Isle of Tanga
[Note: This is from Volume 3, Issue no.2 of the
DFC April 4th, 1993, 8th day, 10th month, of the 95th year in Spur titled The Island of
Tanga by Barvice Goldsinger.]
Although I now stand retired in this great city of Spur that
sits on the edge of civilization, there was once a time when I traveled the land with
wanderlust in my heart and a mandolin in my hand. Many a memory I have carved from the
wood that is life with the sword of adventure, and many a tale I have heard of others who
have done the same. Today for your enjoyment I shall reveal to you an account I recently
heard. One that relates the fate of Tanga, a volcanic island far to the south. A place
where a temple of Elindale once stood...
Many years ago to the South there was a beautiful island
named Tanga. Tanga was known by many for its fertile land which produced crops year round,
beautiful black sand beaches, and inspiring obsidian cliffs. Two villages prospered in
this lovely paradise. The first was made up of farmers and fishermen who were loyal to the
goddess Elindale. The second was built in the volcanic cliffs near the island's center,
and spent most of its time worrying about money matters and not if they pleased the gods.
Few crops could be grown in that rocky terrain, so the inhabitants took on the roll of
craftsmen, trading their finished products to the first village for food and materials.
This trading went on for generations, fairness always being insured by the local Baron.
Here was a man that loved his people, and took his duties
quite seriously. Yet slowly, the Baron's personality seemed to change. Where once a kind
word was given to encourage his people to work harder, a lash and manacle now appeared. It
was whispered that the once kind ruler had stumbled upon a dark power hidden somewhere in
the cavernous mountain that made up the island's center, and that this force had corrupted
their once great Baron. Yet no one dared to stand up to him, since those who had in the
past seemed to mysteriously vanish into the jungles of the island. All would live in fear
of this man for many years, until something happened that would force the people to face
the evil they so dreaded.
Since the Baron himself lived in the second village, so did
his wrath mainly strike the craftsmen and artists who lived there. Seeing this, the people
in the first village cut off all contact with their, neighbors for many months. Were it
not for the sudden disappearance of a great number of children, the faithful followers of
Elindale may never have learned the fate of their brothers on the cliffs. You see, the
people of the first village sought the help of their overlord in finding what had taken
their young. So the village clerics and huntsmen ventured towards the Baron's home, and
were startled to find along the way a very dead and blackened land where lush jungles and
fertile fields had once been. Finally, the travelers reached the village in the cliffs,
only to find it a smoldering ruin with but one structure left standing: The keep of the
Baron. And so they ventured into the Baron's home, hoping to find an answer to their
rising questions. And in the shadows of their ruler's throne room, they would find just
that. For the animated corpse of the once good Baron sat waiting for the villagers here.
With a wave of his decaying hand, an army of undead created from the fallen craftsmen and
artists swarmed down upon the travelers, sending many an unsuspecting Elindite to their
death. But the clerics and hunters fought valiantly against the unlife, and a few were
able to escape the undead minions and warn their families in the village.
All but the most dedicated followers fled in boats from the
coming evil, leaving but a handful of clerics to banish the hundreds of undead heading
towards the village. These few gathered in the holy temple of Elindale, and performed an
untested cleansing ceremony to rid the land of the disease called unlife. Great waves
began to form, and a volcano that had remained dormant for many centuries suddenly came to
life. The vengeful fires of molten rock embraced the face of the island, while the pure
waters of the ocean washed away all signs of blight. After many hours of this beating,
only a few ruined buildings and a lone cleric remained on the surface of Tanga. What's
more, most of the once inhabited land had sunk deep into the ocean; leaving the now
cracked obsidian cliffs as the only reminder that an island had once been here. The
beautiful island of Tanga was no more.
That is the story of Tanga. If you are interested in knowing
what happened to that lone surviving cleric, you should know that she found her way with
luck and the grace of Elindale to the Spur. Here she told me her tale, the one I have just
passed on to you. The women's name was Diral, and I thank her dearly for sharing her story
Revised:February 08, 2000.
Copyright © 1995 by Mythic Entertainment.
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