uneasiness gone as quickly as sandy footsteps at high tide. For fall festival isn’t merely a way to celebrate the harvest and the season’s turn. It is also a way to close one chapter of one’s life and to open another.
So let us all toast Fall Festival and those who celebrate it. Long may we enjoy it and the chances it gives us!
edited to fix board changeover problems.
Last edited by AKA Azure on Sat May 24, 2008 7:22 am, edited 1 time in total.
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AKA Azure - Social Leech
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by AKA Azure » Thu Nov 01, 2007 7:04 pm
A tale concocted in the inn for Marron and Kjarg. (Thanks for the inspiration Kharg). Presented as a tale Azure had read long ago.
Wolf the Brewer
Once, when the world was much younger and the Spirits spoke with both human and animals, there lived a wolf. He was quite a friendly wolf, as wolves go, and he was a master brewer as well. And he enjoyed a good ale with his friends, and there were many who would call themselves that, for his ale was quite good. But there comes a time when every keg run dries and it was at that point he realized that his friends weren't always that...just when the mugs were full. How sad he was! He howled his anguish at the Moon. Considering the time, and the spirits, the Moon listened.
She leaned forward from her white glowing chair and asked him what caused him such sadness. He told her and she was silent for a time. Finally she whispered some advice in his ear and continued on her way.
The wolf was startled at first, and he wasn't sure he wanted to do it, but he decided to take her advice. Why get advice from one such as the Moon if one won't heed it? Soon, it became known about the woods that Wolf was not such a good brewer anymore. his ale was, quite frankly, skunked.
Slowly, his crowds of friends faded away and just a few were left. The ones who praised his ale, he sorted from the rest. For a drunk will drink anything and be happy. This was some of the wisdom the Moon had told him. The ones who slowly nursed a mug over the entire evening, rarely drinking but instead just...being there, he paid heed to as he did to the ones who quietly tried to give him some brewing advice as well.
As the Moon told him, he had two types of friends there, the ones who would suffer much, just to be around a friend, and the ones who wished to help their friends better themselves.
Which is worth more? That is something we in our hearts have to decide. Wolf knew that both were precious, and when he began brewing good ale again, he kept it in mind.
This is the tale as I first heard it.
Wolf the Brewer
Once, when the world was much younger and the Spirits spoke with both human and animals, there lived a wolf. He was quite a friendly wolf, as wolves go, and he was a master brewer as well. And he enjoyed a good ale with his friends, and there were many who would call themselves that, for his ale was quite good. But there comes a time when every keg run dries and it was at that point he realized that his friends weren't always that...just when the mugs were full. How sad he was! He howled his anguish at the Moon. Considering the time, and the spirits, the Moon listened.
She leaned forward from her white glowing chair and asked him what caused him such sadness. He told her and she was silent for a time. Finally she whispered some advice in his ear and continued on her way.
The wolf was startled at first, and he wasn't sure he wanted to do it, but he decided to take her advice. Why get advice from one such as the Moon if one won't heed it? Soon, it became known about the woods that Wolf was not such a good brewer anymore. his ale was, quite frankly, skunked.
Slowly, his crowds of friends faded away and just a few were left. The ones who praised his ale, he sorted from the rest. For a drunk will drink anything and be happy. This was some of the wisdom the Moon had told him. The ones who slowly nursed a mug over the entire evening, rarely drinking but instead just...being there, he paid heed to as he did to the ones who quietly tried to give him some brewing advice as well.
As the Moon told him, he had two types of friends there, the ones who would suffer much, just to be around a friend, and the ones who wished to help their friends better themselves.
Which is worth more? That is something we in our hearts have to decide. Wolf knew that both were precious, and when he began brewing good ale again, he kept it in mind.
This is the tale as I first heard it.
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AKA Azure - Social Leech
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by AKA Azure » Sat Nov 10, 2007 3:48 pm
A tale told at the Vanguards' Rouge Rogue Traveling Tavern. Thanks for the inspiration for the traveling party and thus the overall tale!
Mike the Mighty and His Traveling Party
Once there was a party that moved from town to town and it ran all the time. A fellow named Mike ran it. Mike the Mighty he liked to be called. Others called him Mighty Mike, but all agreed he was a mighty fine fellow. And he had a large wagon that he used to move the pieces of the party where ever he wanted
One day Mike would set up in one town, stay several days until the exotic stores were emptied, and he'd travel on to the next. Some folks would travel with him for a month or two at a time as well. It was a strange way to live, but Mike enjoyed it. He had made his coin once, long ago, and appeared determined to spend it all before he died. So things went on for many smiles of Sunrifter, and many fall festivals came and went.
One day however, things changed. Mike was traveling between two towns and he saw the rising of smoke from ahead. He motioned to the other partygoers and they sped up. They found, just a few marcs later a burned out group of wagons, and the slaughtered folks nearby; they were setting to bury them when a thin wail rose from behind some rocks.
Some were worried, thinking the restless dead were there already, but Mighty Mike would have none of it. He rose up, and took his great axe along with him towards the rocks, and what he found there was a small babe, carefully wrapped and hidden away. There was a damp suckling rag near the child and it stank of wine. Obviously someone had the sense to realize what was happening yet didn't have enough time to do anything but hide the babe, and see to it that it wouldn't cry out and attract attention. The wine saw to that. But now the babe awoke and was letting the world know of its displeasure.
Mike nearly dropped the axe in his surprise and picked up the babe nervously. He didn't know anything about babies except for the fact that they could be loud at one end and messy at both! He learned quickly. For when one of the party goers took a peek at the child and pronounced 'it' a girl, and the baby made a grab for Mike's nose, he was hooked. Mike settled down that very season. He wouldn't raise Ember as he called her, in a traveling wagon.
And oh, the troubles that girl got Mike into! She was fair of features, her face often wore a smile, and the boys came calling. Mike would have none of it. He carved a staff with her name on it and said that when there was a lad that caught her eye and who could wield the staff well enough against his axe, then the lad could court her.
Ember didn't mind. She knew she had Mighty Mike, the best Da in the world. And she knew that anything he did for her, he did out of love.
Now remember, he was Mighty for a reason, and his axe was tall and sharp. Many lads looked at him, heard the challenge and skulked away. Finally one came who cared for Ember and she for him. But he was more of a scholar, and a staff wielded by him against Mighty Mike's axe would surely fail....and he knew it. He cared for Ember though and was willing to try. Mike almost liked the lad, even if he was a bit bookish, and Ember, why she was crazy about him. But she knew he couldn't stand up to her Da, and he did too.
He came to Mike and asked him to repeat the challenge, and then he nodded and took up the staff. In a clear voice, that didn't waver...well, too much he said, “This staff, I would care for as it has my beloved's name on it. I will not strike it against your axe for I would not see it harmed due to the name carved on it. However, I don't think you would swing your axe against it, again, for the name carved on it. So I say to you sir, Mighty Mike of the once Traveling Party, that I would ask for your daughter’s hand in bonding, and for your blessing as well. And, for two months out of the year we will travel with you, as I search for new books...and the rest of the year we will stay in one town and you may visit us.
That is what the lad said to Mike, and Mike laughingly agreed. You see, Mike didn't seek someone who could outfight him; he sought someone who cared for Ember like he did. He gave them bottles of wine for their wedding day, in memory of how he found Ember, and then he set off in his old wagon and party traveled on.
And that is the story of Mike the Mighty and his traveling party
Mike the Mighty and His Traveling Party
Once there was a party that moved from town to town and it ran all the time. A fellow named Mike ran it. Mike the Mighty he liked to be called. Others called him Mighty Mike, but all agreed he was a mighty fine fellow. And he had a large wagon that he used to move the pieces of the party where ever he wanted
One day Mike would set up in one town, stay several days until the exotic stores were emptied, and he'd travel on to the next. Some folks would travel with him for a month or two at a time as well. It was a strange way to live, but Mike enjoyed it. He had made his coin once, long ago, and appeared determined to spend it all before he died. So things went on for many smiles of Sunrifter, and many fall festivals came and went.
One day however, things changed. Mike was traveling between two towns and he saw the rising of smoke from ahead. He motioned to the other partygoers and they sped up. They found, just a few marcs later a burned out group of wagons, and the slaughtered folks nearby; they were setting to bury them when a thin wail rose from behind some rocks.
Some were worried, thinking the restless dead were there already, but Mighty Mike would have none of it. He rose up, and took his great axe along with him towards the rocks, and what he found there was a small babe, carefully wrapped and hidden away. There was a damp suckling rag near the child and it stank of wine. Obviously someone had the sense to realize what was happening yet didn't have enough time to do anything but hide the babe, and see to it that it wouldn't cry out and attract attention. The wine saw to that. But now the babe awoke and was letting the world know of its displeasure.
Mike nearly dropped the axe in his surprise and picked up the babe nervously. He didn't know anything about babies except for the fact that they could be loud at one end and messy at both! He learned quickly. For when one of the party goers took a peek at the child and pronounced 'it' a girl, and the baby made a grab for Mike's nose, he was hooked. Mike settled down that very season. He wouldn't raise Ember as he called her, in a traveling wagon.
And oh, the troubles that girl got Mike into! She was fair of features, her face often wore a smile, and the boys came calling. Mike would have none of it. He carved a staff with her name on it and said that when there was a lad that caught her eye and who could wield the staff well enough against his axe, then the lad could court her.
Ember didn't mind. She knew she had Mighty Mike, the best Da in the world. And she knew that anything he did for her, he did out of love.
Now remember, he was Mighty for a reason, and his axe was tall and sharp. Many lads looked at him, heard the challenge and skulked away. Finally one came who cared for Ember and she for him. But he was more of a scholar, and a staff wielded by him against Mighty Mike's axe would surely fail....and he knew it. He cared for Ember though and was willing to try. Mike almost liked the lad, even if he was a bit bookish, and Ember, why she was crazy about him. But she knew he couldn't stand up to her Da, and he did too.
He came to Mike and asked him to repeat the challenge, and then he nodded and took up the staff. In a clear voice, that didn't waver...well, too much he said, “This staff, I would care for as it has my beloved's name on it. I will not strike it against your axe for I would not see it harmed due to the name carved on it. However, I don't think you would swing your axe against it, again, for the name carved on it. So I say to you sir, Mighty Mike of the once Traveling Party, that I would ask for your daughter’s hand in bonding, and for your blessing as well. And, for two months out of the year we will travel with you, as I search for new books...and the rest of the year we will stay in one town and you may visit us.
That is what the lad said to Mike, and Mike laughingly agreed. You see, Mike didn't seek someone who could outfight him; he sought someone who cared for Ember like he did. He gave them bottles of wine for their wedding day, in memory of how he found Ember, and then he set off in his old wagon and party traveled on.
And that is the story of Mike the Mighty and his traveling party
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AKA Azure - Social Leech
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by AKA Azure » Fri Nov 23, 2007 8:37 pm
Recently told by Az is Cerbies. Thanks to Agua for inspiring it by requesting a story about grace and acceptance!
Pelican and Squirrel
You know Squirrel: graceful and daring in the trees, lovely with her leaps, and graceful on the ground. You may not know Pelican, for he is a creature not seen about these parts. But he has been written of: beautiful in flight, but laughable on the ground or in the water.
Aren't we all like Pelican? At ease in some places but not in others?
Pelican was happy for a time, until someone laughed as he waddled from one place to another. He soothed himself with thoughts of their boorishness until someone else laughed as he tried to take wing. Then he grew discontented and wished to be one who was never laughed at, for he hated the sound of laughter turned against him
He did what he could to grow graceful. He tried to move smoothly and well, but it was to no avail. Soon, he began to doubt even his beauty in flight. He looked about carefully to see who might be graceful; who he might learn from. Finally he settled on Squirrel.
However, he could not just go up to her, for that would be too embarrassing. Instead he watched her from afar, trying to capture what she did. He saw how she flirted her tail, held her head, and scampered about. And he tried to imitate it.
Now, the Pelican is not small or graceful. Not petite like Squirrel, so it was rather laughable. He was not subtle in his watching and mimicking. At least, not subtle enough to escape Squirrel's watchful eye, but Squirrel was not a mean creature, so she merely watched curiously and saw Pelican attempt to imitate her.
She wasn't sure why Pelican was doing what he did, but instead of being upset, she was...flattered a bit. He wasn't causing harm, and she realized he was trying to do what she could do. But still, it was odd. She thought a while about what to do. A Pelican, after all, can't do what a squirrel does.
Finally, one day when Pelican was nearby, but not yet imitating her, Squirrel held her tail in both hands and began to wipe at her eyes 'Oh woe is me' she cried. 'How I wish I could fly'
Now this was so silly sounding to Pelican he had to say something. 'Now see here' he said as he waddled forward 'You are a Squirrel, and lovely in what you do'
Squirrel looked up, tail still in her hands and asked tremulously 'Really? But I so want to fly. If I could just do that I would be happy'
'Be happy with what you have!' Pelican cried out. 'Oh I wish I was dainty and graceful like you!'
Squirrel released her tail and looked at him, making big eyes. 'But what you have is so lovely, how can I not want to do it as well?
Pelican was shocked! He hadn't thought about that at all. He hadn't realized anyone thought what he did was graceful or beautiful or anything. All he could hear was the laughter and jeers. And the two looked at each other for some time before Pelican bowed low to Squirrel and thanked her. He admitted he had been trying to imitate her, not being content with what he had.
Squirrel bowed back and thanked him for the compliment of imitation, and assured him that what he was, and what he did was lovely in its own way
To this day, Pelican remembers the kindness Squirrel showed him, and Squirrel remembers the compliments Pelican gave her. Although you won't see them together much, they do remember. For that is what friends do.
Pelican and Squirrel
You know Squirrel: graceful and daring in the trees, lovely with her leaps, and graceful on the ground. You may not know Pelican, for he is a creature not seen about these parts. But he has been written of: beautiful in flight, but laughable on the ground or in the water.
Aren't we all like Pelican? At ease in some places but not in others?
Pelican was happy for a time, until someone laughed as he waddled from one place to another. He soothed himself with thoughts of their boorishness until someone else laughed as he tried to take wing. Then he grew discontented and wished to be one who was never laughed at, for he hated the sound of laughter turned against him
He did what he could to grow graceful. He tried to move smoothly and well, but it was to no avail. Soon, he began to doubt even his beauty in flight. He looked about carefully to see who might be graceful; who he might learn from. Finally he settled on Squirrel.
However, he could not just go up to her, for that would be too embarrassing. Instead he watched her from afar, trying to capture what she did. He saw how she flirted her tail, held her head, and scampered about. And he tried to imitate it.
Now, the Pelican is not small or graceful. Not petite like Squirrel, so it was rather laughable. He was not subtle in his watching and mimicking. At least, not subtle enough to escape Squirrel's watchful eye, but Squirrel was not a mean creature, so she merely watched curiously and saw Pelican attempt to imitate her.
She wasn't sure why Pelican was doing what he did, but instead of being upset, she was...flattered a bit. He wasn't causing harm, and she realized he was trying to do what she could do. But still, it was odd. She thought a while about what to do. A Pelican, after all, can't do what a squirrel does.
Finally, one day when Pelican was nearby, but not yet imitating her, Squirrel held her tail in both hands and began to wipe at her eyes 'Oh woe is me' she cried. 'How I wish I could fly'
Now this was so silly sounding to Pelican he had to say something. 'Now see here' he said as he waddled forward 'You are a Squirrel, and lovely in what you do'
Squirrel looked up, tail still in her hands and asked tremulously 'Really? But I so want to fly. If I could just do that I would be happy'
'Be happy with what you have!' Pelican cried out. 'Oh I wish I was dainty and graceful like you!'
Squirrel released her tail and looked at him, making big eyes. 'But what you have is so lovely, how can I not want to do it as well?
Pelican was shocked! He hadn't thought about that at all. He hadn't realized anyone thought what he did was graceful or beautiful or anything. All he could hear was the laughter and jeers. And the two looked at each other for some time before Pelican bowed low to Squirrel and thanked her. He admitted he had been trying to imitate her, not being content with what he had.
Squirrel bowed back and thanked him for the compliment of imitation, and assured him that what he was, and what he did was lovely in its own way
To this day, Pelican remembers the kindness Squirrel showed him, and Squirrel remembers the compliments Pelican gave her. Although you won't see them together much, they do remember. For that is what friends do.
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AKA Azure - Social Leech
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- Joined: Sun Aug 13, 2006 6:17 am
by AKA Azure » Mon Dec 17, 2007 7:59 pm
This was recently told in the Grill after a quest story by Kit Written. Inspired by Kit and some others talking about pleading looks a day or so earlier.
Hawk's Eyes
Once, long after Vulture helped the other birds find their suits of feathers, Hawk realized he was unhappy. It wasn’t his suit, for he did love the way the feathers looked and the contrast of color. Nor was it his talons or beak. For he felt both were fine and did their jobs well. He wasn’t sure what it was, he just couldn’t put wing on it, but it was something.
Finally, as he watched some of the others birds dancing on the wind of a fine day, Hawk realized what was wrong. As they danced in and out of the clouds, he realized he was losing sight of them, and that wouldn’t do at all. How could he be a great hunter, which is how he saw himself, if he couldn’t even watch his friends?
You must realize Hawk didn’t always have the splendid eyes he has now. In fact, they were rather a muddy green.”
Maybe one of the other birds would change eyes with him.
Hawk realized that to gain what he wanted he would need to find something to trade with…just in case. He flew back and forth, searching tirelessly, but he couldn’t find anything that he thought he’d be willing to accept if he were to give up sharp eyes. Finally he lit on a branch, clacked his beak and mantled. His upset was apparent to any with eyes no matter how strong or weak.
A voice near his foot startled him. It asked “what is wrong friend?” Hawk peered and finally saw a tiny worm, creeping along on the branch. Now, you must forgive Hawk, he had had a bad day. And now a worm was speaking to him! He reaches out with a powerful talon to strike at the worm but he missed.
Oddly enough, instead of being angry the worm looked up at him and said sympathetically “is it so bad that you must attack another? If so, I am here and will not shy away.” This made Hawk so ashamed that he apologized. He felt terrible for taking out his mood on an innocent passerby.
The worm assured him it was alright and urged Hawk to explain what was wrong.
Hawk poured out his problems to the worm. He knew someone was willing to listen and at this point, he just wanted to be heard. And to be honest, he didn’t think a lowly worm could help him.
At the end of the tale the worm said “so you would trade for such a thing? What would you trade?”
“I don’t know,” said Hawk in frustration. “But if I did have something I could trade, I would.”
Worm thought a moment and finally said “and if it was one such as I who could help? What would you say?”
Hawk was ready to laugh at this absurd statement, but then he realized it would be rude to do to one who had been so kind to him. Instead he said “I would ask what would be your price? And what could you do to help?”
Worm laughed and told him that he had just the eyes Hawk wanted…dark eyes to see far, and gold eyes to see keen. But Hawk, no matter how much he wanted those eyes was no fool. He asked, “And what is your price?”
Worm thought a moment and said “merely your protection of my kind.” Now, Hawk was willing to humor him this far, and was curious at this point so he told worm that if he could protect worm and his kind he would.
With that, the worm shimmered and his other form, that of Butterfly was seen. Right on his wings were the eyes he had promised Hawk, and to this day, butterflies display the eyes as a way to remind folks of the shared deal. And it was then that Hawk realized he hadn’t been speaking to a worm, but a caterpillar.
And Hawk? Oh, he kept his end of the bargain. To this day, Hawk hovers high in the air using his fine eyes to find the birds who might target Worm and his family.
This is how I first hear the tale of Hawk and his eyes he wanted so desperately. And how he found them amongst what he thought was the humblest of creatures.
edited to fix transfer problems
Hawk's Eyes
Once, long after Vulture helped the other birds find their suits of feathers, Hawk realized he was unhappy. It wasn’t his suit, for he did love the way the feathers looked and the contrast of color. Nor was it his talons or beak. For he felt both were fine and did their jobs well. He wasn’t sure what it was, he just couldn’t put wing on it, but it was something.
Finally, as he watched some of the others birds dancing on the wind of a fine day, Hawk realized what was wrong. As they danced in and out of the clouds, he realized he was losing sight of them, and that wouldn’t do at all. How could he be a great hunter, which is how he saw himself, if he couldn’t even watch his friends?
You must realize Hawk didn’t always have the splendid eyes he has now. In fact, they were rather a muddy green.”
Maybe one of the other birds would change eyes with him.
Hawk realized that to gain what he wanted he would need to find something to trade with…just in case. He flew back and forth, searching tirelessly, but he couldn’t find anything that he thought he’d be willing to accept if he were to give up sharp eyes. Finally he lit on a branch, clacked his beak and mantled. His upset was apparent to any with eyes no matter how strong or weak.
A voice near his foot startled him. It asked “what is wrong friend?” Hawk peered and finally saw a tiny worm, creeping along on the branch. Now, you must forgive Hawk, he had had a bad day. And now a worm was speaking to him! He reaches out with a powerful talon to strike at the worm but he missed.
Oddly enough, instead of being angry the worm looked up at him and said sympathetically “is it so bad that you must attack another? If so, I am here and will not shy away.” This made Hawk so ashamed that he apologized. He felt terrible for taking out his mood on an innocent passerby.
The worm assured him it was alright and urged Hawk to explain what was wrong.
Hawk poured out his problems to the worm. He knew someone was willing to listen and at this point, he just wanted to be heard. And to be honest, he didn’t think a lowly worm could help him.
At the end of the tale the worm said “so you would trade for such a thing? What would you trade?”
“I don’t know,” said Hawk in frustration. “But if I did have something I could trade, I would.”
Worm thought a moment and finally said “and if it was one such as I who could help? What would you say?”
Hawk was ready to laugh at this absurd statement, but then he realized it would be rude to do to one who had been so kind to him. Instead he said “I would ask what would be your price? And what could you do to help?”
Worm laughed and told him that he had just the eyes Hawk wanted…dark eyes to see far, and gold eyes to see keen. But Hawk, no matter how much he wanted those eyes was no fool. He asked, “And what is your price?”
Worm thought a moment and said “merely your protection of my kind.” Now, Hawk was willing to humor him this far, and was curious at this point so he told worm that if he could protect worm and his kind he would.
With that, the worm shimmered and his other form, that of Butterfly was seen. Right on his wings were the eyes he had promised Hawk, and to this day, butterflies display the eyes as a way to remind folks of the shared deal. And it was then that Hawk realized he hadn’t been speaking to a worm, but a caterpillar.
And Hawk? Oh, he kept his end of the bargain. To this day, Hawk hovers high in the air using his fine eyes to find the birds who might target Worm and his family.
This is how I first hear the tale of Hawk and his eyes he wanted so desperately. And how he found them amongst what he thought was the humblest of creatures.
edited to fix transfer problems
Last edited by AKA Azure on Sat May 24, 2008 7:23 am, edited 1 time in total.
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AKA Azure - Social Leech
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- Joined: Sun Aug 13, 2006 6:17 am
by AKA Azure » Thu Dec 20, 2007 7:31 am
Inspired by a few passing words with Seragil and cemented by some humorous conversation in the Grill by Will, Zakath, Meara and Jael. It contains some references to earlier tales in this and other threads.
Crow and Rainbows
When the birds chose their suits of feathers long ago, a few chose the quieter and more muted ones. Crow was one of these. Instead of the bright reds, yellows or blues, he chose somber, quiet black.
Now, you must realize that Crow tended to stay at a distance from the others, not spending much time in the gatherings and congresses of the birds. And for a time, the other birds might make mock of him, or be uneasy about him but eventually they just grew to understand that was Crow. They grew used to his distance and his sometimes ominous appearance. And when others would ask they'd just give a wingshrug and say "it's Crow." And this went on for some time.
You may recall hearing how the first rainbow was formed, and how certain beings had tried to keep it from coming to be. Well, they may have given up but some others had noticed how the rainbow was a symbol of hope to many. And they didn't want that continuing.
These being decided to capture Rainbow and keep it from raising folks' spirits. They prepared a deep dark hole, much like that abyss we have cluttering up the place in the Dundee Inn.
Somehow, and no one really knows since Crow isn't talking, Crow found out about the plot. Crow often knows things others don't. For his own Crow reasons, he decided it was a bad idea and went to foil it. However, Crow is not always the most straightforward of all beings. Perhaps it stems from how he is treated, or perhaps his treatment stems from that. And maybe he didn't want the fuss and muss if he came right out and said who was doing it and why.
He went to see Rainbow and chatted with it for awhile. Rainbow was happy with the attention, for unless it is in the sky, it is rarely noticed. Sometimes, we are like that and only notice the things right in front of us. Soon the plotters came, prepared to steal away the rainbow. Quick as a flash, Crow gobbled up it up and flew away with a laughed caw.
The plotters were furious! They chased after Crow, but he easily out flew them and hid in the gathering gloom.
When it was safe, he released Rainbow and, as much as Crow ever does, explained what he did. Which is to say, Rainbow was left rather confused. For that is the way with conversations with Crow.
Be that as it may, Rainbow thanked him and the plotters were thwarted. Before leaving for its home, Rainbow brushed against Crow in thanks. And that is why, if you look closely at a crow as it flies by, you can still a faint sheen of the rainbow. And maybe Crow isn't as dark and colorless as he first might seem. And, even if he still seems to prefer his own company over that of others, he still once contained a rainbow within.
And that is the tale as I first heard it.
Crow and Rainbows
When the birds chose their suits of feathers long ago, a few chose the quieter and more muted ones. Crow was one of these. Instead of the bright reds, yellows or blues, he chose somber, quiet black.
Now, you must realize that Crow tended to stay at a distance from the others, not spending much time in the gatherings and congresses of the birds. And for a time, the other birds might make mock of him, or be uneasy about him but eventually they just grew to understand that was Crow. They grew used to his distance and his sometimes ominous appearance. And when others would ask they'd just give a wingshrug and say "it's Crow." And this went on for some time.
You may recall hearing how the first rainbow was formed, and how certain beings had tried to keep it from coming to be. Well, they may have given up but some others had noticed how the rainbow was a symbol of hope to many. And they didn't want that continuing.
These being decided to capture Rainbow and keep it from raising folks' spirits. They prepared a deep dark hole, much like that abyss we have cluttering up the place in the Dundee Inn.
Somehow, and no one really knows since Crow isn't talking, Crow found out about the plot. Crow often knows things others don't. For his own Crow reasons, he decided it was a bad idea and went to foil it. However, Crow is not always the most straightforward of all beings. Perhaps it stems from how he is treated, or perhaps his treatment stems from that. And maybe he didn't want the fuss and muss if he came right out and said who was doing it and why.
He went to see Rainbow and chatted with it for awhile. Rainbow was happy with the attention, for unless it is in the sky, it is rarely noticed. Sometimes, we are like that and only notice the things right in front of us. Soon the plotters came, prepared to steal away the rainbow. Quick as a flash, Crow gobbled up it up and flew away with a laughed caw.
The plotters were furious! They chased after Crow, but he easily out flew them and hid in the gathering gloom.
When it was safe, he released Rainbow and, as much as Crow ever does, explained what he did. Which is to say, Rainbow was left rather confused. For that is the way with conversations with Crow.
Be that as it may, Rainbow thanked him and the plotters were thwarted. Before leaving for its home, Rainbow brushed against Crow in thanks. And that is why, if you look closely at a crow as it flies by, you can still a faint sheen of the rainbow. And maybe Crow isn't as dark and colorless as he first might seem. And, even if he still seems to prefer his own company over that of others, he still once contained a rainbow within.
And that is the tale as I first heard it.
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AKA Azure - Social Leech
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by AKA Azure » Tue Jan 15, 2008 2:36 pm
A tale for Aila of one who went looking for his heart's desire (recently told in the Dundee Inn)
Once there was a young man who lived in a small village who didn't know what he wanted out of life. He was always looking over the next hill, and waiting for the newest tales and travelers. Nothing satisfied him.
One day he went and told his folks he was leaving. 'To seek a better place' he declared.
Luckily for him, his mother had realized he was getting itchy feet and had a pack prepared for him. In it was a change of clothes, some food, an empty book, and some coins - way down at the bottom. And off he went. He paused only to cut himself a stout walking stick.
He went over hill and dale and at times, around a few for a change of scenery. He ran into all sorts of folks, tale tellers, hunters, enchanters, and even a kind healer or two. Being from a small place though he quickly fell prey to a few…scams we might call them. He lost his coins to a man who assured him that he had a solid investment for them - Bos futures.
Ah well, we all fallen prey to a few of those.
But there he was, upset, poor, down to his last change of dry socks when he decided he had to do something to make some coin...or at least to get himself a place to stay. He looked about and went to what seemed to be a prosperous farmer to ask him if he could work for room board and maybe some more - if he proved himself a good worker.
The farmer looked him up and down and agreed. So there he was, working, doing mostly the same chores he did before, but, getting paid a bit for them. At first, he thought he was happy. After his coin pouch got heavier though, he decided it wasn't what he wanted to do. So he bid farewell to the farmer and headed off to reseek his fortune.
This time though, he was closer with his coins. And, after a while was able to apprentice himself to a....locksmith. This locksmith taught him many things, and even left him with a few coins at the end of it before having to leave town on account of some coin discrepancies. There he was, a newly minted locksmith. He went off to ply his new trade and for a time he was happy. However, one day he stopped himself mid sale of Bos futures to a youngster who looked like he was just off of a farm.
'What am I doing' he thought? 'This isn't what I want to do with myself' So, off he went down that road again. And he left behind a very surprised young man too.
On this part of the journey he met a traveling healer and herb gatherer and asked if he could learn his trade. The man readily agreed, and the young man, who wasn't so young anymore, began to learn this trade. He learned this trade so well, that eventually he and his teacher separated, each to ply their trade on their own.
After a time, even this was a bit monotonous to him. 'I want a place of my own' he said. 'Why the next good place I find, I'm going to settle down and make a living there'.
He went past many places, some were too big and some were too small, but eventually he found a place that was just right. It was a small town, with some farms, and it looked oddly familiar to him, but he wasn't sure why. Oh, it had grown a bit in some places, and shrunk a bit in others, but it was his old town. Oddly enough, they didn't mind having a wanderer turned locksmith turned healer wanting to settle back down.
This was a place and being he could call his own. Now, what he had discarded before, in his adulthood seemed worthwhile...it changed, and so had he.
Perhaps it not what we have that is good or bad, but how we regard it.
Once there was a young man who lived in a small village who didn't know what he wanted out of life. He was always looking over the next hill, and waiting for the newest tales and travelers. Nothing satisfied him.
One day he went and told his folks he was leaving. 'To seek a better place' he declared.
Luckily for him, his mother had realized he was getting itchy feet and had a pack prepared for him. In it was a change of clothes, some food, an empty book, and some coins - way down at the bottom. And off he went. He paused only to cut himself a stout walking stick.
He went over hill and dale and at times, around a few for a change of scenery. He ran into all sorts of folks, tale tellers, hunters, enchanters, and even a kind healer or two. Being from a small place though he quickly fell prey to a few…scams we might call them. He lost his coins to a man who assured him that he had a solid investment for them - Bos futures.
Ah well, we all fallen prey to a few of those.
But there he was, upset, poor, down to his last change of dry socks when he decided he had to do something to make some coin...or at least to get himself a place to stay. He looked about and went to what seemed to be a prosperous farmer to ask him if he could work for room board and maybe some more - if he proved himself a good worker.
The farmer looked him up and down and agreed. So there he was, working, doing mostly the same chores he did before, but, getting paid a bit for them. At first, he thought he was happy. After his coin pouch got heavier though, he decided it wasn't what he wanted to do. So he bid farewell to the farmer and headed off to reseek his fortune.
This time though, he was closer with his coins. And, after a while was able to apprentice himself to a....locksmith. This locksmith taught him many things, and even left him with a few coins at the end of it before having to leave town on account of some coin discrepancies. There he was, a newly minted locksmith. He went off to ply his new trade and for a time he was happy. However, one day he stopped himself mid sale of Bos futures to a youngster who looked like he was just off of a farm.
'What am I doing' he thought? 'This isn't what I want to do with myself' So, off he went down that road again. And he left behind a very surprised young man too.
On this part of the journey he met a traveling healer and herb gatherer and asked if he could learn his trade. The man readily agreed, and the young man, who wasn't so young anymore, began to learn this trade. He learned this trade so well, that eventually he and his teacher separated, each to ply their trade on their own.
After a time, even this was a bit monotonous to him. 'I want a place of my own' he said. 'Why the next good place I find, I'm going to settle down and make a living there'.
He went past many places, some were too big and some were too small, but eventually he found a place that was just right. It was a small town, with some farms, and it looked oddly familiar to him, but he wasn't sure why. Oh, it had grown a bit in some places, and shrunk a bit in others, but it was his old town. Oddly enough, they didn't mind having a wanderer turned locksmith turned healer wanting to settle back down.
This was a place and being he could call his own. Now, what he had discarded before, in his adulthood seemed worthwhile...it changed, and so had he.
Perhaps it not what we have that is good or bad, but how we regard it.
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AKA Azure - Social Leech
- Posts: 1169
- Joined: Sun Aug 13, 2006 6:17 am
by AKA Azure » Sun Jan 27, 2008 12:21 pm
Recently told in the Tavern of Glass. I was trying for a heroic tale and ended up with this one. It's another one Az 'came across' when she was reading through her mother's collection of scrolls.
Bear and the Land
This is an old tale collected from folks who live far away from Valorn and know not of the gods. They call themselves the people of the bear and this is a tale of how things came to be
Once the land was bare and brown and it was proud of its beauty. “Am I not gorgeous” the land said. “Am I not the finest being about? Without me, there would be no place to stand and all would have to swim”
In this way, Land mocked Water and it continued for some time. “I am beautiful and nothing shall hide my splendor.” Water said nothing in return, but was angry enough to boil.
But there was a problem. The creatures had no place to forage for food except for going by the edge of Water and scooping out what fish and plants they could. The creatures were afraid to say anything, for fear Land would throw them off and send them scurrying to water. Land had done it before, and none wanted that punishment again. Fur and feathers takes a long time to dry.
Finally though, one decided to do something. Bear. Now, Bear had prospered, his paws were splendidly made for scooping up fish and his fur was fine and glossy and he was fit and fat under his pelt. He still saw what was going on as wrong however, and he wanted to do something about it.
Bear waited until Land was asleep one day and went to speak with the Spirits and with Water. And between them, they concocted a plan. The next time Land began bragging, Bear spoke up. “If you are so fine, why do you not nurture like Water does?”
Land was incensed. “I let you all dwell here, what is that if not nurturing?”
Bear merely rumbled a laugh and shook his shaggy head. “Oh, you let us live here, but we care for ourselves. True nurturing is if you cared for something that could not. Then, to add to the argument he slyly said “Water does that all the time. Perhaps Water IS better then you.”
“I can nurture, better then Water!” Land shouted, and the ground beneath them rumbled and tumbled, raising some hills and mountains.
“If you were to aid these seeds in growth, I might believe that. But I don’t think you can’ Bear responded, holding up a small filled pouch. The pouch was a fine one indeed. It was made of strong cloth and embroidered with thread so fine, you couldn’t see the individual strands.
“Of course I can!” Land was affronted and the ground shifted more, changing the flat brown landscape even further. “I’ll show you all.”
And at Land’s urging, okay, Land’s demands, Bear went about sprinkling seeds in various places.
Now, this is just what the Spririts and Water was waiting for. Bits of Water were gathered up and fell as a gentle rain. And the conditions were just right for the seeds to sprout and grow. Before Land knew what was happening forests and meadows, fields and plains were all over the place. The creatures all scattered into places where they were most comfortable. Some went to the forests, others to the meadows.
Land saw its beautiful skin all marked up and began to weep. “Do not cry Land” said Bear gently, “there are places your austere beauty shows through and it is made more so by the areas which are concealed. For, hidden glimpses are more appealing, and now there are more about to recognize your beauty.
And that was indeed so, for the creatures prospered like never before. And Land was, after a time, content. However, to this day, sometimes Land remembers what was, and mourns. It is then the earth quakes and mountains split.
And that is the tale as I read umm…recopied it. And as for why they called themselves the people of the Bear? That is a tale for another time.
edited to fix transfer problems
Bear and the Land
This is an old tale collected from folks who live far away from Valorn and know not of the gods. They call themselves the people of the bear and this is a tale of how things came to be
Once the land was bare and brown and it was proud of its beauty. “Am I not gorgeous” the land said. “Am I not the finest being about? Without me, there would be no place to stand and all would have to swim”
In this way, Land mocked Water and it continued for some time. “I am beautiful and nothing shall hide my splendor.” Water said nothing in return, but was angry enough to boil.
But there was a problem. The creatures had no place to forage for food except for going by the edge of Water and scooping out what fish and plants they could. The creatures were afraid to say anything, for fear Land would throw them off and send them scurrying to water. Land had done it before, and none wanted that punishment again. Fur and feathers takes a long time to dry.
Finally though, one decided to do something. Bear. Now, Bear had prospered, his paws were splendidly made for scooping up fish and his fur was fine and glossy and he was fit and fat under his pelt. He still saw what was going on as wrong however, and he wanted to do something about it.
Bear waited until Land was asleep one day and went to speak with the Spirits and with Water. And between them, they concocted a plan. The next time Land began bragging, Bear spoke up. “If you are so fine, why do you not nurture like Water does?”
Land was incensed. “I let you all dwell here, what is that if not nurturing?”
Bear merely rumbled a laugh and shook his shaggy head. “Oh, you let us live here, but we care for ourselves. True nurturing is if you cared for something that could not. Then, to add to the argument he slyly said “Water does that all the time. Perhaps Water IS better then you.”
“I can nurture, better then Water!” Land shouted, and the ground beneath them rumbled and tumbled, raising some hills and mountains.
“If you were to aid these seeds in growth, I might believe that. But I don’t think you can’ Bear responded, holding up a small filled pouch. The pouch was a fine one indeed. It was made of strong cloth and embroidered with thread so fine, you couldn’t see the individual strands.
“Of course I can!” Land was affronted and the ground shifted more, changing the flat brown landscape even further. “I’ll show you all.”
And at Land’s urging, okay, Land’s demands, Bear went about sprinkling seeds in various places.
Now, this is just what the Spririts and Water was waiting for. Bits of Water were gathered up and fell as a gentle rain. And the conditions were just right for the seeds to sprout and grow. Before Land knew what was happening forests and meadows, fields and plains were all over the place. The creatures all scattered into places where they were most comfortable. Some went to the forests, others to the meadows.
Land saw its beautiful skin all marked up and began to weep. “Do not cry Land” said Bear gently, “there are places your austere beauty shows through and it is made more so by the areas which are concealed. For, hidden glimpses are more appealing, and now there are more about to recognize your beauty.
And that was indeed so, for the creatures prospered like never before. And Land was, after a time, content. However, to this day, sometimes Land remembers what was, and mourns. It is then the earth quakes and mountains split.
And that is the tale as I read umm…recopied it. And as for why they called themselves the people of the Bear? That is a tale for another time.
edited to fix transfer problems
Last edited by AKA Azure on Sat May 24, 2008 7:24 am, edited 1 time in total.
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AKA Azure - Social Leech
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by AKA Azure » Sun Feb 17, 2008 3:32 pm
A tale recently 'remembered in the grill' Thanks to Shirila for inspiring it with her talk of her recent bad luck helping some others.
Corwere's luck
It is said that sometimes one is better off not getting what they ask for. Now many of us might disagree with that, however, one man, the man in my tale, would not. Or at least he didn’t at first.
If it were possible for ill luck to have a home, a dwelling place; it would have lived right in Corwere’s pouch. If a trip could go poorly, a door come unhinged, a crop fail, his would. But finally, after the handle came off on not one, not two but THREE hammers when he was trying to mend his leaking roof, he had enough. He cried out to the heavens. And they answered or so this tale goes.
For someone, and I don’t know if it was Ben or Cory in a humorous mood, or Xia or Miranda feeling whimsical or even Natasha but when he cried out “I’d give anything for a drop of godly power, an end to my bad luck” Someone listened. And things began to change for him. Of course, he never asked the cost.
Things began going well for Corwere. In fact, they went so well, he began to worry. That was just the sort of thing he was used to, bad luck coming from good. But finally he grew to accept that his luck had turned, and he was happy. The rain would hold off until he finished his chores; his hens would lay enough eggs for him to sell some at market. On the trip over, they wouldn’t even break.
There would be just enough lamp oil to last until he needed to go to market next. And he would get it on sale too!
One day though, he lingered at market and heard of terrible strings of bad luck folks were having. There were folks he knew and liked. He asked a bit further, and found that this was fairly recent for them. He wasn’t the sort to overlook misfortune on others, even if it had been a lifelong companion for him.
He began to wonder if perhaps his good luck was their ill. He thought it might be a foolish conceit, but he wondered. And he prayed that it wasn’t the case. He may have had bad luck, but he would never wish it on another. Well, only that once and the fellow did laugh at him as he word the bucket on one foot and the upended paint brush in his hair
He dreamt, or perhaps it was too much ale or bad food or something, and he was reminded of his plea to give anything for good luck. When he awoke, he could only dimly remember arguing that that was not what he meant. He couldn’t remember what if anything else happened though. And he blamed the late supper for giving him foul dreams. In fact he tried to put it out of his mind.
It stayed in the back of his mind though and he worried, and later that day, when he was out weeding and the hoe handle broke and it began to rain, he smiled broadly and went back inside, not cursing his luck for once. Whether it was just a run of good luck for him, bad luck for his neighbors and friends, or what, no one ever knew.
Perhaps there is only so much luck, good and ill in one place and when one has one sort, others need to pick up the others. I suppose we’ll never know, but he rarely cursed his bad luck again, only when it seemed to string out for days at a time. He always felt afterwards that perhaps the bad luck he had, was so others could have some good.
And that is the tale as I first heard it.
edited as board changes cut it short.
Corwere's luck
It is said that sometimes one is better off not getting what they ask for. Now many of us might disagree with that, however, one man, the man in my tale, would not. Or at least he didn’t at first.
If it were possible for ill luck to have a home, a dwelling place; it would have lived right in Corwere’s pouch. If a trip could go poorly, a door come unhinged, a crop fail, his would. But finally, after the handle came off on not one, not two but THREE hammers when he was trying to mend his leaking roof, he had enough. He cried out to the heavens. And they answered or so this tale goes.
For someone, and I don’t know if it was Ben or Cory in a humorous mood, or Xia or Miranda feeling whimsical or even Natasha but when he cried out “I’d give anything for a drop of godly power, an end to my bad luck” Someone listened. And things began to change for him. Of course, he never asked the cost.
Things began going well for Corwere. In fact, they went so well, he began to worry. That was just the sort of thing he was used to, bad luck coming from good. But finally he grew to accept that his luck had turned, and he was happy. The rain would hold off until he finished his chores; his hens would lay enough eggs for him to sell some at market. On the trip over, they wouldn’t even break.
There would be just enough lamp oil to last until he needed to go to market next. And he would get it on sale too!
One day though, he lingered at market and heard of terrible strings of bad luck folks were having. There were folks he knew and liked. He asked a bit further, and found that this was fairly recent for them. He wasn’t the sort to overlook misfortune on others, even if it had been a lifelong companion for him.
He began to wonder if perhaps his good luck was their ill. He thought it might be a foolish conceit, but he wondered. And he prayed that it wasn’t the case. He may have had bad luck, but he would never wish it on another. Well, only that once and the fellow did laugh at him as he word the bucket on one foot and the upended paint brush in his hair
He dreamt, or perhaps it was too much ale or bad food or something, and he was reminded of his plea to give anything for good luck. When he awoke, he could only dimly remember arguing that that was not what he meant. He couldn’t remember what if anything else happened though. And he blamed the late supper for giving him foul dreams. In fact he tried to put it out of his mind.
It stayed in the back of his mind though and he worried, and later that day, when he was out weeding and the hoe handle broke and it began to rain, he smiled broadly and went back inside, not cursing his luck for once. Whether it was just a run of good luck for him, bad luck for his neighbors and friends, or what, no one ever knew.
Perhaps there is only so much luck, good and ill in one place and when one has one sort, others need to pick up the others. I suppose we’ll never know, but he rarely cursed his bad luck again, only when it seemed to string out for days at a time. He always felt afterwards that perhaps the bad luck he had, was so others could have some good.
And that is the tale as I first heard it.
edited as board changes cut it short.
Last edited by AKA Azure on Sat May 24, 2008 6:22 am, edited 1 time in total.
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AKA Azure - Social Leech
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by AKA Azure » Wed Feb 27, 2008 4:36 am
A brief 'fairy tale' used to kick off the Fairy Tale Event - inspired by younger siblings everywhere!
Once upon a time there was a young woman who didn’t know what she wanted to do with her life. She asked her family but she didn’t feel they were much help as they told her things she already knew.
“Farm” said her father.
“Marry a nice man and settle down” said her mother. “I’m not getting any younger and I’d like grandchildren”
“Run away from home” said her younger brother. “And can I have all your stuff when you do?”
None of these choices sounded very appealing to her – especially if it meant her brother would end up with her things. Instead, she asked some of the local artisans if she could apprentice with them. Or at least, see what they did with their days.
The potter said yes, but it didn’t take her long to realize that the best way for her to throw a pot was with an overhand gesture. She really wasn’t very good at it.
The weaver was next, but after she managed to catch her hair in the loom, she decided it wasn’t a good idea either - besides, the dyes smelled.
She tried working in the furniture maker's shop, but that didn’t work either. Planes and splinters and the rest just weren’t what she wanted.
Finally, after many more attempts, she returned home somewhat disheartened. Nothing was quite right.
“Maybe the inn,” her father said.
“You might meet a nice young man there” her mother said.
“Running away is still an option,” said her brother.
Even with her mother’s advice, she decided to try the inn next. Soon she was working there. It wasn’t easy work, at least not as easy as some might think, but there was warmth and friendship and people coming and going. But still, something was missing and she wasn’t sure what it was.
“When are you happiest?” her brother asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to try running away? It would make me happy!”
Even if he was an annoying younger brother, she decided his first question had a point. I hear even younger brothers sometimes make sense.
Each night she thought about the best part of her day. Finally she got it. It was when she was hearing people’s stories and sharing them with others. Excitedly she told her family.
“Try writing them down,” her father suggested.
“The scribe shop has a nice young man working there” her mother said.
Her brother just sighed since he knew she wasn’t going to run away and he’d not get her room and stuff. Even if he was happy for her, he wasn't going to show it. Younger brothers are like that.
And each night she would listen to the tales in the inn and write them down. When she had enough she would get them bound in a book. Some of us may have even grown up hearing her tales. But, since this is a fairy tale, about a woman who wrote them, I must conclude with… and she lived happily ever after.
edited to fix transfer problems
Once upon a time there was a young woman who didn’t know what she wanted to do with her life. She asked her family but she didn’t feel they were much help as they told her things she already knew.
“Farm” said her father.
“Marry a nice man and settle down” said her mother. “I’m not getting any younger and I’d like grandchildren”
“Run away from home” said her younger brother. “And can I have all your stuff when you do?”
None of these choices sounded very appealing to her – especially if it meant her brother would end up with her things. Instead, she asked some of the local artisans if she could apprentice with them. Or at least, see what they did with their days.
The potter said yes, but it didn’t take her long to realize that the best way for her to throw a pot was with an overhand gesture. She really wasn’t very good at it.
The weaver was next, but after she managed to catch her hair in the loom, she decided it wasn’t a good idea either - besides, the dyes smelled.
She tried working in the furniture maker's shop, but that didn’t work either. Planes and splinters and the rest just weren’t what she wanted.
Finally, after many more attempts, she returned home somewhat disheartened. Nothing was quite right.
“Maybe the inn,” her father said.
“You might meet a nice young man there” her mother said.
“Running away is still an option,” said her brother.
Even with her mother’s advice, she decided to try the inn next. Soon she was working there. It wasn’t easy work, at least not as easy as some might think, but there was warmth and friendship and people coming and going. But still, something was missing and she wasn’t sure what it was.
“When are you happiest?” her brother asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to try running away? It would make me happy!”
Even if he was an annoying younger brother, she decided his first question had a point. I hear even younger brothers sometimes make sense.
Each night she thought about the best part of her day. Finally she got it. It was when she was hearing people’s stories and sharing them with others. Excitedly she told her family.
“Try writing them down,” her father suggested.
“The scribe shop has a nice young man working there” her mother said.
Her brother just sighed since he knew she wasn’t going to run away and he’d not get her room and stuff. Even if he was happy for her, he wasn't going to show it. Younger brothers are like that.
And each night she would listen to the tales in the inn and write them down. When she had enough she would get them bound in a book. Some of us may have even grown up hearing her tales. But, since this is a fairy tale, about a woman who wrote them, I must conclude with… and she lived happily ever after.
edited to fix transfer problems
Last edited by AKA Azure on Sat May 24, 2008 7:26 am, edited 1 time in total.
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AKA Azure - Social Leech
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- Joined: Sun Aug 13, 2006 6:17 am
by AKA Azure » Sat Mar 01, 2008 11:46 am
Told in the Dundee inn to cheer up folks after a rather depressing bear tale.
Fly the hero
Once there was a fly. He wasn’t like other flies; he was tired of buzzing over carcasses, annoying folks, and all that. He wanted to do something with his life. He wanted to be a hero
Some hearing this might find it silly or even foolish - him wanting to be a hero, but even flies can dream.
He told his fly friends about his wishes, and they laughed at him. ‘Flies aren’t heroes’ they said. ‘We hover over battlefields, sometimes over fallen heroes, but we aren’t heroes.’
He didn’t let this ruin his dream though, and he decided to follow a hero around for a bit to see what made one a hero.
This didn’t work out too well. The hero kept swatting at him, and the fly couldn’t concentrate on what was going on. After one narrow escape that nearly crumpled a wing, he decided to go to an inn and listen to the tales of heroes instead. Maybe, he thought, he could learn from more stationary folks.
He soon learned that he wasn’t up to holding a pass from ravening demonic hordes, or single handedly slaying a vicious beast. He did try, but the hordes thought he was part and parcel with the fleas you see, and the vicious beast just ignored him.
And for a time, his little fly heart was filled with sadness.
But then one day, when he was listening in at a gathering much like this, trying to learn more, he heard a small, tiny voice crying out. He soon realized that no one else heard it and zipped about the room looking for the source.
After a bit of a buzzing swooping search that had folks waving their hands in the air to shoo him away, he finally found it. Deep in a bowl of rat stew he saw a young fly trying desperately to free herself. Now, usually, flies just leave each other be when they get into trouble, but not this one! Instead, he buzzed over and using the force of his wings, shifted some crumbs towards that young fly.
She was able to scramble onto them and gazed with adoration into the multi-faceted eyes of her rescuer. Soon enough, which is good considering a fly’s lifespan, they were inseparable buzzing over carrion together.
And to at least one being, the fly was a hero, and with that he was content.
edited for transfer problems
Fly the hero
Once there was a fly. He wasn’t like other flies; he was tired of buzzing over carcasses, annoying folks, and all that. He wanted to do something with his life. He wanted to be a hero
Some hearing this might find it silly or even foolish - him wanting to be a hero, but even flies can dream.
He told his fly friends about his wishes, and they laughed at him. ‘Flies aren’t heroes’ they said. ‘We hover over battlefields, sometimes over fallen heroes, but we aren’t heroes.’
He didn’t let this ruin his dream though, and he decided to follow a hero around for a bit to see what made one a hero.
This didn’t work out too well. The hero kept swatting at him, and the fly couldn’t concentrate on what was going on. After one narrow escape that nearly crumpled a wing, he decided to go to an inn and listen to the tales of heroes instead. Maybe, he thought, he could learn from more stationary folks.
He soon learned that he wasn’t up to holding a pass from ravening demonic hordes, or single handedly slaying a vicious beast. He did try, but the hordes thought he was part and parcel with the fleas you see, and the vicious beast just ignored him.
And for a time, his little fly heart was filled with sadness.
But then one day, when he was listening in at a gathering much like this, trying to learn more, he heard a small, tiny voice crying out. He soon realized that no one else heard it and zipped about the room looking for the source.
After a bit of a buzzing swooping search that had folks waving their hands in the air to shoo him away, he finally found it. Deep in a bowl of rat stew he saw a young fly trying desperately to free herself. Now, usually, flies just leave each other be when they get into trouble, but not this one! Instead, he buzzed over and using the force of his wings, shifted some crumbs towards that young fly.
She was able to scramble onto them and gazed with adoration into the multi-faceted eyes of her rescuer. Soon enough, which is good considering a fly’s lifespan, they were inseparable buzzing over carrion together.
And to at least one being, the fly was a hero, and with that he was content.
edited for transfer problems
Last edited by AKA Azure on Sat May 24, 2008 7:27 am, edited 1 time in total.
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AKA Azure - Social Leech
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