Once upon the time there was an old farmer who had worked his crops for many years. One day his horse ran away. Upon hearing the news, his neighbors came to visit. “Such bad luck,” they said sympathetically

“Maybe,” the farmer replied.

The next morning the horse returned, bringing with it three other wild horses. “How wonderful,” the neighbors exclaimed.

“Maybe,” replied the old man.

The following day, his son tried to ride one of the untamed horses, was thrown, and broke his leg. The neighbors again came to offer their sympathy on his misfortune.

“Maybe,” answered the farmer.

The day after, military officials came to the village to draft young men into the army. Seeing that the son’s leg was broken, they passed him by. The neighbors congratulated the farmer on how well things had turned out.

“Maybe,” said the farmer.


But Mama I don’t want the wind

Once upon a time before the Darkness there was a spoiled heir to Sarinde. He was a gifted little boy in all things of tradition, pleasing his tutors both in martial arts and in the classics, knowing when to bow respectfully and when to act precocious.

But as he was sweet and gifted, cute and polite, he was also very used to having his way.

One day his birth-mother took him to the seaside. And it was a lovely day, with a shining sun glittering off the pebbles, with crowds of kinsfolk walking the boulevard, with all sorts of treats and amusements being sold.

“Mama, I want an icecream,” said the boy, and his mother bought him one.

“Mama, I want a balloon,” said the boy, and his mother bought him one.

“Mama, I want a scrunchie-on-a-stick”, said the boy, and his mother bought him one.

“Mama, I want to play beach ball,” said the boy, and his mother convinced some kinsfolk to include him in their game.

“Mama, I want to go swimming”, said the boy. Now, that day, the wind was high, and the sea was rough, and mother told him no.

“We cannot go swimming in this surf, we will surely drown.”

The boy begged and pleaded, but the mother was a sensible woman, and she kept her calm and kept on telling him no.

And so the boy had a meltdown on the beach side boulevard, and he bawled, “But Mama I do not want the wind!”

And all the kinsfolk who saw that, the icecream parlor owner and the balloon blower and the woman boiling the scrunchies-on-a-stick and the kinsmen playing ball, they all laughed at him.

And when he grew up and became the Chief of Sarinde and the enforcer of the law, whenever his head grew a tad too big, his Circle smiled at him and whispered “but I do not want the wind”, and he ground his teeth but controlled himself.

The wind is free and without bound. It cares not if you want it. It is what it is, and you adjust your plans to it, or you drown.


A lullaby, a simple one, that I have sung - and continue to sing - to my children, both in womb and as newborn babes. I remember my mother singing it, so I assume it’s been passed down over the generations:

“I see the moon, The moon sees me,
God bless the moon, and God bless me”

“I see the stars, The stars see me,
God bless the stars, and God bless me’”

“I know the Sefrim watches over me.
God bless the Sefrim, And God bless me.”


A very short story of my own design as told by myself at the party today. It is as of yet, unnamed.

Not all that long ago, a group of capsuleers was roaming the outers. We'll call them, DarkSnide. They were in a fairly formidable gang of cruisers of navy and pirate design. They were confident. They were a group of hotshot pilots with loyalty to none but themselves. And today, they had a target in mind.

Their target was another group of roaming capsuleers. We’ll call them, Electric Mariachi. They had a couple destroyers, a couple frigates, a couple cruisers, and a battlecruiser. They were also roaming the outers, looking for hostiles. DarkSnide had a bead on them. Their fleet far outmatched that of Electric Mariachi in terms of general firepower.

DarkSnide, chased after Electric Mariachi, jumping into them and taking out several of the smaller ships, turning all of their firepower onto one of the destroyers. It happened to be a Svipul, which shifted to its defense mode. One of the cruisers, a Scythe, poured all of its capacitor into energizing that Svipul’s shields, and between the mitigation and the reps, it was holding. But DarkSnide knew that the Svipul was a problem, so they kept focused on it! The battlecruiser and cruiser of Electric Mariachi tore down the higher class cruisers of DarkSnide, one by one, but they continued to focus on the Svipul.

Eventually, the Svipul was breaking… and then… it warped off. But then the DarkSnide cruisers still up looked at the battlefield, and they did not have the firepower to stand against the rest of their opponents. They had pulled defeat from the jaws of victory.

At the end, but a single cruiser from the DarkSnide fleet was able to limp away from the fight. They hyper focused on a little problem without understanding the root cause. This led to them not only not dealing with it, but letting two very big problems get out of hand. One must be careful to look at the whole picture and plan accordingly. Sometimes, if you don’t, you can lose everything.


A stray Lamb stood drinking early one morning on the bank of a woodland stream. That very same morning a hungry Wolf came by farther up the stream, hunting for something to eat. He soon got his eyes on the Lamb. As a rule Mr. Wolf snapped up such delicious morsels without making any bones about it, but this Lamb looked so very helpless and innocent that the Wolf felt he ought to have some kind of an excuse for taking its life.

“How dare you paddle around in my stream and stir up all the mud!” he shouted fiercely. “You deserve to be punished severely for your rashness!”

“But, your highness,” replied the trembling Lamb, “do not be angry! I cannot possibly muddy the water you are drinking up there. Remember, you are upstream and I am downstream.”

“You do muddy it!” retorted the Wolf savagely. “And besides, I have heard that you told lies about me last year!” “How could I have done so?” pleaded the Lamb. “I wasn’t born until this year.”

“If it wasn’t you, it was your brother!”

“I have no brothers.”

“Well, then,” snarled the Wolf, “It was someone in your family anyway. But no matter who it was, I do not intend to be talked out of my breakfast.”

And without more words the Wolf seized the poor Lamb and carried her off to the forest.


A general is studying his plans for a battle drawing near. One of his subordinates, troubled by curiosity, is trying to get a few words on how the strategy will unfold.
“Do you know how to keep a secret?” asks the general.
“I do, sir,” answers the subordinate.
“Good,” says the general, “so do I.”


A lot of great stories here. Entertaining read.

My story telling skills suck, so none from me, but keep them coming.

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Delighful readings, much things to learn. I’m not a storyteller myself, I don’t remember any stories. This place is like a window opened to New Eden’s tales.

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That story is kinda dry, lovely.

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This is hardly a story, rather it is a prayer or theology. Far be it from me to suggest such things do not belong on the IGS, but I would request you make another thread.

I’m wondering how long it will be before another Amarr comes along and rebukes the poster for not being Amarrian enough?

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If one does, they can do it in another thread.

Once upon a time, there was an IGS forum poster that posted something that was completely fictional, but touched their heart in some way.

Then another person told them that it wasn’t a story, but a prayer, and told them to not post personal story prayers in the story thread.

Then another person wondered how long it would be before other fictional story prayer people would rebuke the original story teller,

Then the forum mom popped in again and told them to move the story prayer.

The End.


I’m not “forum mom” though; just the OP of this particular thread.

If you go up it, you will see that stories from all cultures, about all sorts of gods and spirits have been welcome.

But I wish to keep this one for stories, myths and legends. There is room on the IGS for other things and should someone start a thread for prayers and credos I might participate. I merely asked people to respect the purpose of this one.

Now back to our regular programming, please.


This narrative was relayed to me by Devin Lok’ri, who learned it from Terrana Lok’ri, who learned it from Shirin Lok’ri, who learned it from Ajram Varaz, who learned it from Doriam Tol-Araz, who learned it from Damianos Alvarre, who learned it from Trahan Alvarre, who learned it from Maryam Alvarre. Before the time of Maryam, it is unclear where the story originated. Its details are of doubtful veracity, but carries some interest. I pray that God and the Faithful find this story pleasing and edifying.

In the days when Amarr was a single island, in the last years of the quiet times, the Emperor at the time believed that the Empire was at the largest extent it could possibly reach. In those times, our ancestors did not understand the science of shipbuilding, or of navigation, or of making war at sea. That Emperor believed that all would be well, and it would be their lot to rule a peaceful state, in which all was in order.

One day, however, a small three masted ship with a black hull, the likes of which no Amarr had ever seen, laid anchor outside Dam-Torsad, and from it came foriegners who did not speak our language. The Emperor ordered that these foreigners be treated with honour, as guests, and eventually enough language was shared that he came to understand that they were Udorians, from Ves-Udor, and that they offered trade. Being a kindly ruler, the Emperor acquiesced, and the Udorian ships began to appear with their black masts and cloud-like sails.

From their ships came luxuries, but also maladies. Every bolt of Udorian silk unloaded into Dam-Torsad, every amphora of wine, and every sailor on shore leave brought corruption, sickness, and vice to Amarr island. Waves of disease spread from the ports. Waves of ideas that threatened the divine order came from the sailors, enticing commoners to leave Amarr forever. Waves of corruption through finery corrupted the Holders, leading them to neglect their duty to their subjects. For fifty years the black ships of the Udorians were allowed to bring disaster to Amarr.

However, eventually the Blessed Emperor died and their successor looked on the empire and despaired. All was falling into disorder and apostacy. At first, the young Emperor attempted to end the problem with the methods of his predecessor. He talked to the Udorian representatives and kindly asked them to leave. They refused. When he pressed the matter, they became explicit: “We control the seas and there is nothing you can do that will prevent us from bringing our ships to your little island. You should be greatful that we have only brought trade and not armies, but if you refuse us that could change.”

Their ears ringing from this threat, the Emperor retired in despair. During the night, however, the Prophet Gheinok and the Emperor Amash-Akura seemed to appear in a dream. They told the Emperor: “Do not despair! For God has given you everything that you need to make Amarr safe once more!” Waking up from the night, the Emperor pondered what exactly had been meant by this dream. Was it divine revelation? Was it a figment of their imagination? How could one tell such a thing?

As the Emperor was about to call a priest to discuss the matter, they went out to the balcony of the palace, from the window they saw the crew of one of the Udorian convoy’s escort warships leave their ship in a disorderly drunken mob. Suddenly, the Emperor understood what needed to be done.

The Emperor immediately, with new energy and life, convened the Council and outlined the plan: “The Udorians might have dominance over the seas, they might stand proud and arrogant and make their threats, and they might for a moment indeed have Amarr at their mercy. But if they believe this, they have underestimated us. Their only ability to threaten us comes from control of the sea, and they have already given to us all we need to take that from them. So, tonight, we are going to arrest every last one of these foreigners, board every last ship, and build a wall of wood that will protect Amarr from any who might threaten it. Then, we will take those ships and that knowledge, and we will use it to make absolutely sure that their arrogance can never threaten us again.” Saying this, the Emperor made all of their orders and preparations. They first arranged for the tavernas of the city to be especially generous that night, drawing as many of the Udorians in as possible, and they prepared in hidden coves a fleet of coastal boats. Well into the night, when the Udorians were settling into their debauchery, the Emperor set all of the bells in the palace ringing, signalling that the time to strike had arrived.

The Imperial Guard stormed all of the docked ships and then arrested every Udorian found in Dam-Torsad. The coastal boats rowed out under cover of darkness to swarm the few Udorian ships in the harbor that were not docked. Messengers ran out to the rest of the island, informing the Holders of other harbors that they should also arrest all Udorians and seize their ships.

Then, with the immediate threat contained, the Emperor set about learning how ships worked. The ships were dismantled, board by board, sheet by sheet, with every piece labelled clearly so that it could be copied and reassembled. The sailors were interrogated and pressed into the service of the Empire. In this moment Amarr learned to build a navy. Carpenters took the base design of a Udorian light warship, and copied the core of the design. Then the Council of Apostles inspected the diagrams, and made a wide variety of changes to make the ships more in accord with divinely revealed design principles. Where the Udorian design had featured black hulls, the new design was made of a light coloured wood. Where the Udorian aesthetic was utilitarian, the new ships featured reliefs and golden inscriptions praising God and the Saints.

When they were done, the Emperor ordered the construction of an entire fleet of ships. Some of his advisors suggested that perhaps he should order this new fleet to attack Assimia, after all, Assimians were the ones who had forced the Prophet’s second exile! But the Emperor, wise for their years, declined: “The Assimians cannot threaten us in our homes, but the Udorians can, we must always prioritise defeating those enemies who have the greatest ability to hurt our people and the Faith.”

So, the Golden Fleet set out to Ves-Udor to fight the Black Fleet of the Udorians. This first fleet failed. The Emperor learned from the loss and refined the designs and tactics of their navy. A second, third and fourth fleet followed. Each one met the same fate, and each time the Emperor learned from the defeat and improved the designs. But the fifth fleet, well, that fleet came back victorious. Hundreds more followed in its wake, breaking forever the Udorian’s control of the sea. By the time that Emperor died, the Reclaiming was well under way and Amarr was safe again.

I pray that all who read this concentrate their thoughts on their Duty to God and on the Communal Faith which binds all Amarr together in service to the Emperor and to God. May we always prove resilient in service of the protection of the Divine Order of Amarr, even against threats that seem insurmountable. By God’s light and God’s word, Amarr will remain forever glorious.


For context it’s important to know that many schools in the Empire, during times when teenagers have dances or formals, will have a phrase something like “Keep enough space between you for Gheinok, Junip, Anoyia, and Kuria.” The books are different in different places but it means that dancing partners should not become too close to one another, for obvious reasons. A very long time ago I composed a rude limerick centered on that proposition which I now share with you. I think it serves as a light, sugary treat following the wholesome, but heavy, tale shared very graciously by Lord Lok’ri.

Anywho, the ditty:

Apostles to temper teen attraction,
There to stop handsy boys gaining traction,
And while they got paid,
For no boy got laid,
It’s cause the Saints got all the action.


(Told by Eyrin of Haran, at the bathing pools of Haran, in Sundsele, on November 3rd YC125, as a gift from one Keeper of Tradition to another. Put into writing with her express permission, “if that is the done thing in high heavens, I do not mind, as long as I don’t catch anyone selling it in the city’s bookstores”.)

The Girl Who Swallowed The Night

Once upon a time in the Darkness, the local Lord’s most trusted housekeeper and majordomo was a maiden Marrha; she is said to be Tribesborn but no one this day knows her family or clan. She was crucial to the running of every bit of the Holding, and the Lords and Ladies of it could not manage without her for one day.

Through her position, she came to know of the many treasures owned by the ruling House, both the mundane and the magical. Among these were a chalice made out of gold and decorated with precious jewels, that was said to be able to hold anything its holder wished it to hold - in addition to liquids it could be used to gather things like love, or hate, or fire. But because an ancient prophecy said that it would one day be the vessel of loss of face to the House, the Holders kept it well hidden and never used it.

There lived in the region a great clan by the name Kyrill. When the Darkness fell, Kyrill pretended to submit, but they did not wait for long nor avoid great risks in working with the Resistance. As it happened they were also caught early, and every man, woman and child of the clan was put to death, until only the Young Chief remained under lock and key. Of him, the Holder intended to make a final example, in a public execution at the end of the Harvest End festival, at nightfall.

It was customary then at that festival for the Holder to provide a feast for both the True Amarrians living in the Holding and the slaves and laborers of it, and it was also customary then for the oppressed people to use the commotion of that feast to spirit away all sorts of things, edibles and fuel and items of clothing, to hold for a day of need. (Echoes of that feast still can be seen in our customs for the festival of the dead.)

So, that particular year, people meant to use the commotion of the preparation and celebration of the feast to spirit away something bigger: the young chief of Kyrill. The maiden Marrha, despite being the trusted and beloved of the Holding’s Lords, was well aware of these plans, and in full support of them. With her help, the extraction team made good and relatively safe progress, hidden as servants here, directed to empty routes there. (If you ever tell this story to young people, you might want to embellish these escapades.)

Close to nightfall, however, they were stymied by the lock on the Young Chief’s cell door, which they could not hack or break, no matter how their best tried. Time was running short. For a while, the maiden Marrha was well able to delay the execution by presenting yet another dish, or one more piece of entertainment. She also confused the Holder by arranging for a setting back of any clock he could see or be reported about. In the merriment of the feast and with plentiful wine to be served, no one realized it was close to nightfall, and the Young Chief was not sent for - fortunate, because all his guards were dead and the extraction team was right there at the cell door.

Yet time passed, and light started to diminish, and no setting back of the clocks or serving more fine wines could hide the fact that night was falling. Desperate, the maiden Marrha turned from the practical to the spiritual, and she took from the Lord’s treasury the cup that could hold anything. On the roof of the mansion she raised it to the sky, and she willed it to gather in the night. And to her surprise, the cup was filled with darkness, and the air was that much lighter! But soon, the cup was overflowing with the night, and it started to spill over, and darkness started to fall again. Not knowing what to do, the maiden Marrha raised the cup on her lips, and she drank up the night in it. And the cup kept on filling, and she kept on drinking, until sometime in the night the extraction team got through.

Eventually, the sun rose again without ever having set. The Holder realized something was amiss, the Young Chief was sent for, the dead guards found, and alarm sounded throughout the Holding.

The Enemy never found Kyrill, who escaped to save his bloodline. But they did find Marrha, unconscious, her formerly gray eyes like black pools of oil without neither white nor color in them, living tattoos of blackest shadow shifting and creeping all over her white skin that had previously borne no mark. She never came to, and inside a few days, she died, for no one dared to touch her to take her to a hospital or otherwise care for her. When she died, a black shadow in the shape of a woman rose from her body, and walked away. No one dared to follow, but many claim to have seen her since, even these days, walking the corridors and courtyards of the old mansion site.

And you could say, that is why we still have a Kyrill family in the Haran clan, despite their great sacrifice. Or you could say, that is why people of the area still pray “Marrha of the Night, make time” when they are running out of it or already late.

This works also as a teaching story. There are many questions you can ask from it, about the wisdom and honor of sacrifices.

(I have put notes about this story in a separate thread so as not to clutter up Storytime.)


(With help from chatGPT)

This is a story with two endings, a morality tale about greed.

In a distant land, nestled amidst lush forests and rolling hills, there thrived a unique civilization, divided into distinct clans. Each clan was self-sufficient, tending to their own crops, raising livestock, and gathering resources. But what set these clans apart from others was a tradition that governed their interactions: the tradition of honorable theft.

The clans had an unspoken agreement, passed down through generations, that allowed for a particular form of resource redistribution. If one clan ever found themselves with a surplus of food, materials, or other essential resources, it was considered their duty to share their abundance with those in need. However, the act of sharing came with a thrilling twist. Other clans were allowed to attempt to steal a portion of the surplus, but only what they truly needed.

The clan with the surplus, knowing they were vulnerable, took great pride in guarding their treasures, devising clever methods to protect their resources. The thieves, in turn, had to craft elaborate plans and employ their most cunning members to outsmart the defenders. If they succeeded in their heist, they gained honor and admiration from the other clans. This balance of give-and-take ensured that no clan grew too powerful, and the civilization thrived in harmony.

For many years, this tradition kept the clans in check, fostering a sense of camaraderie and mutual respect. The thefts were seen as a test of wit and strategy rather than a violent act. However, like all tales of harmony, there was a twist waiting to unfold.

One fateful day, the leader of a clan known as the Alarions, Roderic, became consumed by greed. Roderic’s clan had amassed a vast surplus of food, grains, and herbs, and instead of sharing as the tradition dictated, he became increasingly paranoid. Roderic began to hoard the resources, fortifying his clan’s defenses and raising the stakes for anyone daring to attempt a theft.

But what set Roderic on a dangerous path was his decision to employ violence to protect his wealth. No longer content with the subtle art of non-violent theft, Roderic set traps, unleashed guard dogs, and even ordered his clan members to patrol the borders with weapons drawn. The other clans watched in horror as the once-thrilling tradition turned into a bloodthirsty battle.

News of Roderic’s violence spread like wildfire through the clans. Fear and mistrust settled in their hearts, and they began to abandon the practice of stealing. The balance that had held their civilization together for generations now lay shattered.

As Roderic’s greed-driven violence escalated, the other clan leaders realized they had a responsibility to preserve their way of life. Gathering in a secret council, they devised a plan to confront Roderic and restore the tradition of honorable theft. Though they were determined to act, they understood that violence would not be the answer. They would have to outwit Roderic without resorting to bloodshed.

The brave leaders infiltrated the Alarion camp, using their wit and stealth to outsmart Roderic’s guards. They reached the storeroom where the hoarded resources were kept, and with great precision, they distributed the surplus to those in need from various clans. Their act was swift and precise, and they left no trace behind.

Roderic awoke to find his surplus depleted, but more importantly, he realized that his violent tactics had driven the other clans to unite against him. The tradition of honorable theft had been reinstated without violence, and Roderic was left isolated and disgraced.

The tale of Roderic’s fall from grace served as a powerful reminder to the civilization. Greed and violence had no place in their way of life. The clans once again thrived in harmony, understanding that their strength lay in their unity and in the tradition of non-violent, honorable theft. The moral of the story rang true: greed could tear apart even the most tightly knit societies, and it was a lesson they would never forget.

And the second ending:

In the land where clans once thrived, the tale of Roderic’s descent into greed took a far more tragic turn. As the leader of the Alarions, Roderic’s obsession with hoarding resources and using violence to protect them only intensified. His once-peaceful clan had transformed into a fortress of fear and oppression.

In their desperation, other clans tried to reason with Roderic, begging him to return to the old ways of honorable theft. But Roderic’s lust for power and wealth had consumed him entirely, blinding him to the value of cooperation and shared resources. He viewed the other clans as nothing more than potential threats to his rule.

As the situation grew dire, one brave clan attempted a daring act of non-violent resistance. They gathered their fellow clans and staged a peaceful protest at the border of the Alarion territory, holding signs of unity and chanting slogans of peace and tradition. But Roderic, driven mad by his own greed, ordered his guards to respond with violence. The clash that followed was a catastrophe.

The once-thriving civilization descended into chaos. Clans took up arms to defend themselves, and the land was torn apart by bitter feuds and battles. The tradition of honorable theft, which had once bound them together, lay shattered, buried beneath a sea of animosity.

Innocent lives were lost, homes were destroyed, and the land that had once been bountiful now bore the scars of a civilization driven to the brink. Roderic’s ruthless pursuit of wealth had not only ruined his own clan but had plunged the entire civilization into darkness.

As the years passed, the memory of the harmonious past faded into a distant legend, and the once-prosperous clans found themselves weakened and fragmented. The lesson was clear: greed, unchecked by compassion and tradition, could lead to the ruination of all that was once held dear.

The tragic tale of Roderic served as a somber reminder that even the strongest bonds of unity and tradition could be shattered by the insatiable hunger for power and wealth. The civilization that had once thrived was no more, a poignant reminder of the devastating consequences of greed and violence.

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An old Amarrian folk tale of ‘The Paladin, the Scholar, and the Holder’, I remember being told to me by my mother:

“Back in the early days of the Empire, after the Udorian wars, and there was a brief period of calm before the next Reclaiming, there was a Paladin, a Scholar and a Holder who were acquaintances.”

“They felt a void in their lives. The Paladin did not feel that he had the courage needed to be a Paladin of the Emperor. The Scholar felt out of place in the hallowed Halls containing the Book of Records. Like he was not intelligent enough to match the overseers of that even then ancient and venerable facility. The Holder oversaw his commoners and slaves, day after day, without emotion, feeling like he lacked the emotional intelligence to truly guide his charges as Scripture called him to do.”

“They were told of a wise Prophet, whose name is lost to time now, who lived in the badlands near Satach’s Spite. Perhaps he might have the answers their problems. So they went off on a long journey to meet the Prophet.”

“The details of the journey are not important here… suffice to say there are holos and books about that… but the ending is.”

"Having finally arrived at the Prophet’s dwelling and gained admission. they sat in a semi-circle around the Prophet, who, much to their surprise, was a rather ordinary looking old man. "

“After hearing their stories, and being asked for his sage advice, he shook his head at them. They didn’t need to journey so far to find what they sought.”

“He opened a trunk, with many trinkets and pieces of clothing in it. after rummaging, he picked up an old miltary medal. He pinned it to the Paladin and said 'This medal represents courage. And is sign of the courage that you already have within you. Touch the medal whenever you doubt yourself, and remember.”

“He rummaged some more and pulled out a small scroll. ‘This is a diploma from the Royal Amarr Institute, signed by the Emperor himself.’ He handed the scroll to the Scholar 'This scroll represents scholarship. It is a sign of the intelligence that you already have within you. Keep it in your pocket, and touch the scroll whenever you doubt yourself, and remember.”

"Finally, he rummaged some more and pulled out an old Purple Cloak. He put the Cloak around the Holder. “This is cloak in colors demonstrating royalty and wisdom.” He looked at the Holder “Whenever you doubt your abilities to make fair and emotionally wise judgments with respect to your charges, wear the cloak and remember that God himself has endowed you with all the judgment that you need to fulfill your assigned role.”

"The Prophet finished “For you see you already have these things within you. Go home, and remember.'”


Once upon a time, on Athra, during the time of the Reclaiming, a prosperous Holder would regularly leave her estate to go campaigning in Udoria. During these times the estate’s workforce was much depleted, including the number of guards. This fact did not go unnoticed, and so when the Holder was away on one of her campaigns, one of the local miscreants had the grand idea of burgling the estate, seeking the vast riches that idle gossip had suggested the Holder had accumulated on her campaigns, as she was surely hugely rich, as the estate had primitive electric lighting, this being a novelty at the time.
Knowing that the guards were almost completely absent, particularly at night, the thief climbed over the estate wall and into the garden. At this point he heard a faint sing-song voice say “I see you and the saint sees you”.
Looking around, he could not see anyone, so shrugged it off and continued to sneak towards the house, using the darkness of the shrubbery to conceal him from view.
Climbing over the inner wall into the courtyard, the voice came again, this time louder, “I see you and the saint sees you”. Again, nobody could be seen in the darkness of the night, and the thief ignored the voice, as he was so keen on stealing something of value from the estate.
He crept across the courtyard and climbed onto a low roof, seeing an open window on the floor above, which he clambered into.
The room beyond was darkened, but there was sufficient glow from lamp posts outside to make out a few shapes, some of which glittered. The thief thought he had surely found the treasury, and that vast wealth would soon be his.
Then the voice came again, louder and closer than ever before, as if it was in the room, “I see you and the saint sees you”.
The thief whirled around in panic, and by chance stumbled into a light switch, lighting up the room. Gilded objects were all around, and one in particular caught the thief’s eye. A large ornate birdcage, and contained within, an Udorian Mimic Bird, a large and colourful bird, known for their intelligence and ability to imitate a human voice. “I see you and the Saint sees you”, said the bird.
The thief smiled, pleased that the mysterious voice had been revealed, and reached to take some of the treasures, when from behind, he heard the sound of heavy breathing.
He turned, and saw a most fearsome looking large muscly dog, easily the weight of a man, with its teeth bared, and around the beasts neck was a golden chain, letters forming part of it. S… A… I… N… T
“Get him, Saint”, said the bird.