The Thousandfold Tale

[Don Nadie]

[Recently, in the Krak, a newly-arrived refugee wanted to hear a tale... A tale about giants. And so, she and many more heard...]

The Tale of the Blooms of Ur-Shulgi

Once, there were giants. Oh, tall and grand they were! And if they were tall in body, how tall were they in spirits and mind? For they knew many a thing that is now forgotten, many a story that is now ignored.

And amidst their eldest was a kindly giant, named Ur-Shulgi. Oh, how kind she was! Ur-Shulgi had the heart of a poet and the hands of a mother! She wielded no weapon, no sharp instrument, no axe, no pick, not even a needle. She wore a veil so as to not swallow an insect by accident and, when she walked, she broomed ahead of her, to keep every little creature safe and alive.

But Ur-Shulgi's greatest talent was for the things that grow. For she had orchards and fields, where she tended to her gardens and sang beautiful flowers into bloom. And so it was that Ur-Shulgi was called "The Beloved of Flowers"...

Indeed, the Beloved of Flowers, the kindest of giants: Ur-Shulgi! Her beautiful garden would've been the envy of every king! For what is a pile of gold to a bundle of daisies? What are rubies to carnations, saphires to forget-me-nots, diamonds to lillies as soft as a lover's caress?

It would've been the envy of every king, and so one day it became the envy of the wicked Empress.

"I sssshould have ssssuch flowersss in my court!"; seethed the Empress, who was as ugly in her heart as her armies were violent.

And year after year she tried to grow the same beauty, and year after year, she failed.

"If I cannot grow thesssse flowersssss", she seethed, wickedly, "None ssssshall have them!"

And with these declarations the evil Empress wove a spell and, in the darkness of the night, slippered into Ur-Shulgi's garden. Then, while Ur-Shulgi slept... She spilled her wicked spell amidst the soil and the flowers...

And so it came to be day that over the next few days Ur-Shulgi realized her flowers... Were slowly dying!

Drying, their petals... Slowly, so slowly turning to ash.

So Ur-Shulgi put all her magic, and all her knowledge, into a counterspell. And she sang a song of magic, and of growth, to keep the tides of deadly poison away. This dieback was held back, by her song.

...Alas.....

Love ever triumphs, but Ur-Shulgi... Ur-Shulgi did not.

Her daisies rot, her carnations dried, her beloved lillies withered before her eyes. Util at the end there was naught in her garden, but the humble dandelion.

"Yesssss", seethed the evil empress, "My victory issss at haaaaaaand!"

For she wanted nothing more than to see the garden of Ur-Shulgi... Turned into an arid desert.

And that... That is when Ur-Shuilgi realized!

Why had she been focusing so much on keeping her garden in one place? Why should flowers be but in her soil, under her direct care? And with all the magic, knowledge and love she had left, Ur-Shulgi took the only flower that remained, the humble dandelion

And she blew!

And the seeds flew in a thousand directions, spread like the stars on the firmament! And so it is that since then, one may find flowers all over the world. And so it is that, since then, no flower in a garden is as beautiful as the flower found, like an unexpected treasure, in the wild.

The Empress, having failed, grew angry, and spend the rest of her days dedicated to seething wickedly. But, who cares about bitter losers?

As for Ur-Shulgi?

Some say she still dreams, behind her barrier, past the Valley of Wisdom. And those with keen ear claim they can hear, at night, the echoes of the song that kept the poison of the Empress at bay...

And others say that they can hear her voice, saying...

"Once, the Mother was sad and crying..."

[Don Nadie]

[In the recent Feast of B'aara, the now Magistrate Alejandro Benjázar performed a new little Tale. Some found it cute, some found it inspiring, a few found it blasphemous... But, whatever the case, it was a Tale performed  before every important personage of the Well.]

The Tale of B'aara's Giggle

Once, the Mother was sad and crying!

Oh, how deep was her burden! How endless the stream of her tears! For the world was full of war, and heaviness, and burning... She cried days and she cried nights and the waters flowed and flowed and flowed, and many things found refuge, in the Waters. Many things found refuge, and respite, and healing, save for the Mother herself. And there was naught she could do to change it.

But the Wheel, as you know, are a family. Joined at the center, each spoke part of the rest... And so it was that the littlest of the Wheel - who was, back then, a rebellios tiny one, her fingernails always full of dirt, her hair always tangled with branches and leaves - decided she'd cheer the Mother.

Now, Wyld Kula was wild then, as she is now! So she tried all manner of tricks! She made faces! She drew caricatures of the vile Pra'raj to pull a smile out of Her tender, beautiful visage! But nothing, oh, nothing could console her! So Kula, the Wyld, sought the most cunning of her brethren.

And so Warad told onto Kula to have each of their brothers bring something! Something beautiful and dear to them! Something they enjoyed.

And Wyld Kula brought flowers, blooming by the hundreds.

And Uzzair brought the scales of justice, the wistful sighs of those who find the burden of their harms avenged in fairness.

And the Sabotage brought a myriad stars and, under a myriad stars, the steps of a myriad dancers.

And Agaslakku brought passion, such passion! Blood, pumping red through the heart!

And from the edges of life, hand in hand, the Twins brought peace, such peace...

And the Tutor, in wisdom, brought ancient words, and ancient tradition.

And when all was gathered, they discovered that Warad had set a table. For to set the table after long travails is, no doubt, the privilege of the Traveller.

"Come now", he said. Come and share! Set your gifts here, my brethren, and share them with one another!"
 
"For as the Wheel turns", he said, "so do we all partake in the movement of Its spokes!"

And so they all sat, and they all shared. And B'aara was crying elsewhere in Disc. But as they sat and as they shared, they made merry. And their merry caught Her attention. And so B'aara approached. And so she sat. And so she joined the table, and partook, and shared, and enjoyed!

And then, as sudden as the lightning, perhaps for a joke Gellema played on Uzzair, perhaps because of something the Tutor said, with great ingenuity...

Like a lightning breaking in two the sky, breaking before from after... B'aara giggled!

And from her merryment many things became possible, that would otherwise not be. Wounds healed, waters flowed, springs sprung! A million flocks took the skies in freedom and brought, from the Lunar Disc, silver boughs to lay at Her feet in tribute. And for once, just once, the world was whole and none knew suffering.

Oh! How thankful we are, B'aara, for your tears! How thankful, too, for the respite you provide! May we remember, though, that those who sacrifice, too, need healing; that those who find refuge, too, shall be called to sacrifice. May we share onto one another the burdens and the gifts, just as we all share, arround a table.

And so it was, that in her respite, the Mother smiled, so softly, and said:

"Once, there was a Forest and in that Forest were Fifty Trees..."

[Don Nadie]

[Once more, in the Krak, patrons were entertained with the Thousandfold Tale... This time, a Tale of battle, of loss and hope... And a Tale, it seems, brought upon with the patronage of the elven swordswoman, Syclya.]

The Tale of the Burnt Forest

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Once, oh friends, there was a forest, and in this forest there were Fifty Trees!

How grand they were and how ancient! Branches so tall that they reached the sun itself, roots so deep that they intertwinned, lovingly, with one another, at the bottom of the Disc. They were ancient trees whose leaves kept all safe from Pra'raj's harm, trees of wisdom, trees where entire cities and civilizations could grow, with delight.

And they were all tended by the beautiful Ur-Shulgi.

A giantess she was, and called "the Beloved of Flowers". For it was said that through her tending of this Forest, she had grown so wise and so kindly and so beloved by all that grows and all that blooms that her mane was ivy and flowers sprouted wherever she stepped.

And so aeons passed and they were each like a day of paradise...

Until a villain emerged.

For it is said that in these ancient times there was, also, an Empress. A grand and wicked Wyrm who had grown so fat and so grand and so heavy with bitterness and hunger that she wished to feed on the Disc itself. And how deep was the Empress's envy! How grave her wickedness! How deep her control! And how terrible, how fearsome, her armies.

Long had the people of Ur-Shulgi kept the Sibilant forces of the Empress at bay. Long had their Silvery Cohorts stood, a wall of shield and spear, against this greedy enemy who would devour. And at the head of these cohorts was none other than Cyaxares!

Brave Cyaxares! Tall Cyaxares! Cyaxares, of the Silvery Spear and the Axe! Cyaxares, who fought and fought tirelessly almost every single day of his life.

Almost, I say, except one.

For once a year, the brave general of the Cohorts left the frontlines to meet with his beloved. And under the shadows of the Fifty Trees, he embraced Ur-Shulgi, in hopes that, someday, they'd have a child to raise in peace.

And so it was that the Empress saw it, and so it was that she envied, and planned, and decided. And one night, when Cyaxares left for his yearly rest... She threw most of her infantry against the wall of the Cohorts.

Oh, what a battle it was! And what a deceit, too! For under the shadow of the night, the Empress's dragons took flight, and soared above the battle, above the clouds...

Only to descend far, far within the defended territory....

To descend, with fire, onto the Forest and its Fifty Trees.

Cyaxares and Ur-Shulgi were awakened by the flames, but it was too late oh, so late! For how does one stop a fire when it is raging? How does one stop destruction, when it has begun? Is there a way to stop the process by which the world may turn to Ash?

They tried, of course, and they failed.

And when dawn rose, red and bloodied, Ur-Shulgi laid crying, amidst the Ash. How bitter her tears. How endless her suffering. The ivy of her mane burnt. The flowers beneath. her feet, choked.

She was in such deep pain, in such deep crying... That she didn't notice Cyaxares had left.

What he did, in turn, cannot be described. What he did is best understood as the emptiness between one breath and another. For Cyaxares wielded his axe and his spear and charged with such fury onto the Sibilant that even now, the hatchlings of the hatchlings of those who saw the battle have nightmares.

And he fought for a day and he fought for a night and he fought for three and four and seven.

And he fought so long that the ground was watered with blood.

He fought for so long that, eventually... The empress herself had to emerge.

Have you ever seen a Wyrm, oh reader?  Have you ever witnessed a Sandworm, perhaps, and wondered how much is hidden? Imagine... Imagine for a moment, a sandworm, scaly, so large it could curl arround the Disc itself.

And it is said that Cyaxares grinned, blood-soaked Cyaxares, and screamed a name. The name he had dreamt, for the child that never was and that now never would be. And with that name in his lips, he launched his spear with such strength, with such fury.... That it flew high, high, high!

But, alas.

As it was flying high, high, high... So were the Empress's talons descending low, low low.

It was but a single moment: the piercing of her eye - the crushing of Cyaxares.

And after that, the Cohorts retreated, and so did the Sibilant. And the world knew a hundred years of tenuous, weary truce. As each side healed their wounds.

And it is said that in those hundred years, at some point, Ur-Shulgi found the strength to move from her sadness.

And it is said that she visited the battlefield where her beloved had died.

And it is said that she found naught of him, for they were all but Ash and bone and dust... Mixed with blood.

And yet.

She found, under her tears, a sappling. And this sappling, she took into her heart. And this sappling, she carried onto a hidden place. For this sappling was the Child they never had. And this sappling would, one day, be the Forest that Once Burnt, Renewed.

And to that sappling, in a deep, deep place, whispered Ur-Shulgi:

"Once, there was a giant, and his name was Erugi..."

[Don Nadie]

[What ought to have been an evening of Storytelling became a much more convoluted affair. First, the storyteller's call rang, postponing the event that would've celebrated his one-year anniversary in the Well. There were rumors whirling: secret meetings, dangerous whispers, intrigues, murder, the shadow of Civil War.

When the Storyteller was seen in public, it was to watch Legate Domhnall Guivarch confess to framing an innocent woman and abandon the Well... Thus leaving responsibility, for two days, in the hands of the Storyteller. After a brief and uncertain speech, the Storyteller-turned-Acting-Legate was invited to tell his Tale by the public. Much more comfortable with this type of performance, he acquiesced and told...]

The Tale of Erugi and the Tower

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Once, there was a giant and his name was Erugi! Oh, how wise he was! How he delved and worked and toiled into the depths of ancient texts, of mysterious languages, of grand wisdom... But it is so that when one learns, one learns what one ignores. For no matter how much knowledge we gain: new discoveries make us only aware of the depths of our simple ignorance.

But this uncertainty, this! Oh, this did not satisfy Erugi... For he felt passion towards knowledge, passion towards discovery. And so he decided to find certainty. To find the one thing that is true.

For it is known that if you take a grain of sand and cut it, there shall be two And if you take one if these and cut it again, there shall be two once more.

And Erugi, seeking wisdom, sought to divide things to the least particle, until one the basic elements of the World remained, under his eye. And so he build mirror and polished glass

A whole tower he built.

Tall as the sky.

Deep as the earth.

And therein he locked himself with a grain of sand which he cut and cut and cut and cut. And the more he cut the more he had to build, to gather more mirrors, to see deeper. And so it was that Erugi came to know the secret names of things and the language of flowers and the longings of clouds.

And still there was more to divide, and divide and divide.

And divide and divide and divide.

While the people beyond his tower hungered, and died, and lost their loved ones, and found themselves alone, and abandoned. But also they found solidarity. They found the reaching hand of a friend, the tender embrace of a lover, the soft caress of a parent, the hopeful smile of a child. Perhaps divisible, too; perhaps passing and not eternal Truth... But worthy, in and by themselves.

And in his tower, alone, Erugi kept building glassware, polishing mirrors, breaking grains of sands. Learning but fragments of the truth, unused and useless. Endlessly he kept at it. For what can be divided once can be divided forever, and there's no end to discovery, just as there is no end to ignorance. Behind every door you open, there are three more locked doors. Knowledge is never a destination, but a path.

It said, oh public, that Erugi continues, to this day. His tower hidden in the farthest confines of the Disc, brimming with so many mirrors that one would be forgiven for confusing it, in the distance, with a silver spike.

And therein he shall toil, till the Wheel turns and the Age ends. Trying to find one Truth that is absolute, unbreakable, undeniable, unimpeachable.

And failing to understand the most basic lesson of wisdom: that we can never have Truth...

But we can have one another.

But instead of learning, mumbled Erugi, to himself:

"Once, there was a prince..."

[Don Nadie]

[At long last, another Tale was announced with time and performed when it was meant to. The locale, of course, came as a shock to some. Was there some scandal, some fear, that made the ex-Balladeer disdain the Verdant Stage? What even was the last performance on it? Some gossipmongers may surely have an opinion on what the choice means or doesn't. What matters, however, is that the Storyteller, wishing the cleanse palates too embittered with the foul taste of politics and elections, invited people to the rooftops of Elossi's. There, under a bright moon, he told...]

The Tale of Feydsiyyar's First Love

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Once there was a Prince, and his name was Feydsiyyar.

Oh, how beautiful he was! His skin was grey like the slate and his eyes black and dark like onyx. He wore the most delightful silks and smelled of the most darling perfumes... But he was, oh, so unhappy.

For you see, oh friends... His father was the Caliph Feyd. Feyd the severe, Feyd the pious, Feyd the serious and stern. Feyd who once took all the love poems of the city... And burnt them so that the masses wouldn't be distracted by the burning of their hearts! This Feyd, his very father... Had imprisoned Feydsiyyar!

And why, you asked? Because he saw Feydsiyyar singing with birds and thought cheerfulness made for unwise Caliphs. For a Caliph must, Feyd thought, be always burdened by the weight of the turban.

Because he saw Feydsiyyar enjoy a cup and he thought drinks made for weak Caliphs. For a Caliph must, Feyd thought, always be alert to the dangers in his Court.

Because he once saw Feydsiyyar hold a girl's hand and thought love makes unfair Caliphs. For a Caliph must, Feyd thought, hold no person above another in their hearts.

So, to make him a good Caliph, in his cruelty... Feyd locked his own in the tallest tower! And from there Feyd sighed and sighed... For there was no wine to sweeten his lips, no birds to sing him songs, no girls or boys to gaze upon and wonder, tenderly, about their hearts...

And yet... No Tower is so tall that love can't reach it.

So it was that one day, from below, Feydsiyyar heard singing: a cheerful street-bard performing for his public.

"Oh love far too precious
your echoes disdain
hidden in the meadows
your absence is pain..."

And Feydsiyyar knew not how to sing, but loved singing. And knew not the song it was part of, but loved the melody. And he knew not the singer, but loved him, from above. So Feydsiyyar sang, in turn:

"So far from each other
lone amidst the clouds
while you wait below me
lost into the crowds"

And at that, for a moment, the bard below fell quiet. For the bard, too, felt love take him the same way an arrow takes an enemy: swiftly, and without hesitation. And after a moment, he sang, in response:

"Who's this from the heavens
now singing so sweet?
Such darling so hidden
I wish but to meet"

And from above, with a heart booming like a storm, sang Feyd:

"Oh love from the streets
I sing from so far...
This tower that holds me
does keep us appart"

And from below rang another rhyme, for the bard knew love. And from above rang a response, met by another, and then another... For love is like a flame, and each poem is like wood added to the raging fires of passion. And as they sang with their Love, a miracle happened!

For, you see, back then, things were not as they are now, so much more quiet that only those Gifted can hear them. Instead, things heard, and were heard too. Thus did the Tower hear the song, and its heart of stone was moved. And so, with every song, the tower sunk a little deeper and a little deeper and a little deeper into the earth.

Until, when the moon rose and the stars glistened... It was so low that all the bard had to do was reach up for Feydsiyyar's hand... And be helped within.

So it was that, that night, Feydsiyyar embraced his first lover.

There would, of course, be others for him to love. There would be great cheer through his kingdom, and endless wives, and a myriad children and grandchildren, and there would be bad things and good things, and all of this is written elsewhere, and told by others. But this is the Tale of Feydsiyyar's first love. Whom he loved because no Tower is so high that a song can't climb it. Whom he met because no Tower is so tall that love can't make it bow.

And as Feydsiyyar laid in his first lover's arms, their limbs entwinned, their breaths onto each other's skin, he asked for a Tale while they rested. The bard, tenderly, caressed his hair and said:

"Once, there was a boy who loved his goat..."

[Don Nadie]

[The nineteenth telling of the Thousandfold Tale happens somewhere, for some people or person. It is unclear, which perhaps only makes it more mysterious. Some wild rumors may speak of strange rituals under the waxing moon, or tribute given to djinni, or a private audience (and Tale) for one of the Princessses themselves. One particularly bereft fan claims that the Storyteller must have told it to the disgraced ex-Legate, Domhnall Guivarch, but the stink of mizzar substracts much credibility from his words.

In truth, the only reason most of the public get to know the nineteenth Tale was told is because, in the updated editions of the book, the title is there - standing over an empty page. And the title of this nineteenth Tale was...]

The Tale of the Boy Who Loved His Goat

[...And whatever truth it told is known only to the Storyteller, his public, and the stars.]