So whats the moral of this story?, don’t trust a rat?. Don’t be so quick to judge others??
The Weeping Woman ((Based from the Mexican legend, La Llorona))
During the occupation, a Brutor woman once loved an Amarrian noble. He treated her with love and respect, professing his devotion to her, bringing her gifts and protecting her from the worst of the occupation. The love they felt for each other would even to go on and produce the most sacred of such unions, for two children were born. Yet for all his devotion, he would not grant her greatest wish, to make official their love. He refused to marry her.
She would at first shrug off his refusals, but as time went on his refusals continued, becoming ever harsher, until one day, he grew so weary that he ended their relationship, claiming that she was nothing more than an amusement, and that a Matari women could never be the wife of an Amarrian nobleman, and had her thrown out of the city along with her kids.
Maddened by grief, she could not bear the sight of her children, for they a strong resemblance to their father. Rage and sadness took her as she she took them to the edge of the ocean, and taking a knife she ended their lives. All she could see was the face of the man that had spurned her.
As the sun rose, her grief began to fade and the realization of what she had done set in. horrified by her own actions, she walked into the ocean and was never seen or heard from again.
To this day, it is said a white spirit haunts the beaches of the islands at night, wailing into the night after her lost children.
A tuna walks into a sushi bar and tells the chef “You killed my father!”
The Chef says “That’s my business, fish.”
The tuna thinks this for a moment and says “Very well. Then I challenge you to a game of chess. If I win, you stop being a chef forever.”
“And if I win?” asks the chef.
“Then you can feed me to your customers,” says the tuna.
So they start to play. Now, tunas love to play chess so in a few moves the tuna has the chef checkmated.
“Looks like I win,” says the tuna. The chef nods and plunges his knife into the tuna’s belly.
“But I won!” says the tuna.
“So did you father,” says the chef.
So the chef was a dishonest liar?
“Don’t play games with those who play with their food.”
“Duels are for between rivals; with the enemy it’s war.”
Once upon a time, a salesman sold both spears and shields. One day, he came to the market and introduced his goods.
First, he held up his shield and declared: “My shield couldn’t be harder. No matter how sharp the weapon, it can’t penetrate my shield.”
He lowered the shield and then raised his spear. “My spear is extremely sharp. No matter how hard a thing is, it can penetrate it,” affirmed the Chu salesman laughing with pride.
Just then a man stepped forward from the crowd. Grinning, he asked the confident salesman, “If you attack your shield with your spear, what will happen?” The seller gasped and stood there speechless with the crowd’s laughter ringing in his ears.
A Legend of the Creation of the World, as told by some of the Loremasters of the native People I have met:
In the Beginning, the world was formless.
The great Sky Cow arrived and licked the world and shaped it.
She laid out the mountains, the valleys, the plains and the deserts, for all have their place.
She snorted, and breathed out the air, to blow across the World, to shape it further.
The World was still empty.
She walked across the World and everywhere she went, her footsteps filled with plants. She waded in the sea, and the sea plants grew.
The World was lush, but it was quiet and still.
So she gave birth to the animals, the birds, the sea creatures. And then there was movement and sound.
Finally, she created the People. And from her milk, gave them wisdom, knowledge, speech, and music.
Then she left, leaving the People to take care of the World.
(Comment: I, Synthia, believe this to be an account of world shaping by a terraforming Ship of unknown manufacture and time period, possibly carrying colonists in cryogenic storage)
I encourage everyone who has posted here to enter their stories to the capsuleer writing contest: YC 122 New Eden Capsuleer's Writing Contest
Creation myths are always beautiful. I only wish I could have the empathy towards them. All I feel is anger for feeling nothing.
Maybe I can find something good in that.
That said, I have placed this in my bookmarks to read every morning. Perhaps what little solace I can find in such beautiful prose will be helpful.
Maybe I’ll find the Gate in my heart, one day.
(as told on The Summit today)
The one who stayed behind
♫ I have come to say good bye
The others have gone ahead, they are waiting
Yet in the air, your scent lingers… ♫
There are a multiple versions of that story, but here is one.
Once upon the time in the Darkness, there lived a young man called Milian, and he was one of honour and one of passion, like young tribesmen tend to be. His was a clan in a key position when the Rebellion came; a high-class clan, managing a Holding, irreplacable for the local Lord.
Yet when the Dawn broke, his cohort and his clan and every one of his blood went with it, and they prepared to fight. At the darkest hour, just before sunrise, the young Lord of the house came to Milian, and he said; love, I know what is about to transpire. And Milian said, my Lord, I know you know.
And after that, there was nothing to else say. Milian’s cohort waited for him, but he never came; the young Lord’s family waited for him, but he never did, either. Dawn broke, and the House burned, and when it was all over and the free people stood on the ruins, they found the bodies of the two, with no battle wound on them, and no honour in either death.
When all other ways close, the Way of the Knife opens.
This is a teaching story.
What would you do, were you Milian? If you were the young Lord? If you were Milian’s cohort?
There are no right answers.
(Told to me by Skarkon evacuees on the dockside of On the Way Home in Gelfiven.)
Lady Luck’s gifts
The Tribal Council is holding a meeting, when suddenly Lady Luck herself manifests in the meeting hall, and approaches the Sanmatar.
“Esteemed Sanmatar”, Lady Luck says, “you have served your people well, and as a reward you can pick one of my three gifts: never-ending riches, all-encompassing wisdom, or eternal beauty.”
The Sanmatar, wishing only to lead his people right, of course picks wisdom. Lady Luck vanishes in a shining light, which settles on the Sanmatar and starts to dim. The Council waits with bated breath for what words of wisdom will fall from his mouth.
After a long silence, he speaks slowly: “I should have taken the money.”
The Moon Cannot Be Stolen
An Achura monk lived the simplest kind of life in a little hut at the foot of a mountain. One evening, while he was away, a thief sneaked into the hut only to find there was nothing in it to steal.
The monk returned and found him. “You have come a long way to visit me,” he told the prowler, “and you should not return empty handed. Please take my clothes as a gift.” The thief was bewildered, but he took the clothes and ran away.
The monk sat naked, watching the moon. “Poor fellow,” he mused, " I wish I could give him this beautiful moon."
The following is a direct transcript from a story I told on The Summit channel today, out of request by Simeon of the Blood Raiders.
Fate walks on twisted paths
Once upon the time, in the Darkness, there lived a tribesman as a house slave in a noble family.
He was comfortable in his position and he grew lazy – sorry there’ll be delays while I am flying – and comfortable and life was good for him.
[to someone on the side] Who said it’s a happy story?
Anyway, this tribesman, he had a daughter, who had the blessing of spirits to be very beautiful, skin pale as snow, hair dark as night.
Lithe and spirited, she got smiles wherever she went as a child, and when she grew into youth, she turned all heads. [to the side again] Well, it’s a bit of a both.
As was bound to happen, she also got the attention of the Lord of the House.
This Lord, he was old, and happily married, and a very decent man, so he had no evil thoughts for the maiden himself, but the House was poor, so he thought he could make a fair bit of trade for the beautiful maiden.
So, he went to look for potential buyers. But the maiden, she did not want to be sold, she wanted to remain with her father, and her kin, as is proper, of course.
When the first buyer came in, she took berry juice, and made blotches on her face, and pretended to be sick with the red fever. The buyer was scared and went away without another word of interest.
When the second buyer came in, she started a small fire in a grain storage, and there was a commotion, and she showed up all wild and sooty, and there was no trade.
When the third buyer candidate showed up, she presented herself nicely, but whenever she had the chance to meet him in a corridor without anyone seeing, she pretended to limp, and let the buyer think they were being deceived by the Lord, into buying a lame slave.
And so it went, potential buyers came in, but she always performed some trick, and they did not fancy her after all. Months passed, then years, and she remained with her father.
People started to talk, some saying it was God’s will she was not sold, some saying she was cursed. She enjoyed the show immensely and grew smug.
In the end, the Lord of the House grew tired of it, and just wanted to be rid of her, and cared no longer for the money. He confessed this to the father - he, as I said, was held in great regard with the Lord - who took the opportunity to plant in the Lord’s mind the idea that the young woman just be given her freedom, as thanks for his own service.
And that happened, and the girl was freed, and sent away from the Holdings and anywhere close.
So, with her tricks, she gained her freedom, but lost what she did it for, namely the possibility to stay with her kin.
Fate walks on twisted paths.
Not the story I earlier shared, but for the moment it feels especially apt.
An Amarrian scholar, both good and wise, was arguing one day with a Ni-Kunni, when the latter, who was young and quick tempered, became angry and cried:
“I have half a mind to fling this stone in your mouth and knock out every one of your thirty-two teeth!”
The astonished scholar left the Ni-Kunni standing there and hurried home to consult his wife. “In Heaven’s name, good wife,” he said, “light the lamp and count my teeth, for I am anxious to know how many I have.” The scholar’s wife counted his teeth, and then said, “Indeed, husband, I find that you have thirty-two teeth, neither more nor less.”
The scholar hurried back to find his friend the Ni-Kunni, and asked him, “Pray tell me, how did you know how many teeth I have?”
“Good master,” replied the Ni-Kunni, “I judged the number of your teeth from my own.”
Just as the Ni-Kunni knew the number of the scholar’s teeth, from knowing ourselves may we know others, we all are united by more than divides us.
Thank you for sharing.
At the Center of Matmoro Island, there lie two Volcanoes. They are the two largest peaks of the island. One is dormant, and has not shown any activity for many years. The other on occasion will release smoke as it vents the pressure building from the core of the planet.
It is said on the island that these two volcanoes are the immortalization of a man and a woman, who lived back in the days long before the day of darkness, when there was still warfare between the clans and tribes. The woman, daughter of a chieftain was said to have a beauty that made even the spirits pause. Yet she was also kind, and cared deeply for her people. The man was a warrior of great renown, fierce in combat, yet gentle in spirit. These two were said to be deeply in love, a match ordained by the ancestors themselves.
The warrior approached the chieftain to ask for his daughters hand in marriage. This was the time of conflicts between clans, and one such conflict was at their doorstep. A rival clan, from a nearby Island desired Matmoro for themselves. The Chieftain, wishing to see his daughter happy, but also concerned for the well being of his people agreed, nut under the condition that the warrior defeat their enemy in battle. And so the warriors of Matmoro went off to battle, the great warrior at their head. They were gone for many days, and the woman began to worry. One day, from the waves emerged a man, almost drowned, who brought ill news of the battle. The warrior had been slain in battle! Distraught, the woman grieved, her pain from this loss would become too much to bear, and she died, not wanting to live without her love.
Not two days later the host returned, and the great warrior stood triumphantly on the shore, victorious and carrying many trophies, and seeking his love so that they could marry. The man who had come ashore before them was a deserter, convinced that the battle was doomed, and jealous of the woman love for the warrior. his wish was to keep her forhimself, sure of the outcome of the battle. Apon learning of the woman’s death, the Great warrior slayed the man where he stood, and went to grieve over the burial mound of his love. The spirits, moved by their story, raised the two volcanoes at the center of the island, and that is how they are known, as the sleeping woman, and the kneeling warrior.
To this day, when ever he suffurs bursts of anger or grief, we can see the smoke rising from the volcano.
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