Post/Author/DateTime	Post
#1 idabrius Jun 14, 2008 9:18:48	The following is an Orcish Folktale from the Shattered Lands: Omayyar was neither a prince nor a soldier. His family was not one of prestigious honor stretching back into the shadows of history. He was a farmer, and a farmer was his father. That is not to say that he was neither wealthy nor successful! Far from it! Omayyar was a clever man who knew how to tell a story. So great was his tongue that he could take fifty silver coins and, just by his words alone, turn them into five hundred! Now, Omayyar took great pride in the stories he told. One day he heard grandmother Nanesh recounting rumors she’d gathered in the marketplace. She spoke of a man so clever, wise, and cunning that he could spin a lie and in so doing make it true! Well, Omayyar was flustered and angry when he heard this story. So much for my ambitions, he though. I am nothing more than a country farmer. This man that grandmother Nanesh speaks of… he must be a wizard. But when Omayyar himself went to the market the following morning to sell his rice and the fish he had raised, he too heard these rumors. The man was of no great account, they said, and he seemed just a normal fellow until he opened his mouth. Then the most beautiful lies would spring forth and for a few moments, they would be true. Omayyar felt as though his entire life had been meaningless until that moment. There was a man who could make words be truths even when they were not - he must meet this man. That very afternoon Omayyar sold his farm for a sackload of golden coins and provisioned himself for a long journey. The truth-speaking man had last been seen in Xu-lin Province and Omayyar would waste no time tracking him down. By that evening the farmer Omayyar had traveled seven rods north and taken rest at a traveler’s-house along the road. While he was there he heard the rumors anew - the truth-speaking man who could spin reality out of lies. Now, you and I both know that the Xu-lin Province is the farthest north of all the lands of men and separated from civilization by the wilds of the Kuang and between the two great Serpent Rivers there is not a single city. Omayyar knew this too, but his desperation to reach Xu-lin was so great that his entire self hung upon it. It had become a point of pride, a point of honor, to go and find the truth-seapking man. [more to come]
#2 idabrius Jun 15, 2008 11:28:28	Omayyar reached the Bridge of Last Hope at the southern river with joy in his heart. The day was fine and the Kuang did not look quite so frightening as it does in the dusk, with the fogs creeping in off the fens. He did not see the danger, only the road which lay before him inexorably drawing him to Xu-lin Province. The ominous name of the bridge did not deter him; he knew many who had been to Xu-Lin and back without ever meeting a bandit or a wild-thing. With determination in his hear he made his way into the Kuang. For three days he traveled and camped along the roadside. He ate boiled cabbage and stewed chicken, kept fresh by salting. Every night by the fire he would tell himself a story. He spoke out loud, hoping that day by day his skill would improve so that when he met the truth-speaking man he would be able to best him. On the third day something unusual happened. It is true that in the Kuang there are all manner of creatures that are very rare amongst the other provinces. This is why it has never been settled, why the iron hand of law and order has never come to shape it into a civilized land. These creatures are wild and strange, and they brook no interference from outsiders. Omayyar had just stopped to have lunch beneath a willow tree when four skarax emerged from the brush. A skarax is a thing almost like a man in its mind, but more like a lizard or a worm in body. They live deep beneath the earth and crawl into graveyards at night to feast on the dead. Thus, when Omayyar saw the skarax creeping towards him he leapt to his feet. He grabbed a smoldering stick from off of the fire and waved it between himself and the slowly advancing skarax. “Come no closer,” he said with a quavering voice. “Come no closer or I’ll skewer you!” The skarax hesitated. Perhaps they were drawn by the sound of his voice or the frightened fury in his tone. Omayyar took a step forward, shouting “You skarax are nothing! Worms of the earth, crawling things! You are not fit to live beneath the sky!” The skarax now were clearly intimidated. Their brains are small and it took them a moment to realize that there were four of them and only one of their quarry. All of a sudden the thing in the lead hissed loudly and they began to circle poor Omayyar. Our hero most certainly would have been dead had someone else not arrived to save him. The man who was coming down the road was called Abbas and if you have heard of him in other stories and songs, then you’ll know why he was in the Kuang that day. If you haven’t, shame on you! Abbas was a warrior of great renown, the finest to ever wield the broadsword. However he had grown tired of being sought after by younger men always seeking to learn from him or to kill him to prove that they too were masters of the sword. He had taken to living in the Kuang years before as a sort of retreat where he would meditate upon his art and there he perfected his swordplay until he was no longer merely a man. Abbas had seen Omayyar’s campfires as they drew closer and closer to his hidden home. Deciding to see whether Omayyar meant trouble or not, he had set off to meet the man. It was simple luck that he arrived when he did - luck that saved Omayyar’s life. Abbas saw at once that the farmer was in danger, and with his broadsword bending gently with the sway of his hands, he came upon the skarax from behind. One! Two! Three! Four! Four times his sword hummed and four heads fell from their shoulders. Omayyar dropped his burning brand and pressed his head to the dirt. “I am honored and relieved, great warrior,” he said, not knowing that it was Abbas to whom he spoke, but recognizing a master’s care and precision none-the-less. “Why are you honored?” Abbas asked. “My profession is an ignoble one. It is I who should be honored. You are a storyteller.”
#3 idabrius Jun 16, 2008 20:40:03	Omayyar and Abbas walked side by side back to the hut where Abbas lived. Omayyar was too overawed by the potency the other man had demonstrated in combat to even speak. Abbas was too wrapped up in his thoughts about Omayyar to notice. The two men thus went in silence, neither saying anything to the other. When Abbas’ hut came into view he said, “There. My home. You can rest here for the evening.” Omayyar answered, “Where?” and then, realizing that the shape of a hill covered with moss was no hill but in fact the home of the legendary swordsman, he said: “Ah,” and then, “Master Abbas,” (for he had realized with whom he walked as they approached) “Master Abbas, why do you live out here in the Kuang when your skill is so great?” Abbas raised his eyebrows. “Master Storyteller, why do you journey the earth when you have all that you need to get by already rattling between your teeth?” Omayyar did not know how to respond. “I was a simple farmer,” he said at last. “I didn’t want to be simple any longer.” “Nothing is simple,” Abbas quipped. “Something must have made you decide to change. That is how life works. You do one thing until you don’t and then you do another.” Omayyar pondered those words and then finally said, “Well, yes, you are right. Something did change. I heard about the truth-speaking man.” Abbas understood at once. “And so even now you go off to pit your skill against his.” “Yes,” Omayyar admitted, ashamed for no reason that he could put a finger on. “That is the story.” “Hmm,” said Abbas. And then they went inside. Abbas made Omayyar some food and they ate in quiet contemplation. Abbas made Omayyar some tea, and they drank in undisturbed silence. Abbas finally said, “I have heard of this truth-speaking man and I agree to come with you.” Not having asked if the warrior would accompany him, nor even having thought it, Omayyar was taken by surprise. He did not know what to say. He tried thanking the warrior profusely but the warrior seemed in no mood for it. Eventually Omayyar begged him to explain what quality such a master could possibly see in a wandering farmer that would impress him so. “To be honest,” Abbas said, “You have not impressed me - yet. I am a hard man to impress. But you seem to have the promise of doing so. I like that. It makes me feel… younger.” And they left it at that.