Here are some stories I wrote for Manataâs story nights. Unfortunately, I wasnât able to post the first one as I was travelling at the time.
Title: How The Loa Earned His Shape
Author: Unknown - attributed to a tribal elder.
Race: Darkspear Troll.
https://pastebin.com/FFnJJYb9
Title: The Story of the Sky Father
Author: An elder from the Rimetotem tribe.
Race: Taunka.
https://pastebin.com/egwjMxSE
Do as you like (=
Title: A Fatherâs Remorse Part 1
Author: Myself/Wilfard Seastrider
Culture/Race Kul Tiran/Drust
Nowhere near finished but I thought no better place to begin a myth than with myths, soonâ˘
A weary finger threw a small branch into the fire, a sharp; crisp echoing as smoke rose towards the midnight sky and the blossoming Moon lurking in the dark, the trees whispering the unfathomable as a hollow, aching voice called out.
âGather round all yeâ for a tale of intrigue, darkness and mystery. Gather for the eve where we honor all those who have passed.â the voice spoke with weary hesitation, the fire roared out as it overcame the looming darkness of the Moon and the winds fell silent to the slow chanting of words not to be uttered.
âOn this day we call to yee: Forsaken and forgotten, for upon this eve you may walk once again, whence your business once more can be completed.â the old, weary voice cried out once more. Shrieks filled the sky, a looming omen.
Another voice entered the fray, lively, powerful, angry.
âStop this Witchcraft at once, the Lord-Admiral will see you all-â his voice was cut off the elder.
âYou know not our traditions, do not meddle, this we beseech of you!â he cried out, pleading as another shriek brought even the mountains low, so terrible was it that even the flames bent the knee.
What happens next! What happens next! a spry, excited voice cried out as a skeletal figure threw a branch into the campfire, looking towards the midnight sky that howled out a vengeful cry.
âA storyâŚfor another time.â
Update: please do not worry, I have not forgotten this - I am just in the middle of a RL emergency with a family member in hospital. Please bear with me - I will get around to this.
PostingOnAnAltSoICanReplyInTenCharactersOrMore
Nudging this as an announcement that a) I am back! b) The first post has had its first round of updates to recognise the fantastic contributions received.
I cannot thank people enough and encourage others to add their stories. Remember these are for use by the community so the more that gets put in the more everyone gets out!
Title: Fallen Saruan
Author: Vashnu
Culture/Race Draenei
Shortly after we âarrivedâ on the Azuremyst isles, the Triumvirate of the Hand was dispatched to the section of the island we refer to as âBloodmystâ for its deep red crystals.
Shortly after we established a presence in Bloomyst, one of our Vindicators, Saruan, went missing. Before his execution, a Blood elf captive named Matis, Matis the cruel by reputation, claimed that the Elves had captured Saruan and that we would âsoon see him againâ.
Despite our clearing out of the Blood elf threat on the island and the securing of the Vector Coil, Saruan was never found. Captive elves reported that he had become a Manâari Eredar, others that he had transformed into something else, something other.
Extensive searches were carried out for the remains of Vindicator Saruan but only a few scraps of armour and cloth we believed to belong to our fallen friend were ever found. It is likely he was destroyed in his entirety.
However, some have claimed sightings of a wandering creature in the night. This creature is said to bear a Draeneiâs silhouette from a distance though many who have gone out to investigate these sightings have not returned or do so wounded and unable to explain their injuries.
I do not like to think that this might be Vindicator Saruan but survivors have suggested that they heard him pray for forgiveness or redemption as they approached in a voice that those who knew him are sure is his.
Sightings of this creature have decreased over the years and concerted efforts by both military and scholarly forces have revealed nothing on whether this creature exists at all.
Still, it is advised to not travel the Bloodmyst alone at night and to retreat if one hears familiar prayer on the wind or sees a looming silhouette.
Title: The Puaka.
Author: Unknown
Culture: Westfall farmersâ tale.
The Puaka is renowned as a mischevious creature of misfortune, known to take the form of a black horse, it stampedes through fields and leaves their crops barren.
The mere sight of the black horse is said to drive farm animals unproductive for days on end, with frightened chickens and cows unable to produce eggs or milk for weeks.
Whilst the Puaka rampages at night, it is possible to appease it by leaving a portion of your harvest out in the daytime to appease it, in which case it may arrive in the form of a goblin to take your offering and spare your field.
This folk tale began to spread around the time of Westfallâs hardships, and though its origin is unknown, less superstitous scholars believe it to be the work of an enterprising goblin that visited Westfall back when their race was lesser known amongst the people of Stormwind.
Just thought Iâd chuck in a little twist on the tale of an Irish mythological creature known as the Pooka, as it seems real fitting for the Westfall region.
Title: The Old Priest and the Texts
Author: Unknown
Culture/Race: Pandaria
Thousands of years ago, in the Valley of the Four Winds, a scholar-priest one day decided to publish a collection of his and his fellow scholarsâ work in philosophy, culture and history, assembled from many generations of knowledge. At the time, these texts were only available in ancient Pandaren - the language of scholars - but the scholar-priest wanted to publish them in Mogu so that the common people too could share in enlightenment.
The books were to be printed in wood block in an edition of seven thousand copies, an enormous undertaking. The scholar-priest began travelling and collecting donations for this purpose. A few rich sympathisers would give him hundreds of gold coins each, but most gave only modest donations. He thanked each of them equally. After ten years of travel, the scholar-priest had collected enough money, and was about to begin the task.
Unfortunately, disaster struck. The rivers of the Valley overflowed greatly, and drowned the crops. Famine followed. The scholar-priest did not hesitate to spend his collected money on food to to help the struggling populace avoid starvation. And so, when the disaster was over and everything was back to normal, he began collecting once more.
Several years later, an epidemic spread across the Valley. Once again, the scholar-priest gave away all that he had collected, to buy medicine and help the sick.
For a third time he started collecting, and after twenty years his wish was fulfilled. The printing blocks which formed the first edition of Pandaren knowledge fully written in Mogu can still be found today in the Jade Temple.
The Pandaren tell their children that the priest made three sets of texts, and that the first two invisible sets surpass even the last.
Title: The Unbound Thunder Lizard
Author: Fodred Embertap
Culture/Race: Dark Iron
Scattered reports from one âFodred Embertapâ spanning one hundred and twenty-four days tells of a coal-black Thunder Lizard captured within the south-east regions of Searing Gorge, a beast thatâs strength and use of lightning magic was to into affect in the Ring of Law against any criminals captured and charged for crimes against the Dark Iron nation. The beastâs gladiatorial career saw it slay countless criminals, from petty thieves to hardened soldiers of rival Dwarven clans within moments, the giant engaging with a large bolt of lightning before charging his foe to trample them.
The last battle saw it face a seasoned warrior of the Bronzebeard clan, who had successfully defeated and ambush from Dark Iron assassins, yet was captured again at an unknown date. He managed to throw a rusting axe at the Thunder Lizardâs right eye, interrupting lightning bolt and severely wounding it. The combatant was slain moments later with a swift tail strike to the skull.
After being placed back into containment, the anvilguard moving to feed the beast were struck with lightning and killed. The Thunder Lizard went into a fit of rage, striking any who came close to it for an estimated three days before being put down by one Houndmaster Dorgas using blood hounds to pin the beastâs attention whilst sorcerers launched bolts of fire and shadow.
The name of the beast was never documented, despite its success in discarding those sentenced to death by the Dark Iron. Rumors of the report merely being fabricated to cause terror among the population circulate from time to time, yet if this was the cause it would most certainly be one to work.
Title: The Gnoll King
Author: Local Legends
Culture/Race: Elwynn Forest
Once long ago, before the first great war, when the humans still ruled much of the land, loomed a threat over the Elwynn Forest. The King had sent many knights to defeat the enemy that haunted his kingdom but alas non had returned.
Small settlements had already fallen to this unbeatable foe and soon another would join their numbers. A small town, its name lost to history stood between this approaching horde and Stormwind. This was a small village of farmers and merchants, with a chapel run by a single priest of the light.
This village, of which not a single warrior lived, soon came under siege.
the woods became thick with pelts and the nights where loud with bestial laughter, at the forefront of the monsters stood a creature unlike anything ever seen before or since, a Gnoll said to be tall as knight on horseback and strong enough to shatter steel with his fists. He had come out of nowhere and united the gnoll tribes into a single fearsome army and they were on route to conquer the Kingdom of Stormwind. However The Gnoll king was suprised, the small village, of which he had pillaged many both bigger and stronger, non stood as defiant as this one. Makeshift barricades blocked his armies and a hail of stones and wooden arrows halted his men, pitch-forks and shovels, made sharp with grindstone tore and ripped through any invader that made it close to the makeshift walls. 30 strong was the village, and yet they stopped the endless gnoll tide dead in their tracks. The Gnoll King was enraged, but he knew they couldnât fight forever, sooner or later they would run out of food and tools and then he would slaughter each and everyone of them.
That would indeed have been the fate of the village had it not been for a secret unbeknownst to the Gnoll King, A small group of adventures who had arrived to aid the village days before the Gnoll Kings arrival, they had been quick to set up defenses and traps as well as train the villagers in basic combat. Together they turned the village into a fortress.
For three days did the siege last, and for three days did the villagers halt the gnoll tide. on the morning of the 4th day, they broke through the walls, which they day and night had they thrown themselves against to weaken its wooden walls but that had always been the plan.
Now the gnolls flooded into the village they were headed by the King himself who saw fit to personally punish the defiant humans, fortunately it wouldnât turn out this way, for inside the village they found nothing, no trace of any human. Robbed of his chance to punish the humans the Gnoll King made big of himself in the middle of the Village square, his senseless rampage came to an end when out of every nook and cranny stormed the 30 villagers spear headed by the adventures. The gnolls were run through before they could react and the king was slain by the adventures, what remained of his army fled back into the forest or turned on one another.
The Adventures were hailed as heros and rewarded riches and land by the king for not only saving his people but his kingdom as well, the end.
Not really a fairytale but more of a report on the collective tales and stories of those who have seen one of the worlds most elusive creatures, in the style of one of those Bigfoot âDocumentaryâ reports. (Hope this can give a couple of you a nice sunday laugh)
Title: Narâzagh: Myth or Reality?
Author: Lolelalin Von-Tinkerburg (Documentor) Various individuals (stories)
Culture/Race: Varied alliance races (Mainly Human)
Azeroth is home to many a strange creature and many magical beings, but in the past twenty five years, people of the Eastern Kingdoms and Kalimdor have been reporting encounters with a horrible creature they call âNarâzagh.â in this investigation, we will be looking into the separate accounts of Alliance citizens who believe they have had a run in with this monster and ask the question, Fact or Fiction?
The Narâzagh is believed to be around 7.8 feet tall with a lean, stick like body, the creature is said to be colourful and appears to look like a Troll if you beat it with a wrench. The Narâzagh is said to have a haunting roar that sounds like incredibly annoying laughing, and be accompanied by one of the worst smells on Azeroth. The creature gets itâs from Horde soldiers who believe the entity is âThe Worst Doctor ever.â
Our first story comes from Elijah Woodstun, From redridge, who says he chased the Narâzagh out of his back garden. âI was looking after my plants in my backyard when out of nowhere this naked, mangey thing in a mask jumped into my flower bed, he was screaming and making weird noises so I chased him off with my gun.â Elijah says he shot the creature, only for it to turn around and speak to him in common. âYeah, called me a Spog, I donât know what that is, must be some magical curse.â To this day local monster hunters in Red Ridge are on the lookout for this creature, but there have been sightings in other lands.
In Duskwood, eighty three year old Tabatha minsly says she encountered the creature on a dark, windy day. âI was hanging out the washing which included one of my favourite dresses, a Gilnean dress from before the second war. Then next thing you know, the dress is gone, I looked everywhere to see if it blew away in the wind but I look over and see this thing wearing it, itâs just stares at me while wearing it, I didnât know what to do, I was frozen in place, then it ran.â Since then, Mrs Minsly has moved to Stormwind with her son in fear of seeing the creature again.
Itâs not only civilians that have seen this creature, one guardsman says he encountered it while in the barrens, for safety, he asks to remain anonymous.
âI was sitting at my post with my buddy when this creature just turns up, he slaps me across the face and then turns my buddy into a Dolphin, the priests and our commander say it was just an illusion and that there is no such thing, but we saw it.âIntrigued by these stories, we questioned an Orc sailor who once served the horde. âNarâzagh? Yeah, Iâve seen him, goes around being a nuisance to everyone, itâs probably why no one likes him.â It seems that the Horde may be linked to this creature, but no one can be sure. Which still leaves the question, Narâzagh: Myth or Reality? You can be sure that this Cryptozoologist believe this monster is out there.
title: The Glory Hunter
author: Unknown
race/culture: Orcs (Magâhar, presumably Frostwolf)
When the younglings of the clans were not yet tired enough for sleep, after a day of learning the basics of the hunt, or to treat hides or fashion leathers, their elders would often remind them of a tale. This tale was often used as when the younglings learned these skills, they would often become very proud, sometimes too much so, and would need reminding of the reason behind things.
Let me recall a version of this tale to you now.
"A very long time ago, in the Frostfire Ridge, there was a clan. It was so long ago that nobody can remember this clanâs name or colours. What is remembered that like us, they honoured the hunt, their ancestors, the land and above all, the clan.
Frostfire is a difficult place to survive. Food comes and goes with the beasts themselves. These orcs managed, but some years were very hard and they lost some of their people.
For some seasons this changed when a young male of the clan came of age to hunt. He proved exceptional at it. He knew the beasts well, he was cunning, and strong. He could without much effort single handed take down the frost boars and bring back their carcess for the clan to live off.
The clan elders praised and honoured him, who brought them so much. â Glory to youâ they would say, âwho can do these things for usâ.
As time passed the other hunters watched this orc and learned his tricks, and they too became good hunters of the frostboar, the clan was in great health. The gifted hunter now shared the glory, and took his gaze higher.
With the other hunters taking the boars, he started to track the cleft hoof. He studied them for much time, and learned to how set traps to hamper their motion to prevent their charges. He learned where best to thrust spear and shoot arrow to bring them down. Eventually he took down a bull himself. He called for the mist skilled of the other hunters to help him bring back the meat, and made sure they knew first how he killed it. When they returned the glory was his again, and the other hunters who aided him only confirmed this fact. The meat and leathers were a huge boon to the clan.
Seasons passed and again the other hunters learned the tricks of the gifted one, and so his glory was shared. As before his gaze looked higher.
As a child he had heard stories of a Gronn that dwelled on the other side of the tundra, several weeks away. The hunter was no fool, knowing a Gronn beyond the ability of a single orc, much less being able to carry the quarry back to the clan alone. He journeyed to the lair and observed the creature from afar, learning itâs habits and determining a way to bring it down as a group. Once he was satisfied he returned and declared to the clan his intent to hunt the creature to bring enough food and hide for many years for the clan, but that he would need the greatest hunters. Many were eager to join in the heroic quest.
He picked most of the hunters, leaving behind only a few, the lame, the women and the naturally weak. He took his hunters away and sought out the creature.
Once tracked to its lair, they waited until he called the attack and they sprung to action in accordance with his plan. Clever though he was, he had underestimated the Gronn, and it saw through much of his tricks. Desperate to succeed, the gifted hunter adapted his tactics and bloody battle was drawn. How brilliance and valour eventually won through, though the Gronn killed most of the party in the process.
Left with only three orcs to take quarry, one said âwe should each take as many slabs of meat as we can carry, this is still good enough for many months of food, and will sustain us on the journey.â
The gifted hunter disagreed: âyou each take slabs, I shall take the head, for how will the clan know of what we did if we bring them meat indifferent to that of the cleft hoof?â.
They journeyed back the long trek and in the weeks sustained on the meat they had brought. When they returned they had only two slabs left, and the head. The gifted hunter was joyful to see the clan in dance and song- the shaman has knew of his return and weâre to honour him surely?
He presented the head of the Gronn to the clan elders âhere, for the glory of the clan, now you may continue your honour of our huntâ he exclaimed. The elders shook their heads. âWe honoured those hunters left, the lame, the women and the weak, for in those many months you were gone, despite the biting winds, they dutifully brought us boar meat so we might not starve, despite great struggle to them.â
âThis glory you talk if did not nurse the bellies of our young, nor will it now. And this Gronn head? Are we to eat this? You bring less than a clefthoof kill of meat for several months away? Does this head relieve the poor widows of their husbands lost on your glory hunt? It is nothing but a Gronn head, and an ugly thing it is.â
The gifted hunter was humiliated and legend has it he left the clan that very night and never returned.
Remember younglings, glory is not something we hunt. It is a gift given to us by those whom we honour with our continual deeds despite our own hardships"
(This fable is supposedly the origin of an ancient orcish idiom mostly spoken amongst the Magâhar, where an object that is presented as valuable but is actually worthless is described as a Gronnâs Head.)
Title: The Grey Wolf
Author: Reports and Eye Witnesses
Culture/Race: Forsaken/Scarlet/Lordaeron/Plaguelands
Legends speak of a demonic creature with the body of a man and the head of a wolf rampaging through the blighted realm once known as Lordaeron.
This mythical creature was active in the early days of the first Alliance and Horde war in the time Thrall was warchief and Anduin was little more than a boy, way before the argent crusade had managed to tame the plagued lands.
What little is known about the Grey Wolf is collected from the factions which roam the area, among them the Forsaken, Scarlet Crusade and the Argent Dawn.
The creature is described as being human in shape with a grey wolf head, it wears simple leather and mail clothes suited for the colder north except for the chest area which is exposed, the creature also wielded a steel spear of simple design.
A Scarlet Crusader wrote this in a report:
âIt was almost dusk when we saw it, a small horde of undead strangly grouped together off the road near Darrowshire, we had heard a shout, human in nature and came to investigate, what we saw however was not human. Something of which I can only call demonic in nature was surrounded by ghouls and zombies, a hopeless fight for anyone without the lights protection but this demon stood its ground. it had the body of a man like us but its head was furry and fanged like a wolf, it tore the undead apart with ease as if it was toying with them. Of much I am not sure but to this day I swear, it was no man but a monster the likes of which I have never witnessed.â
Eye witness accounts from Argent Dawn members speak of a human wearing a wolf pelt over his head and back. Contact was made on rare occasions whenever they would need repair or restock supplies at the chapel. Similar stories can be heard from Chillwind Camp. A name was never given and only a few generic words were ever spoken.
Forsaken boarder patrols claim to have had dealings with a wolf-head humanoid attacking them at night before fleeing back into the dark forests. Any attempted chase was met with death and it was quickly deemed unwise to hunt down the wolf-head humanoid at night.
A scarlet document tells of an encounter with the Wolf-man demon:
âIt was early morning when we spotted a strange creature of sorts, it appeared wounded, the description matched that of a so-called demon wolf-man which had been sighted in the area, seeing a chance to rid the world of such a monster we engaged in combat. The fight was brief and we suffered three casualties before we had to flee, though injured the wolf-man fought with an orcs savagery and we were at the mercy of its spear tip. Strangely it didnât try to run after us. When we returned later with a larger force we found the bodies of our comrades placed in a stiff position with their weapons and hands resting on their chest.â
Horde adventures tried to track down and claim a reward on the wolf-man but they never found him although the hunter of the party believed they were being watched the entire time.
The Sightings of the Grey Wolf stopped around the same time the Lich King made his return and it havenât been seen since although shortly before the 2nd legion invasion in recent times that saw the fall of heros such as Varian Wrynn, there were stories of a Mercenary traveling in the Plague lands mounted on a large grey-black wolf and spotting a grey wolf mask.
They claimed to be the mythical Grey Wolf and they did wield a spear matching that of the original one however the Mercenary would wear plated armor and was seen using Holy Fire in battle against the undead remnants in the eastern plaguelands area, they were also more talkative than the rumored Grey Wolf as such it seems fair to judge this latest sighting a mere pretender.
There has as of yet not been any more encounters after the defeat of the Burning Legion.
Title: The Fishermanâs Wife
Author: Unknown
Race/Culture : Gilnean
Years and years ago, in a small hut by the sea, lived a fisherman. Night after night, Oris took his small boat and rowed far from the shore. He returned to the coast only after sunrise, to load his tiny wagon with his fresh catch and head to the nearby villages. As the son of a fisherman, the young man was raised learning the craft but his mortal soul hungered for more than a lonely, modest life. He dreamed of golden spoons, mouth-watering bourbon and the warmth of a female body. On a full moon, as he was heading to his boat, he noticed a woman in terrible distress. Oris was astounded by the beauty of her shimmering skin and her tender angles and carried her to his hut. In the days to come, he mended the mysterious woman back to full health but under his kind disguise, he grew ravenous. Before the woman was to retreat to the sea, she granted him three wishes for his generosity. The man asked for riches and soon, what appeared to his side was a cauldron bursting with never-ending gold coins. For his second wish, he asked to never feel deathâs touch. The woman, troubled, did as she was asked. His final wish was for her to always stay by his side. The woman, betrayed, begged him to alter his request but he would not and so with no other choice, she bound herself to him. That night as he slept, the maiden took his carved dagger and stab the manâs face, until his form was so mercilessly disfigured that nothing of his human nature remained. Yet as his body seemed breathless, Oris rose furiously to go for his catch. From that night, as the fisherman rows to the sea, the woman hurries to villages asking for help. Everyone who denies her faces her wrath, anyone who follows her back to her hut is never to be seen again.
The tale was spread through the coastal villages and later towards the hinterland. It had been subjected to many alterations, the most popular indicating that the woman dwelled out of the misty forest and that the man was a lumberjack by the name Don. Whatever the truth behind the legend was, you can be certain that each curious soul that goes to search for that magical cauldron is found deformed and strangled by branches and seaweed.
I have two short folktales for you
Title: Jack-O-Laughter
Author: Duskwood Folktale
Culture/Race: Human
Duskwood is a cursed land, home to many unsightly monsters, rabid worgen, uncaring undead, man eating beasts. Duskwood also is home to many named monsters, The Dark Riders, Stitches and Morbent Fel.
A lesser known one of these monsters is the one they call âJack-O-Laughterâ.
The story of the Jack-O-laughter is passed down in bed time stories and fairy-tales, often told to young misbehaving children to scare them or deter them from ever going outside the safety of the town alone.
A somewhat morbid nursery rhyme goes as follows:
Once a year, when the tower bells toll midnight.
steer clear of the woods and beware the moonlight.
He stalks the roads, where light donât shine.
He rides under the cover of night, to claim his price.
Beware of the first sign, the eyes in the dark, that pierce your heart.
Be quick run and hide, dash for the safety of the torch light.
Beware the second sign, the laughter that echos in the night, echos in your mind.
The woods are his realm, beyond he cannot go, flee before he takes your soul.
Beware the third sign, the silhouette out of the corner of your eye.
Hastily seek refuge in town or be left outside.
Beware the final sign, hooves that thunder from behind.
You canât escape, soon you will die.
It would be easy to dismiss this as mere fiction of mind, after all there are countless ways for travelers to die or vanish in Duskwood and yet sometimes, they still find lifeless bodies just off the road that seemingly just died with no clear sign of damage or injury, whats more these types of bodies are always found on the same day of the year.
And the second myth I want to donate.
Title: Spell-Tusk
Author: Fredric Hall: Magical beasts of the World: chapter 11 - Redridge Mountain, page 67 - âSpelltuskâ
Culture/Race: Human
Some hunters in Redrige Mountain can tell you stories about a rare and elusive creature that lives in the wilds, a thief of crops who burgles into the food storage, without breaking the lock and escape into the mountains unseen. They can tell you about how they have tracked the beast only for the track to suddenly come to a halt as if the creature suddenly grew wings and flew away.
Some claim to have heard a boar sniffing around their gardens, but when they go to check it out, they can never find anything.
Some years ago before the cataclysm, a hunter returned from a hunt in the Mountain Hills with a tusk on which were carved arcane runes, the tusk was sent to Stormwind to be examined and the mages there found that the tusk
apparently had magical properties.
A traveling merchant who was passing through the area told stories about a large orange boar with arcane bluish hair and runic tusks. There would be many more such stories but this is the one that started it all. Since then many travelers spin stories of how they fought with or against a, sometimes talking and sometimes telepathic boar, that can snot fire, spit ice, breath flames and shoot arcane missiles out of its eyes.
Sometimes you have the glory seeking hunter who claim to have killed the beast and if they remembered to take something back as proof, it is most often a tusk with runes carved on to its surface, however most of these are obviously fake to anyone with a smitten of arcane knowledge. Of course on a rare occasion someone comes along with a broken off tusk with real arcane runes carved on its surface and these tusks always come with stories that are consistent with each other, all of them usually depicts a large orange boar about the size of a horse with blue tinted fur and glowing arcane runes carved into its tusks, they also all agree that the boar could mimic one of the main mage spell schools of fire, frost or arcane, sometimes all of them at once.
Sometimes they kill the boar in their retelling, sometimes it disappears in a blink.
and this makes the mind wonder, If these stories are true then the beast have been killed more than once and still manage to be around.
It could be that there is more than one arcane boar in Redridge but that seems unlikely and unless the boar also have the ability to resurrect itself, it seems even more unlikely that it could still be around and yet⌠stories continue to resurface both by people who know of the myth but also by strangers who have never heard of it before.
As it stands there is no actual unquestionale proof that âSpelltuskâ is real, but food storages continue to be raided without visual sign of break ins, and invisible boars continue to haunt the backyards of many Lakeshire Citizens.
If such an animal does indeed exist it would be invaluable to the magical community as a case study of how magic can effect beasts.
Now the story really begins
Title: A Fatherâs Remorse Part 2
Author: Kul Tiran Myths
Culture/Race Kul Tiran/Drust
The air grew stale as the bony finger reached for yet another stick, throwing it towards the now tamed fire as he clutched his silver sword for a moment and then a scroll as he looked towards the midnight sky.
âNow the story can begin, Son, just like the countless other times Iâve told you it, to think I must live on whilst it was you who was meant to talk of me and the countless foolish tales I told you - why ItsâŚno, how selfish of me to think like that.â The old Sailor spoke calmly with a hint of sorrow as he brushed the grave and placed the silver anchor pendant down on top of it.
âYour Mother would be so proud of the man you became and the man you died, rest well beneath the tides with her, your father still has some unfinished business before he can sit by your bedside and lull you to sleep once more. But Iâll be there.â he said, the sorrow in his voice reaching itâs apex yet his skeletal form would not allow him the ability to grieve once more and so he sat by the grave, a wailing cry piercing the night from somewhere far away.
âI never got to tell you of Wraiths, vile creatures they are. People that never got to have a peaceful rest brought back through their own means or those of others to befoul the land and terrorize their final resting place, your Grandpa always found peace in putting the tormented souls to rest with his Silver sword. Horrible, decrepit forms they took, rotted skin and translucent clothing, he always said they hated magic however.â Letting out a solemn laugh the old Sailor continued.
âThereâs even the Blue Lady of Corlain, one that Locals warn haunts the surrounding fields outside the Capital terrorizing those who try to come close, a Woman draped in an elegant, lengthy blue dressâŚsome say she was a peasant girl killed by Lady Waycrest in the middle of the night out of jealousy and others simply say she was a young girl who met a dreadful endâŚher killer unfound.â
The Sailor took a deep breath, flicking through a few pages of an old book.
âA final legend for tonight I think, I wouldnât want to keep your spirit here for long, the Kelpie. A horse draped in the colours of the ocean, seaweed, barnacles and even remains of fish covering itâs ghastly body, people believe it to be an omen of death if you are unfortunate enough to cast eyes upon one. It is said that the Kelpie lures drunken Sailors far from sight and then drags them down to the dark depths of the Seas never to be seen again, the only thing before their death a gruesome scream as they struggle.â
The Sailor sighed, closing over the book as he pushed the pendant further into the soil of the grave to let it rest, stomping out the fire as he wandered back into the dark forests of Drustvar.
The finale of this tale? Probably not knowing me, wanted to start it off with my personal character then get into the Mythology. Hope some folk enjoyed it.
Title: The Nature of The Void and Those Who Reside There: An Introspective Account of the Journeys of My Mind.
Author: Telestrian Pitchnier
Culture: Renâdorei, but this is not some established folklore. Rather a detail of experience, which may or may not be embellished by the author.
Entry One
We must never push too far beyond that which is necessary. Some of the voices to which we are accustomed tell us such. Others decry them as lies, and so it continues as we well know.
To stand so close to the veil but not pierce it, is this not contrary to what we are taught regarding pursuit of power? Leaving nothing unexplored and yield not to dogmatism. As with all things, all cautions may be well met with adequate preparation. So too must it be so for diving deeper into peering upon the more intimate nature of the VoidâŚthis has been my earnest focus for some time now, to understand the nature of the thing. To do so, deeper travel is required beyond the twisting corridors of the surface, the pale tunnels which we may use to step between great distances as if taking a leisurely walk. No. Much deeper to where the very essence of it arises and allows such things.
My first deeper visits were uneventful. Quiet, yet full of noise and discomfort. An overwhelming feeling of being trapped crept upon me each time until I could best it no more and took myself back to reality.
Once such visit was more unpleasant than the rest, yet wondrous. For in seconds I glimpsed so much from the corner of my eye, and the entirety of time could have passed in how staggered it all felt. Details are hazy, but I shall recount as best as I can, for I glimpsed more than shadows, I glimpsed those things that reside there and goad us, our tormentors at lastâŚ
They are an extrusion on reality itself. This place where they dwell, the space around them is corrupted and twisted. A feeling of them not belonging, even here, fills me. Every part of their scale is wrong, and their parts do not match, or connect, or disconnect. It is painful to comprehend them.
They are an uttermost concavity, ravenous, being all mouth but without lips, cheeks or tongue. Emptiness twists in a thousand ways, sewn together improbably to result in their form: a snapping empty curiosity with no end or beginning, or sides. I can sense it devours and swallows but a throat escapes my perception. It would be wrong to say it even has an outside, or an interior, for each part of it seems to at the same time suggest and denounce both. All in orbit around a wretched maw.
Yet there is a beautyâŚwhen my eyes relax and I cease to try to fight the bewitchment to my senses, then I am aware of the countless threads that come from them. Like wings they flap against the pulse of time, and yet their motion seems to set the rhythm for this place.
I cannot reckon they perceive me back, as no means to do so is evident, yet I know somehow their empty pupils I cannot perceive hang over me like a noose suspended over the darkest pit. From this they are familiar with me, their familiarity chokes me and though they move not an inch, I feel them closing in. IâŚhad to depart quickly from this feeling for it was unbearableâŚ
As I retreated from this place and began my flight away, I felt their smiles upon me, skulless, faceless smiles. Jeering me to abandon my spell and slake the thirst of my curiosity in their bottomless promises. As my spell neared completion, my senses almost exploded with the offensive array they sent to me: gurgles, smells, each and every part of whatever suffices in them danced on my eyes for but a second, but the most painful I can recall.
My undertaking is still of importâŚyet I cannot deceive in that with this undertaking, my wariness to go back is heightened, but inexplicably I miss it like I missed my home whenever I was far from as a childâŚ
âŚ
Title: A Young Thornspeaker
Author: Oak
Culture/Race Kul Tiran - Drustvar - Thornspeaker
My parents could hear the sea calling to them, and that was why theyâd been sailors before settling down together. I could hear it too, but I couldnât hear it. All throughout my childhood I walked a path well worn by my folks and their folks before them stretching back hundreds of years. From our cabin I could see the oceans in the distance, but always the voices were behind me, drawing me to the woods.
I grew up in a small mountain village over Aromâs Stand, surrounded by lush dense forests of Oak and Pine where the mountain tops kept the stars company and fresh snow fell nearly every day. The smell of fresh pine-logs on a fire send me back to my childhood, even now Iâm a grown man.
Our neighbours had a boy, my age, and weâd play together every day. Weâd play in the snow, in the fields of wildflowers in the foothills, build secret bases and explore the forests and caves of our mountain home. We were inseparable, still are to this day. Called him âThornâ I did, and he called me âOakâ.
Iâll never forget the night we heard the call.
My folks had fallen asleep by the fire and snow was falling thick outside.
âOakâ I heard a voice call on the windâs breath and almost beyond the realms of my control I instinctively turned to peer out at the forest through our frosted window. The scant light from our small window shed only a weak yellow light on the snow falling outside, the full moon though cast light behind the darkness of the forest without revealing a single tree. Before I knew it I was standing on our porch, and hadnât even grabbed my furs. I just stood in the cold night and listened.
âOak, it is time you seeâŚâ I squinted, my eyes being pulled between the shifting shadows of the windswept forest.
âNot with your eyes, but your soul. Close your eyes⌠and walk.â It struck me the words in my head were not in Common, my thoughts and own voice inside too spoke a tongue Iâd never heard but knew as though it were my mother tongue. I closed my eyes and surrendered to the forest.
My sweet stars, for the first time in my life I felt I could truly see, as though I had been looking through some veil my whole life until that point only to have it lifted and to see the world was made of colour and star light! I could see every tree, every leaf around me, and could see them inside me. Their strength, their deep roots and tall branches reaching out into the world through me. I could hear their whispers, and they could hear mine.
I walked the forest not as a Kul Tiran, nor a child or a boy but as something greater⌠I was home. My feet crunched through the thick snow as I approached a grove Iâd never once found in all my years playing amongst those trees, and emerging from the treeline near me was Thorn.
Our eyes were closed, but we could see. We knew the other was there, and something took root within us that day. In the middle of the Grove stood a great creature of wood, bark, branches, leaves and antlers. It saw us, and smiled and without thinking to we bowed in return of its welcome.
âOak, and Hawthorn. Weâve been waiting for you, lads.â the creature spoke in the common tongue and we opened our eyes.
All around us was a chorus of bristling bushes and creaking trees as more figures emerged. Some were in forms strange to our eyes, others walked on two legs and looked like us. Again the language of the forest stirred within us both:
âWelcome, my young Thornspeakers.â
I was born Skogr Winteroak. That night he died, and Oak was born.
I have made an attempt (and decided to post it on my char which I would say is the most likely to would have been authored it out of my characters).
A bit of a disclaimer;
The original text I paraphrased basically was (I think, you never know with Nietzscheâs Zarathustra) about personal conflict and how within conflict a human individual can grow. After rereading Zarathustra after my initial post I decided to start with this because it required minimal editing and because it can be more literally applied to the current narrative then wow.
If it doesnât make sense to you, that might be normal, it took me a few reads of the original book before I somewhat grasped it and honestly the book is so full of symbology itâs hard to tell if there is one exact way to explain what the author is saying in any of his writings.
The setting would be a note found in an alliance camp on the frontlines, written by someone fluent in common on the horde side directed at the soldiers of the alliance in that camp and others who would choose to read. If Iâd have to imagine how this would be interpreted Iâd say some readers would probably go âholy crap this guy needs helpâ while others would find some comfort in it
If youâre familiar with the original text, this might look a lot like it, that was intentional, I tried to steer away from old english writing style that was part of the original translation but didnât do so until after it was ready to post so some of that may have still slipped through. I tried to change as little as I could during paraphrasing partially because Iâm not used to this and learning my way as I go, criticism is welcome and other chapters of the book are planned but may take a while and will probably be more heavily edited
"War is upon us, may we have a good war.
This I speak out to you, my best enemies in war, my brethren in war, by you I do not wish to be spared, nor would I wish to be spared by those I love from the very heart. therefor let me speak truely onto you!
Bethren in war of mine! I love you from the depths of my being, For now and ever will I be your counterpart. Thine best enemy am I also.
I know of the hatred and envy in all our collective hearts, We are not great enough to not know of hatred and envy in this world of war, then let us be great enough to not be ashamed of it!
And to those of you who cannot be saints of knowledge then I ask of thee, atleast become itâs champion! for the saints needeth the warrior companion to see their knowledge guarded, they are the forerunners of such saintship!
Many soldiers do I see, if only I could see many champions! âUniformâ is what they call what they wear, may it not be uniform what they thereby hide. Now let me speak to you the of the truth!
You my brethren in war must be ever seeking for an enemey, for -your- enemy and should you have sought high and low, far and near and have failed to find anyone I beseech of you, come back to me.
I know that some of you despise at first sight of the enemy, but this is folly. Embrace you enemy, wage war with him for the benefit of the both of you! that you may come to love eachother as a driving force to your personal advancement.
Your enemies you must seek so your war can be waged, so that war against your own thoughts can be waged, become strong in the face of this assault so that when your thoughts falter in the face of dispair, your uprightness stays unaffected, that you may battle in absence of thought, in absence of influence when the times demand it of you the most!
Peace must be loved as a means to new wars and the short peace is to be preffered, I advice onto you, do not work! fight! Do not chase peace from the battlefield, chase the battlefield from peace! Let your work be a fight, let your peace be a battlefield!
Many can only sit in calmth depending on the arrow and bow, sword and shield, staff and wand; let your peace be a battlefield, so that thee will come out of it stronger and more of a person!
Those whom would ask for a good cause to hollow a war, you have it wrong. It is the good war which hallows every cause!
War and courage have done more great things than charity. Not our sympathy. Verily, our bravery hath up until this point saveth more victims and slaineth more demons then charity
âThen what is goodness?â I might hear some of you ask. To be brave is to be good! Let the weak say âto be good is to be pretty for the eyes and touching to the soulâ.
There will be those whom will call you heartless, but verily I have seen your heart and know it to be true! I love the bashfullness of your goodwill, you champions who are ashamed of your flow where others are ashamed of their ebb.
Ugly would they call us brethren in war? Well then, my brethren, let us take upon our selves this sublimity, the mantle of the ugly! For when the soul becometh to great, there becometh it haughty and fills our sublimity with wickedness. and it is within this wickedness where our haughtyness and weakness meet, unable to understand one another. I know you.
So take heart, my brethren in war, take heart and find -your- enemies to hate. Enemies are there to be hated, but not to be despised, you must be proud of your enemies; only then does the success of your enemies also becometh your success.
To the good champion of truth âyou shallâ is of more importance then âI willâ. To the good champion of truth, what he shall is his will and will be trickled down onto him by the truth!
Let your love for existence be love to your highest hope! and let your highest hope be the highest thought for existance!
Has hoof and ear not joined shoulders in the face of the Sunwell after being initially introduced face to face?
Hath orc and man not cut down legion whilst standing back to back?
Was the man not present at the burial of -his- enemy to pay respects?
So spare -your- enemy not, truely then alone then will -our- enemies shiver in their boots when we decide to stand shoulder to shoulder rather then face to face.
I will spare you not, for I love you from my very being, my brethren in war!
War is upon us, may we have a good war."
Edit: Fishing out some of the theeâs and dothâs, didnât do as good of a job fishing them out before posting apparently