Thanks to all who participated in the contest!Based upon the jury's decision, Tember's story has won the first official Saga Of Ryzom story contest. A special award goes to Jyudas' story. Both players will be mailed exclusive SoR goodies. Congratulations!
Tember's Story[/quote wrote:
So my fellow, you want to know what lead me here? Well it is a story I am
reluctant to tell, for it contains more defeat than glory. But there is
light and joy nonetheless, so let me begin.
For some time I roamed the desert, seeking my destiny, rebuilding the pride
that me and my kind once had. For we were the mightiest warrior race on
Atys, having braved dragons and the first onslaught of Kitins all those
years ago. But like all journeys, my first steps were small.
By chance one day, while still finding our way around the first island, some
Elders of Atys visited our humble camp. They boosted our spirits with
stories and bolstered our equipment with new materials we had not seen
before. In short time a small group of us formed and were keenly instructed
in the ways of the warrior. Alas for me, however, being young and vain, I
was upset to be the only one wearing my original brown boots, for the others
now had wonderful green equipment. I am somewhat ashamed to say that my
first great quest was nothing more than teaming up with my good comrades to
go in search of these special green materials. Did I not say this story
would be difficult for me to tell!
All too soon I was restless and could not resist the urge to leave for the
capital. The strange Kami sent me there and I must say I was ill prepared.
No sooner had I set foot out of town but creatures I had not seen before
attacked me. Luckily I am a good runner and the town guards competent, if a
little zealous in their duties.
There was always someone in those days sending me on errands: Take a letter
here, fetch me some supplies there, go and count some animals and bring me
back some meat. The duties were endless! Still, it kept me out of
mischief. Except for the time I brought death to several harvesters, a
story which I no doubt must now explain! I can assure you that I was merely
scouting the hill and the bonfire at the peak. All of a sudden the members
of this tribe took offence and were actually shooting at me. Well I knew
when to run and so run I did, making it back to the gates. But this tribe
was well annoyed that someone had walked on their hill, and when I ran out
of range started shooting indiscriminately into the crowd of harvesters
around the stables. I can laugh about it now because all were eventually
healed, but at the time I was not popular to say the least.
Of course there was plenty mischief caused by others too. A mad shaman
going by the name of Oba stirred up a lot of trouble. I had the pleasure of
meeting his former wife, who could not be consoled over the madness that had
torn her husband from her. I admit that I did try to impress her at a local
duelling event, but sadly lost. My magic at the time was no much for an axe
and despite some impressive dodging I was beaten. Since that day I vowed
that my magic would have to be good enough to kill things before they came
too close, or at least to keep my enemies at bay.
One day, while walking the streets of Pyr, I met a guild officer, and was
enticed to join a guild. At the time I had no fixed apartment and the
prospect of having a guildhall to visit was too much a temptation to resist.
It wasn't long before I was being kept busy with guild duties. Some high
officer decided that I should knuckle down to some honest crafting and,
since I had shown some proficiency in the area, told me to make jewellery
for the guild. This worked well for a while but I soon realised that
materials were so expensive that I ought to forage for them myself. I say
myself, but like all things in life, it was much easier to forage with some
help.
Now I know what you are thinking: Where had all my grand design gone? Had
my search for my destiny lead me to only this? Well, days of harvesting
seeds and amber gave me time to think. I could not get very far very
quickly in this world alone and I could sense a storm brewing on the
horizon. It was around this time that I first put pen to paper, and wrote
this poem that I hope you will like:
The sun beamed down on homins in Pyr,
The heat was on and the prospect dire,
For not only were we by Yubos beset,
But killed by creatures we had only just met.
So crafted we armours and weapons of might,
And took with us mages into the fight,
For we have heard of worse yet in store;
Plagues of Kitins like years gone before.
Slowly at first we travelled our lands,
Meeting new tribes and extending our hands,
For united we know one day we must be,
To understand Atys and our destiny.
And so I leave you with these thoughts, and the thoughts of your own destiny in this strange and wonderful land that is Atys.
Jyudas' Story wrote: Jyudas sat at his window high above the bustling streets of Pyr. As he sat his fingers danced over the holes on his gingo-flute sending out low, sorrowful notes. The open window allowed the pine-cinnamon scent of the sawdust streets to permeate the room as well as permitting the piping of the flute to reach the ears of the homin in the streets. The busy southern gate wound its way up to the highmarket past his rooms and was always busy. As they went about their business the notes would sometimes be heard in the patches of quiet between the conversation, the calls of the hawkers and the grunting of truculent mektoub.
With a sigh he took the flute from his lips and tucked it into the sleeve sewn into his white rilonus armour, the bone flute snug in the wood and leather as he sat, transfixed, within the bright sunshine that shot through the window membrane restless and tired at the same time. The Samsara had fought well, bonded true and made a modest fortune following the orders of the Intendent but while there was profit there was little glory in the slaughtering of the timari herds that fed the frahar tribes. Revenge fit with the Fyros conception of honour, but of what true worth was honour?
Jyudas had come to the mercenary life as an escape from the mystical and honour-bound claptrap the elders had fed him since he was a child.
Once we had a glorious Empire they would say as the caprice seeds crackled and split on the fire ready to be eaten, shucked from their shells and feasted on greedily by the children.
All of Atys feared us, feared our might.
The Emperor was wise and strong.
Then they taught him of the Empires greatest glories, the fires and the swarming.
With the tales of old they sought to instil in him the desire for glory, the desire for power and the need for honour that had been Fyros watchwords for all of their history. While his brothers and sisters took the stories as they were intended Jyudas took them another way, as something to avoid.
Honour cannot feed you, cannot sustain you, gives not clean water, heals no wounds, buys nothing. He would protest between blows of the mektoub-whip.
Our ancestors were fools! Idiots!
Even once the ultimate blasphemy
There is no dragon!
He shook his head from his reverie, remembering the blows from the past, his fathers shadow still haunting him half a world and many years away.
Again he unstrapped the flute and raised it once more to his lips. There must be more to life than simple battle, than the pursuit of wealth, of glory. The first notes of a more insistent tune began to rise from the flute as he blew across the mouthpiece, the wavering song following his errant thoughts, becoming stronger again as he realised what he needed.
A cause.
The Kami and the Karavan were stirring, a time of war was coming, wealth for certain, glory enough for all, but would there be a cause to stir his blood and to inspire? Only time would tell, but now he knew what he was searching for.
As the tune gathered pace, drawn from the strong heartwood settling into his will he caught the scent of roasting caprice seeds from the market and plucked the flute once more from his mouth, speaking to the ghosts of his past.
There is no dragon father, but we shall make one of our own and search him out.
Jyudas Arispotle - Fyros