Ryzom

There once was a Yubo named George
I found him in a fyros gorge
I took his nails and mats from sales
and leveled my craft in a forge

The Kitin are bite'n
limbs asunder torn askew
Gondi's blunder is nothing new

Lol! A yubo named George? Is that a boss? Hehe, nice.

The channel on the left was too shallow to offer protection.

With a cloud of disappointment lowering on his head Ferax swerved back onto the beach. The claw of the pursuing clopper smashed into the sand behind him, close enough to tug on his saturated vest.

With ever increasing desperation his eyes picked out details from the surrounding terrain. Finding something, Ferax gave his last boost of speed to scramble under a nearby root. And there he sat, gasping for breath, feeling as if his heart should burst, while the loathsome creature hammered fruitlessly on his improvised shelter.

With the passing of sun, so too the creatures fury subsided. With a final disgusted snort it scuttled away.

Ferax looked about him once more, unconvinced that the new found quiet meant safety. He had travelled further in the last two days than he ever had before, and in this wilderness he felt terribly alone.

The silence was only circumstantial. Mentally he raged at himself. For some moments after the clopper had attacked Ferax held some misbegotten belief that he could prevail. The receiving end of a sharp blow smote him down like a bug, and not only did he drop any hope of victory, but there too in that Ferax shaped imprint in the ground he left his axe. Ferax was no veteran of the wilderness, but he was overwhelmed by disappointment in himself for being prone to such cowardly indiscipline. He had lost his weapon.

And now there were decisions to make. At least, Ferax liked to think so. He wanted to believe he was still in control of events. Of course, he had never been in control of events, even before setting out from Fairhaven.

It had all began with that look. You know the one. That look especially reserved for those darling young women who, with a mere flash of those helpless eyes, send men’s’ lives dashing simultaneously against the cliffs of hope and insanity.

This particular time, that look belonged to Elspeth Ba’Caussey. Countless many times Ferax had walked past her stall, wanting only to find the clever words that would sweep her to his side, forever bonded, only to remain silent. If such words existed, Ferax had no knowledge of what they where, or how to implement them.

But then there was that look. That look changed everything. I’m not talking about the ‘I want you.’ look. On no. That would be too easy, wouldn’t it? No, the look I mean is the really cruel one. The one with so many subtexts. The one that says in whispered desperation, ‘Oh, I’m so pathetic and lost and forlorn. If someone doesn’t help I’m simply going to whither away into some wilting failure of a homin, and the whole world will pity me forever.’

That’s the look I mean. No master spellcaster has something so powerful in his spell inventory.

Ferax halted before the stall. “What is it?” he asked.

Did his lips just move, he wondered then. No conscious act compelled the question. The look itself had summoned the question from him. A geas.

Elspeth looked up, startled momentarily from her despair. Then the look came back. “Oh, it’s nothing..”. The words were hardly audible. ‘It’s nothing..’ said the words. But what she really said was, “The foundations of my world are completely undermined and if someone doesn’t help me very soon, well, you might as well kill me now..”

“It doesn’t look like nothing..” Ferax persisted. Ferax could see the chasm opening up in front of him. He knew that he should just shut up and turn around, walk away as quickly as he could. He also knew if he turned away he’d be confronted by a solid wall. A wall formed by ‘the look’.

Ferax didn’t move. So the chasm moved for him, and suddenly he was falling into the depths of obligation.

“Well.. it’s the beach party..”

Hold on a minute..

“What?” he asked incredulously, losing his customarily politeness.

But there was no escape for him now. He’d gone and interfered, hadn’t he?

“The beach party,” continued Elspeth, who was of course oblivious to any astonishment in this matter. It was of course of vital, nay, earth shattering, importance.

“I spoke with Mellena earlier. She’s going too. Her ear-rings look almost exactly the same as mine!” Elspeth promptly erupted into tears.

Ridiculous as the situation was, this piteous creature broke down all senses of his reality. Well, almost all.

“But isn’t this a jewellery stall? There’s dozens of earrings here. Couldn’t you borrow a pair from your own stock?” He waved his hand across the sea of women’s paraphernalia.

Elspeth wiped her eyes. “Oh no! Look, these are the earrings I was going to wear.”

Even Ferax had to admit there was no comparison between these pieces of artwork in the dainty hand and the items on the table.

“Oh, I see.” he said quietly. “But you are a jeweller, and the party isn’t until next week. Can’t you make another set?”

Her features, flawless, remained tragically pathetic. “I could. But I can’t just use anything. The amber needed to make something like these has to come from far away. And none of the stockists here have anything so precious. Nothing short of an expedition to Fount could help me. Even then, finding such a good node would be almost impossible.” Thinking on it cast a cloud over Elspeth’s elfin features and her bottom lip trembled like the foreshock before an earthquake.

Don’t do it! Don’t do it!

“Alright,” Ferax heard someone say. “I’ll try and find some amber for you,”

Ferax looked around to see who had spoken but there was no one else about.

A long moment passed as Ferax replayed the voice he had heard in his head. No, it was definitely his. Where had that come from?

‘The look’ was gone when he next set his eyes on Elspeth. Behind the hope in her eyes now there was something else. Ferax searched the eyes deeply. Did he imagine it? The glimmer that said ‘It worked!’ And then, ‘Ha! It always works! Men are so dumb..’

The sun was coming up.

Ferax looked around him cautiously. The noise of the beasts stirring around him made him glance endlessly over his shoulder. He looked back down the beach. Somewhere out there lay his axe. He weighed his chances of retrieving it, found them to be minimal, and turned his attention to the distant cliffs where the fabled amber was said to lay. With a deep breath he strode out in their direction. Ragus darted amongst the herds grazing nearby. On a hill to the left cloppers hissed at anything nearby. Cloppers, Ragus. Cloppers, Ragus. Ferax tossed a mental dapper and went right.

Ferax returned to Fairhaven the two days before the party. Passers-by cast curious looks at the ragged forager as he passed as quickly as he could to his hovel. Dirty, tired, bruised and aching, he kept to the shadows lest people thought him a vagrant.

Home again he changed, swam a while to lose some of the tension, although he was certain he would never quiet be able to relax fully again, and sat alone, rehearsing how would present his gift to Elspeth.

When he went to the market she spotted him immediately. Before he could say anything she waved him happily over.

“Ferax! Ferax! It’s alright! It’s alright!”

Ferax entered the stall, “Alright?”

Elspeth smiled happily, “Yes. Mellena’s changed her mind. She’s not going to the party after all!”

She beamed happily up at him, her large eyes blinking like diamonds.

“Don’t know why I made all that fuss anyway. Stupid party. I probably won’t go either if Mellena’s not going. At least you don’t have to go to Fount, but you’re a gem for thinking of me!” She lent up to kiss his cheek.

With that she turned away to serve a customer, and Ferax felt himself become just another item in the background clutter.

He turned away, resigned to go home again and stare at the ceiling some. As soon as he whirled he walked smack into the most beautiful vision of loveliness he could ever hope to imagine. The petite face glanced up at him, startled. Tears adorned her face.

“What is it?” Ferax heard himself ask.

I must say, that is very well written, engrossing and actually compelling from the start. You seem to have the hallmarks of a real author. Absolutely the best story on Ryzom to date.

Thank you.

Kind words, trenker, and very much appreciated.

atomiser wrote:Kind words, trenker, and very much appreciated.

an excellent read, Ferrax!

been requested to pop this valentines occurance here too...

The Grove of Confusion is a terribly dangerous place, some of the most terrible and fearsome creatures of all Atys roam its claustraphobic gullys. I and my friend Chi were hunting the great jugulars, well that what we had planned. Their are tribes in the grove, people who call this place home. One such tribe are the Ancient Dryads, i know little of their history, save that they view a matis such as i with hostility.
We were a little tired as we travelled not far from their camp and as does happen we became a little seperated. I must have wandered perhaps too close as next i knew angry tribes folk decended upon me, i ran as i could but, they struck me down.
As Chi came across my fallen body, someways from the camp, she also saw one of the tribe guards standing over me, seemingly defending my dead body from the scavenging Ocyx nearby. Chi channelled celestial magics and i rose, the guard did not attack. In his face i saw a mix of emotions, a troubled look, but the homin was silent.
We moved to our destination cautiously and the guard followed, not hostile as he was but moments ago, but almost mesmerised as if a conflict of his conscience had struck him dumb, perhaps he regretted slaying me? maybe he'd seen something in my fallen form that he wished to save from further harm?
We three journeyed deeper into the grove almost to highgrove, where the great jugular roam, all the while the guard followed matching my steps, every time i looked upon him, he had a smile on his face, yet still spoke no word, dispite a few cautious questions, the look reminded me of those who had found peace with jena or of that of a young couple stood together.
He watched as i healed, yet took no actions other than to just be close to me. The jugular can be unpredictalbe sometimes, and the presence of the guard had distracted me a little. We fell to a pair of them, the last look of the guard was one of shock and horror.
I regained conscience by the kami alter in Grove, as did chi, and once more travelled to the place, passed the dryad camp with more caution. When we arrived to where we had fell, the guard was stilll there although the jugulars were not. He was sat, oblivious to the world, staring at the snow where i had died. Tears had been falling from his eyes, and his face was contorted with anguish and distress. he paid no heed to us. He would not move, nor meet our gaze, or utter a word, he just wept at the ground. We were left with no choice but to leave him, on our return he was gone, we did not see him later in our travels.
The encounter with the guard made me ponder as to what had made him stand vigil and then follow me, perhaps love?

Since both Tigane and Fahliell requested I posted this poem here .......... here goes:


"It could have been worse,
It could have, should have been better,
Regretting a choice I didn' t make,
His Tryker eyes don' t lie.

One smile from him is like a thousand kisses,
One tear washes away all troubles,
He mends all wounds with a simple touch,
Still trading in all time for being with him wouldn' t be enough.

He gives me nothing, still more than enough,
I' ll never be able to repay this debt,
Not even if I would sell my Tryker soul for him, me, us,
Nothing left to borrow, nothing left to give.

Still he' s all I ever wanted,
Dreams of a broken-hearted girl,
He' s the centre of my universe, my Atys,
Although he doesn' t notice to be so special.

Well, I only guess,
His Tryker eyes don' t seem to lie."


And specially for Waedan (who really had it comming after today ):

I dress in red,
You' re big and blue,
I can be annoying, but...
Happy Valentines Day to you.



Cheers and Happy Valentines Day to all of you.

Recently I found back one of my short stories that had been collecting dust for some years now. So after carefull adapting I decided I might as well share it with you all. The story might seem a bit long, sorry for that, but I couldn' t make it any shorter without ruining the specific atmosphere. Mind that if you are a reader that is easily upset or are faint-hearted you might as well stay clear from this one. Heh.
Hope you enjoy it otherwise.

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The air was damp and reeked of mildew. Little light shone through the cracks in the rocks, illuminating only a small part of the surroundings. Concentrated moist gathered on the ceiling of the cave and formed small drops that fell downwards, bursting open onto the cold, stone floor with a deafening sound. At least so it seemed to Gildan.

He was just moments awake, his head hurting and his temples pounding. He had no idea how he came to be here, no idea as to how his hands came to be covered with blood. Was it his own blood? He didn’ t seem to have any major wounds, only small scratches on his arms and legs. His bandaged right leg didn’ t seem to show recent signs of bleeding. No, it wasn’ t his.
Perhaps it belonged to the mangled Tryker corpse that lied next to him? Then how did it came to be on his hands? Gildan shivered when he threw a glance at the corpse and for a moment his stomach seemed to turn. He had seen death and Messab mutilations before but this was something different alltogether. This homin died no natural death, that was for sure. But to have been maimed in this way? Something really big and nasty, a bloodthirsty predator had to have done this. Another shiver ran down his spine and suddenly Gildan felt very unease by the thought of this thing still being nearby. Quickly he jumped towards the boomer rifle he saw lieing nearby a moment earlier, grabed it and scuttled back. There he sat now, his back against the rocky wall of the cave, rifle close to his chest. He closed his eyes and prayed he hadn’ t made to much noise.
An eery moment of silence ensued, the sound of falling drops and his own breathing and heartbeat seeming almost unbearable. Sweet Jena! Was this thing even loaded? Gildan checked the chamber of the gun. It was empty. Just his luck. To be out here, wherever that might have been, with no ammo and possibly being hunted by an unknown ennemy. He had to get out of here, fast. No delay, he had to act now. Much against his liking he quitely crawls towards the corpse. The horryfying prospect of having to rummage through the mutilated Tryker’ s pockets made him nervous. He put the gun down beside him and sat there on his knees for a moment. Hesitantly he rolled the corpse over with his both hands. A squishing sound followed as the corpse’ s internal organs dropped out of the abdomen. The warm sensation and stench reached Gildan’ s nostrils and he let go of the corpse in horror when he caught sight of the dead hominn’ s face. On all fours he crawled backwards towards the wall again, abandonning his gun. He crawled up into a ball as if his own bodyheat would bring him comfort. But it proved to much for him. Soon he started to heave and let go the little contents his stomach contained before. Trembling he put his sleeve to his mouth and wiped away the rest of saliva from his mouth. Tears were formed in his eyes.
By Jena! He had known this homin. His name was Jergo, they used to travel togheter. Jergo was a former guard and had a knack for close quarter fighting. Fragments of his memories seemed to return as he remembered them visiting the dieing tribe of The hunted Shell. They had been low on rations and other suplies and those strict natureloving Kami nearby had refused them entry and shelter.
There were others in their party too he remembered. Piu-Lan, a Zoraï mage and Yianna, a Fyros gunslinger. The four of them had had their share of adventures already after they had teamed up at Fairhaven. So it seemed like a good idea at the time to accept the plead for help from the council of The hunted Shell. What could have possibly been dangerous or difficult in tracking and bringing back or killing an exiled convict, a deranged murderer and rapist that plagued the tribe and hidd somewhere in the surrounding hills? He wouldn’ t pose a threat to their experience. At least it seemed that way untill they found out their prey had already been killed when they had found it. It’ s tracks had led them towards a cave that had been guarded by tribal eddifices depicting a large hulking monster or god. Recent offerings in the form of all manner of goods near the entrance seemed a bit strange but no further thought was given, the execution of the contract had been more important at that time. After passing through some natural passageways they had found their exiled convict, mutilated in a horrible manner; his limbs torn from his torso. Some of the limbs had shown signs of still lukewarm saliva. The only thing after that which Gildan could remember was an almost deafening bestial roar coming from behind them and gunshots being fired in response. After that he must have passed out.
He sat there, still shivering. He had to move. He picked up all of the little courage that remained inside him and closed on to the corpse of Jergo. With an expression of disgust on his face he went though the pockets of the torn jacket, trying not to look towards the corpse’ s visage. Great! He knew he had seen Jergo stash away some ammo shells in his vest. ......5, 6, ...7, 8 shells. Not much but it had to do. Gildan put the shells in his pouch. He checked the nearby slingbag next. A flare or two, some dried meat, a little bag with soothing herbs and a pouch containing dappers. He slung the slingbag over his shoulder, picked up the boomer rifle he had left there earlier and loaded as many shells into the rifle as possible. He still sat there crouching. Time to go he thought. Carefully he headed into the adjacent room, ready to react at the slightest danger.




Gildan unwraped the foil from the flare and knocked it’ s end on the cavewall. The force of the blow ignited the flamable substances held within the container and soon the room became lit by a dim and foggy red light. Slow rising smoke projected all sorts of creepy and dancing shadows on the cavernous wall, playing tricks on Gildan’s senses. His heart kept beating in his throat with the intensity of a raging Messabbull, but Gildan knew he had to try to get out of there. This was no time to let his fears take over his common sense. Still, what common sense was there left after having seen the mangled corpse of his former companion? And what had happened with the rest, Piu-Lan and Yianna? He still couldn’ t remember anything after the attack.
A sudden sound on his right alarmed him, like falling pebbles in the distance. Quickly he flinched, retreated towards the wall with his back, dropped the flare and gave a strong yank at the boomer’ s pumping mechanism; the clicking sound telling him the gun was ready to spray lead. He felt a slight shift in the air and turned towards it waving the rifle in front of him. There! He saw something moving and almost instantly squeezed the trigger. The nozzle of the firearm lit up and unleashed a deathwail that ecchoëd between the rocky walls. Then there was only silence and smoke.
This was getting all to much for Gildan. His heart racing and his breath choking. Sweat dripped from his forehead down on his nose and cheeks, blurring his vision. Nervously he wiped his face clean with the dirty sleave of his vest as he blinked with his eyes. The smoke cleared up and he could clearly distinguish something bloody lieing over there. He dared not to move and so squinted his eyes. It looked certainly smaller than he had imagined ............ Carefully he scuttled a bit closer.
A huge-looking Yubo! A darn Yubo! In all his paranoia he had shot a stupid Yubo! It might have been a giant one but after all it was still a Yubo. Gildan cursed aloud and kicked the critter’ s torn-open corpse against the wall. He stood there for a moment, catching his breath, trembling, almost crying. He closed his eyes and flung his head backwards, going through his greasy hair with his free left hand. Then he sighed, walked towards the flare and picked it up once again to continue his escape.




He felt at peace lying there in the grass. The wind moved playfully through her golden locks carrying her sweet scent. Through their clothing he could still sense her heartbeat, feel her warmth and comfort. She loved him he knew. Even if he had to go away for a little while once more. He moved closer towards her and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead while he stroke through her hair.
“ You‘ ll come back, won’ t you?”
“Ofcourse I will, you know that very well. It’ s like I told you before; one more trip and I’ ll have enough dappers for some decent Mektoub.”
“I know, but why do you have to leave now? Father doesn’ t aprove, with the harvest coming soon. We could really use the extra muscle now that the Rulers of Atys accepted Simol and Pjir into their guild.”
“Your old man is to pesimistic. I’ ll be back even before the next moon.”
“I don’ t know, I have this feeling....”
“Will you stop it already? Everything will be fine. This is suppossed to be an easy errand.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
“Here, take this along. It was my mother’ s. I’ ve worn it every day since she died. Now I want you to have it, to remind you of me and the promise you made, wherever you’ re going.”
“Your mother’ s ring?”
“Hey, carefull. I’ m suppossed to get that back.”
“Don’ t worry. I wouldn’ t even get a pint of Yubo Piss for that one.”
She punched him in the arm and he pretended it hurt. They both laughed.


Gildan woke up with a shock when a drop hit him straight in the face. He must have dozed off. How long had he been asleep? He couldn’ t recall. He knew he had crawled into a small space between some rocks, barely protected, but anything was beter than being caught unaware in the open. Carefully he tried to get up. Before him lie a huge natural cave with various cavernous tunnels leading further into the depths and a small natural lake. This place was a maze. He had followed some of the tunnels only to end up back here again. His joints ached and he felt weary and tired. Gildan opened the slingbag in search for some dried meat, only to discover he had already eaten all of it. He closed the bag, sighed and sat down. This was suppossed to be an easy errand he mumbeled to himself. Almost instinctively he reached for the ring he wore and gazed at it. The ring had seen better days, the metal had lost it’ s glitter and the inscription on it was all but readable now. How he wished now he had never left the farming community. Thinking of the one place ever he had be calling home made his throat soar.
He stood up and dragged himself towards the small lake. The water looked inviting although he knew there was danger in drinking from it. If only he had Piu-Lan by his side, he would have known. Gildan kneeled near the bank and put his rifle beside him on the ground. He drank hastely of the cool water with both of his hands and then decided to submerge his head, washing of the dirt. When he resurfaced and reeled his head backwards a nearby bestial roar surprised him from behind. It was very close, to close for comfort. His shaggy hair hung in his eyes, diminishing his visibility to near blindness when he jumped for his weapon. Something heavy hit him in the neck and his vision turned red. Everything faded.




Gildan opened his soarfull eyes. His throat was dry and his head ached as he lie there on the cavernfloor. He tried to move but couldn’ t. A sickening crunching noise alerted him and he saw a huge shadow cast on the cavewall in front of him. The beast was feeding on something and must have left him for dead. Better not attract any attention and play along he thaught as he closed his eyes again. He heard movements. As if the beast was dragging something along deeper inside the caves. The sounds grew louder as the beast passed him by. Gildan couldn’ t control his curriosity to catch a glimpse of the thing and risked to open his eyes. He saw a corpse being dragged along. A headless corpse. A terribly maimed corpse, the ribcage torn open by razor-sharp claws and teeth. A corpse wearing a ring on one of it’ s fingers. A corpse wearing his ring! As he realised the horrifying extend of the truth Gildan let out a soundless scream that spoke louder than any other sound he had ever heard. After that there was only desolation and silence.

Does the Poem Have to be ryzom related cause am a little rusty and i got some pretty deep poems i wrote a while back so can it be something other that ryzom