Post by fizzt on May 8, 2011 8:23:41 GMT -5
A Large fire crackles, the smoky mead hall filled with the small village's people, yet even the din of conversation does little to diminish the sound of the driving rain on the roof of the hall, and the howl of the wind as it presses against the walls.
"Come, gather close, for I've a tale to tell you all. about an isle not so far from here, in a village not so different from our own, and about a night, not so different from this."
Most of the women and children move closer to the old man, always fond of his stories. Tales of high adventure, of heroes born and slain. But tonight, the tone of his voice tells a different tale, and instead of elbowing one another for the best seats in the house, many of the younger children stay closer to their mothers. A strange quiet comes over the hall, the men who had been drinking and carousing earlier, grow quiet and nurse their drinking horns. Few things could so easily quiet a village hall in the moonshaes, but this was a story they knew well. Some may have even known someone who knew someone, who had been in that village, not so different from their own. After the children settled, and the elder looked over each one of them in turn, the storm itself seemed to die down as well, slightly, at least, as if some unseen force wanted each word of this story to be heard.
"There was once a village, to the north, and west of here, a small fishing village not unlike our own. Their leader was a man of great stature and great pride, a man who may have only had two long ships under his banner, but a man who, with his men, had earned many a title, and many an honour to decorate their shields with. For two years, their women had been fertile, their bellies full, and their raids always brought back things of gold and steel, things that would shine in the smallest amount of light. When such things happen, men can grow too confident, they forget a rule of utmost importance. Everything can be taken from you in an instant."
After a long pause, the old man studies the group again, even the men who had pretended not to be interested in such tales were listening, though some of them had heard it maybe a dozen times before.
And so one day, a small fishing boat appeared near their docks, two men in black plate armour, manning an oar each, with an elderly man in black robes, trimmed with gold and silver, wearing an eye-patch on his left eye. When they reached the dock, the chief went out to meet them alongside a dozen of his best warriors. Strangers are always treated with suspicion on the moonshaes. After tieing off their vessel, the old man clambered off the boat, almost losing his balance, much to the mirth of the warriors gathered. His two escorts climbed off afterwords, more sure-footed than the elderly man, but still cumbersome in their plate armour. "Who wears such bulky metal on the seas?" The men wondered, but they kept quiet, letting their leader do the talking.
"Who comes ter me village unannounced?" Queried the giant sea-reaver chieftain. With the elderly storyteller doing his best impression in his tired old voice.
"I am Stormer MacConmara." The robed man answered evenly, the two warriors behind him holding their spears straight up, and standing no more than a pace or two from him.
"An' what brings you 'ere, Stormer" The giant asked, almost spitting out the last word.
"You owe the Stormlord much, for these past years, such fine weather you've had, no?" The Stormer said, a bit of a smile coming to his face, though it doesn't reach his one good eye.
" 'Aven't lost a fishin' boat ter storms in two seasons, three if'n you include the last." The sea-reaver said, looking back to his men and forcing a laugh, as if this conversation was total nonsense.
"Aye, you've been lucky, so you should give generously. Your most beautiful virgin, for our calling down the thunder ritual, and one third of the village's gold and gems." The Stormer said, canting his head to the side a little, and his smile finally reaching his eye.
The village leader seemed caught between an outburst of rage and laughter, finally choosing after a few long moment, his men joining in with his rolling belly-laugh.
"We... We 'aven't 'ad storms in ages, an' the seasons past for it. You a'int gettin' shit, doom crow." The reaver said while he caught his breath from his earlier mirth.
The Stormer abruptly spits in the reaver's face, then he said "Rains can come without warning."
As soon as the reaver recovered, he exploded into action, drawing and hurling his Axe at the Stormer, catching him square in the chest. His veteran soldiers acted almost instantly and quickly hacked apart the sorely outnumbered guards the stormer had with him.
The stormer died in moments, a broad smile still on his face, confident in the fact that he would soon join Talos in his domain.
After they burned the bodies, sinking their weapons out on the seas, so none would know what happened, days turned into weeks, the tense air slowly dissipating . To refuse such demands was one thing, but to kill the servant of a vengeful god was another. After a time, the incident in the back of people's minds, the storm finally came.
"And so, the villagers gathered in a hall, not so unlike our own, some building may be damaged or even blow away, but the long houses are always built to weather such storms, aren't they?" The old tale spinner said, pausing to look up at the roof of the long house, a thunderclap splitting the silence, and causing even some of the veteran warriors still at the table to jump. With a grin, the old man continued his tale.
"The rains were so thick, it was if the sea was falling from the sky, it was said you could fill a drinking horn in moment, by holding it outside. Huts, and some of the lighter buildings were ripped up and blown to splinters by the gale force winds, the few goats being thrown around like a child's doll, blown out to sea by the swirling winds, which seemed to come from no direction in particular. Gifts to the queen of the deeps, perhaps?" The old man asked with another smile.
"Then the thunder came, such noises felt like the ground itself was shaking, such force that it's said an old man's heart would stop beating in his chest from the awful booms, drowning out the screams of men and women alike as they frantically prayed to whatever gods they held dear, or for forgiveness from the Thundergod himself. Just then, a bolt of energy, hurled from the heavens blew straight through the roof of the long house, hitting the great table with such that it blew the entire thing into pieces no bigger than a man's hand. As abruptly as it had started, the winds died down in moment, the rain following suit soon after. The flooded ground slowly washed out to sea, taking the ruined buildings and bodies with them."
"Some say the Talassans returned the next day, commemorating the site with prayer and holy ritual, and an even more outlandish tale, is the one of what they found there, the tale of the babe that had survived such absolute destruction. But that's for another night such as this, off to bed, the lot of you!" The old man said, and amid the cries of protests from the enraptured young ones, some people may have heard the silence in the background, the storm had stopped.
"Come, gather close, for I've a tale to tell you all. about an isle not so far from here, in a village not so different from our own, and about a night, not so different from this."
Most of the women and children move closer to the old man, always fond of his stories. Tales of high adventure, of heroes born and slain. But tonight, the tone of his voice tells a different tale, and instead of elbowing one another for the best seats in the house, many of the younger children stay closer to their mothers. A strange quiet comes over the hall, the men who had been drinking and carousing earlier, grow quiet and nurse their drinking horns. Few things could so easily quiet a village hall in the moonshaes, but this was a story they knew well. Some may have even known someone who knew someone, who had been in that village, not so different from their own. After the children settled, and the elder looked over each one of them in turn, the storm itself seemed to die down as well, slightly, at least, as if some unseen force wanted each word of this story to be heard.
"There was once a village, to the north, and west of here, a small fishing village not unlike our own. Their leader was a man of great stature and great pride, a man who may have only had two long ships under his banner, but a man who, with his men, had earned many a title, and many an honour to decorate their shields with. For two years, their women had been fertile, their bellies full, and their raids always brought back things of gold and steel, things that would shine in the smallest amount of light. When such things happen, men can grow too confident, they forget a rule of utmost importance. Everything can be taken from you in an instant."
After a long pause, the old man studies the group again, even the men who had pretended not to be interested in such tales were listening, though some of them had heard it maybe a dozen times before.
And so one day, a small fishing boat appeared near their docks, two men in black plate armour, manning an oar each, with an elderly man in black robes, trimmed with gold and silver, wearing an eye-patch on his left eye. When they reached the dock, the chief went out to meet them alongside a dozen of his best warriors. Strangers are always treated with suspicion on the moonshaes. After tieing off their vessel, the old man clambered off the boat, almost losing his balance, much to the mirth of the warriors gathered. His two escorts climbed off afterwords, more sure-footed than the elderly man, but still cumbersome in their plate armour. "Who wears such bulky metal on the seas?" The men wondered, but they kept quiet, letting their leader do the talking.
"Who comes ter me village unannounced?" Queried the giant sea-reaver chieftain. With the elderly storyteller doing his best impression in his tired old voice.
"I am Stormer MacConmara." The robed man answered evenly, the two warriors behind him holding their spears straight up, and standing no more than a pace or two from him.
"An' what brings you 'ere, Stormer" The giant asked, almost spitting out the last word.
"You owe the Stormlord much, for these past years, such fine weather you've had, no?" The Stormer said, a bit of a smile coming to his face, though it doesn't reach his one good eye.
" 'Aven't lost a fishin' boat ter storms in two seasons, three if'n you include the last." The sea-reaver said, looking back to his men and forcing a laugh, as if this conversation was total nonsense.
"Aye, you've been lucky, so you should give generously. Your most beautiful virgin, for our calling down the thunder ritual, and one third of the village's gold and gems." The Stormer said, canting his head to the side a little, and his smile finally reaching his eye.
The village leader seemed caught between an outburst of rage and laughter, finally choosing after a few long moment, his men joining in with his rolling belly-laugh.
"We... We 'aven't 'ad storms in ages, an' the seasons past for it. You a'int gettin' shit, doom crow." The reaver said while he caught his breath from his earlier mirth.
The Stormer abruptly spits in the reaver's face, then he said "Rains can come without warning."
As soon as the reaver recovered, he exploded into action, drawing and hurling his Axe at the Stormer, catching him square in the chest. His veteran soldiers acted almost instantly and quickly hacked apart the sorely outnumbered guards the stormer had with him.
The stormer died in moments, a broad smile still on his face, confident in the fact that he would soon join Talos in his domain.
After they burned the bodies, sinking their weapons out on the seas, so none would know what happened, days turned into weeks, the tense air slowly dissipating . To refuse such demands was one thing, but to kill the servant of a vengeful god was another. After a time, the incident in the back of people's minds, the storm finally came.
"And so, the villagers gathered in a hall, not so unlike our own, some building may be damaged or even blow away, but the long houses are always built to weather such storms, aren't they?" The old tale spinner said, pausing to look up at the roof of the long house, a thunderclap splitting the silence, and causing even some of the veteran warriors still at the table to jump. With a grin, the old man continued his tale.
"The rains were so thick, it was if the sea was falling from the sky, it was said you could fill a drinking horn in moment, by holding it outside. Huts, and some of the lighter buildings were ripped up and blown to splinters by the gale force winds, the few goats being thrown around like a child's doll, blown out to sea by the swirling winds, which seemed to come from no direction in particular. Gifts to the queen of the deeps, perhaps?" The old man asked with another smile.
"Then the thunder came, such noises felt like the ground itself was shaking, such force that it's said an old man's heart would stop beating in his chest from the awful booms, drowning out the screams of men and women alike as they frantically prayed to whatever gods they held dear, or for forgiveness from the Thundergod himself. Just then, a bolt of energy, hurled from the heavens blew straight through the roof of the long house, hitting the great table with such that it blew the entire thing into pieces no bigger than a man's hand. As abruptly as it had started, the winds died down in moment, the rain following suit soon after. The flooded ground slowly washed out to sea, taking the ruined buildings and bodies with them."
"Some say the Talassans returned the next day, commemorating the site with prayer and holy ritual, and an even more outlandish tale, is the one of what they found there, the tale of the babe that had survived such absolute destruction. But that's for another night such as this, off to bed, the lot of you!" The old man said, and amid the cries of protests from the enraptured young ones, some people may have heard the silence in the background, the storm had stopped.