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dgate history and lore

Tales of the Land - Table of Contents
:: The Time that Land Forgot ::
:: A Strange Resident of Spur ::
:: The Darkness of Heart ::
:: Assassins and Excursions ::
:: The History of the Shack ::
:: The Lord of Deception ::
:: A Wolf in the Fold ::
:: Prophecies of the Wanderer ::
:: Our Origins ::
:: The Mystic Phantom Dragon Inn ::
:: The Sundred Isle of Tanga ::



 What I have to tell may not be important. Or it may be relate to a danger looming off the horizon. Several of us now think the old elf somehow hints at that which has threatened Spur for centuries. I write this to make concerned citizens aware of the situation. However, I won't use the old one's name. Not matter who or what he is, I would feel bad if he suffered rude attacks.


 I first saw the old elf in the bard guild. Monilea the Psycian had announced that she was going to tell the story of the Summoning of Dazrada Soros. I went, hoping that the story might have bits of Hithual history in it as well. I saw him sitting to the side, propped weakly against the wall. He was dirty and unkempt, a state in which I had never seen a Usil. He bore the mark of Taath. As folk milled about, he talked with Monilea, asking her if her tale was a history or fiction, and implying that he knew much about Spur 200 years in the past.


 Monilea began her tale, and he sat back against the wall with his eyes closed, as if he were seeing the events with an inner vision or memory. As she spoke, he repeatedly fingered something hanging from his neck. Monilea told of a Great Fire in which all the high priests of Spur, including Aremaia Starling of Rinanni and Dazrada Soros of Taath, had disappeared. Aremaia returned to Spur after nearly 100 years, but not Dazrada the Psycian. The Master Assassin Esteban Lovecraft-Dubois, a Muat, yearned to bring Dazrada back as well. In Old Spur, there was a San, Hex ChunChan, who was a Dhuvghal, a recursive. Recursives were ones, whose spirits were immortal. Their bodies could be destroyed, but they would return in a new form years later. These Dhuvghal, according to Monilea's scrolls, are evil and serve a mysterious master.


 Hex had a Usil, Strangeangel Sondemiroir, killed with a terrible weapon called a Fang of Rhangkhorre. Through this person's death, Hex gained control over several magickal amulets. Esteban learned of this, and killed Hex in exchange for the spent fragment of the Fang. Hex's head soon stood in the Temple of Taath, and Esteban used to shard to summon his old priest, Dazrada.


 The old elf said many strange things during and after the tale-telling. Strangeangel stole the amulets. Everyone, including himself, wanted to see Hex destroyed, and the old elf smiled at the thought of Hex's head on the Taathian altar. The one who called himself Soros in Old Spur was an impostor of Dazrada Soros, who was found dead in the Temple after his summoning. An impostor took his place, and soon stole the White Dove of Rinanni.


 The mysterious old one knew of the Dhuvghal, and called them the servants of the Dhuweireor. He said they were like fingers of one hand. The thought of them appeared to unnerve him. Whereas he had been lucid before, he now was confused, being unable even to explain how he came to remember so much of the past. He said that he lived the fantasies or dreams of others. I was standing closer to him now, as folk began to leave, and I could see that the thing that hung around his neck was a leather book.


 Those that tried to communicate with him later, found him in a poor state, coughing and so confused that he did not always realize that folk were trying to speak to him. He appeared to be trying to talk to someone else that was not there. He soon disappeared. However, he later used ESP in his madness, and all happened to hear his thoughts. There was a battle in Town Square, but a secian friend was able to write down his thoughts.


"The smiling dead have forsaken me.

Why. Their voices are silent.

Like the blood in those old cracks.

The eyes of the Choropleth burn.

His bowels writhe with the Dark ones whose names are erased.

The worlds of the silent and the damned are tied by the discords of pain and forgetting.

It's eyes burn... Burn.

My name is so tired.

No one will know me, and their comfort will leave me alone in my despair.

I am drowning.

And the smiling dead have left me here.

So long. So very long."


 Well, that would be scary enough. Except for what happened several days later. I was coming back from visiting the Yelican Forest, when I came upon the same strange, old figure south of Town Square. I turned around to follow, but he disappeared into the gloom. Then he used ESP again. I really think he does this without realizing it, as he yearns to communicate with someone or something out there.


"Where might I find death blood in some abundance?

Why kill?

Killing feeds the mouths that suckle, the mouths that speak.

Killing grows the blackness from which all things come."


 Things soon got hectic. I heard stories of young Rijom appearing in different parts of Spur and then dying. I and others spent time in the Southlands seeking clues. On one of these sorties, I came upon him again in the Rogue Fields. At first, I walked right by him, but then I saw a motion out of the corner of my eye, and turned around. There were several folk fighting rogues, but the old one appeared oblivious to it all. He was pulling up handfuls of blood-soaked grass and stuffing these in a pouch. I greeted him, saying that I had seen him at the story-telling and had noticed that he knew much of Old Spur. He appeared unsure if he had been there but briefly agreed that he remembered much. I wanted to ask him about some of the famous Hithuals of the past, but I could not ignore the handfuls of bloody grass. I asked about it, and he merely wheezed "Death blood." This did unsettle me, and I asked, hopefully, if he needed it for a medicine. He would only say, "Medicine is for the living." That book, bound black in leather, still hung from his neck. I asked about it, which was rude of me. He said, at first, that he had no such book. Then he whispered to me that he could not speak of it: "My mind is feeble, and I don't like to remember."


 Who is this strange and sad figure? Did he really live 200 and more years ago, or is he some mad and deluded historian? Does that book give him these memories and names or help him forget them? What is his purpose here?


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