Feast of the Moon - Story competition((Sat, 19th May))

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The Feast of the Moon celebrates ancestors and the honored dead. Stories of ancestors' exploits mix with the legends of deities until it's hard to tell one from the other.

((Please post your contributions to the story competition for the Feast of the Moon festival here. Thank you, and good luck!))

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And competition closed… any further entries are welcome, but will not be rated... I encourage everyone to read these three very different entries, which makes picking a winner all the more harder for us! Enjoy reading them, though, they're all worth it!

Winner to be annouced at the festival! It's just five hours and thirty minutes away!

[sciolist]

The woman had an ordinary life. She was known to others by many labels depending how they saw her; daughter, wife, worker, citizen, etc. They asked things of her, had their expectations and judgments. Everyday she answered to the voices and went to sleep feeling that she could never do enough.

One day, as she was in her special corner tending the garden, a great dark raven appeared on the branch above. To her surprise, the bird spoke to her. It did not use any of her titles but called her by her name. The woman was speechless. The bird continued, it told her she could ask it anything she wished and it would answer.

Her normal life forgotten at the moment by the sight of the bird, she could only think to ask, "Why do your feathers shine so?" The voice of the bird was melodic and rich. "They have been washed in a thousand tears and dried by the warm breath of a thousand whispered dreams." At that, the bird disappeared, leaving behind a single dark feather that gently drifted down from the branch into the woman's outstretched hand.

The woman was filled with joy at her experience. She drifted through her life in bliss. The banal requests and duties did not seem so bad. But as the days passed, she began to doubt the experience. She had put the dark feather in a box and tucked it in her top dresser drawer. She would take it out and look at it, trying to recall the feeling she had at first seeing the bird. But now, it looked to her like just another dark feather.

After months had passed, she was too caught up in worries to think much about the bird. She was having problems at work, so she went to her special corner in the garden to find some peace. She could hardly believe her eyes when the beautiful dark bird appeared again. Again it called her by her true name and told her she could ask it anything she wished. Though the woman was awed by the bird, her worries about work were wrapped tightly around her mind, so she asked, "Am I going to lose my job?"

"Yes," answered the bird, and disappeared, leaving behind one feather.

The woman was in shock. She picked up the feather and put it with the other one. She didn't know what else to do. She was not filled with joy as before, but worry and restlessness. She did not like her job, but she did not want to be fired. Yet the very next day that is what happened. The woman was so upset that she immediately went home and out to the garden. She waited all day and into the evening for the bird but it did not appear.

Weeks went by, and every day, she would visit the garden corner looking for the bird, until one day it did appear. By this time she did not care about being fired, she had found another job like the one before, but now she was worried about something else. Before the bird could even call her name, she blurted out, "Is my husband cheating on me?"

"Yes," said the bird and dropped a single feather.

The woman ran into the house to confront her husband. He said that it was true. He had been seeing someone he knew in the village and now he planned to leave his wife to be with her. The woman was distraught. She did not go back to the garden corner for a long time.

Instead, she began to paint. As she painted picture after picture, her confidence in her skill grew. One day she decided to go out to that part of the garden with her paints and easel. The bird was already sitting in the branch when she got there. After it greeted her, she asked, "Will the art critic like my paintings?" That very evening, her work was being displayed at an event. A top art critic would be there and was going to write a review about the pieces. The woman was excited and was sure the bird would give a positive answer.

But the bird said "No," and disappeared.

The woman was shocked. She was morose throughout the art show and even though she sold several pieces, she could feel the disapproving eye of the critic upon her and her work. She could barely sleep during the next few nights. When the review appeared in the newspaper, she saw that the bird had been right, the art critic had not liked her work.

In anger, she destroyed her remaining paintings. She had the tree that the bird appeared in chopped down. She wrapped a string around the box of feathers and shoved it to the back of her closet. Years went by and the box was forgotten.

Even without the bird, her life seemed filled with troubles. She was unhappy in her job. Men always seemed interested in younger, prettier women. Instead of painting, she now drank with the other villagers in the evenings. They complained about work and talked about people behind their backs. Eventually, she started drink by herself and soon she drank so much that she was fired from her job. She had to take a job that did not pay much at all after that. In the end, she had to sell the house and move into a shared room at the inn.

During the packing and sorting of her things, she found her art supplies. At the sight of them, she cried and wondered how her life had come to this. When she pulled another box down from the shelf in the closet, a smaller box tumbled out from behind it. She picked up the smaller box and untied the string. The lid burst open and the beautiful dark bird flew out of the box. It perched on a shelf and called her name.

All the anger from the years welled up in her. She threw the little box to the ground and shouted at the bird. "Why have you brought this bad fortune upon me? Every time I asked you something, something bad happened. Look at my life now! Why have you done this to me?"

The bird looked at her for several moments with its dark, glossy eyes. "I did not bring you misfortune. I am Truth. I can answer all questions. It was you who chose the questions. You chose what to focus on. You chose what to make of the answers. Your life has always been your own. I bring no fortune, good or bad."

The woman was silent.

[Draglizar]

Years ago, hidden in a fertile valley, a small town called Facet went along unnoticed. If this was because it lay off the well-traveled roads or because of some nameless protector, no one quite knows. The town had been set in its ways. Children went to learn with the wise man, Garbenee. Adults would till the fields and harvest the crops, while the venerable would tell tales of ancient beasts and wonderful magics. These stories were often played off as myth and pixy tale; only to be taken lightly, to pass the days between the harvest and planting seasons.

Often the young boys would venture off from the town, acting their parts from the stories. They would fashion weapons from sticks and vines and wear tree bark on their arms for armor. Chasing one boy through the woods whom was dressed with a tail made of thick vines and wings sewn together from large green palm leaves. This would often end with the slaying of the mythical dragon.

Vent, one of the boys in the town, never took part in these activities. Far too old for his years, he never had time for games. Vent was one of five, four younger sisters and him, and a mother who has little time for things other than caring for Vent’s ailing father. When Vent was small, still only a child, his family was carefree. The first twins were born, Terre and Lilly, and things became harder for the family. Vents father had to work longer days, and mother was occupied with the twins. The harvest season was most difficult; Vent was taken from his lessons with the wise man, and helped his father pull crops till his hands burned with blisters and cuts. Hard days during the harvest season led to sleepless nights for Vent, as he lay awake worrying if he and his father could finish pulling the crops out before the winter set in.

Years went by and life seemed to settle into a routine, Vent went to be taught by the wise man during the winter and planting seasons, and then would stop going when it came time to pull the crops. Vent found he had little time for friends or fun, and little time to actually be a kid. Soon Vent’s mother gave birth to the second set of twins, Shine and Bless, After they were born Vent no longer went to the wise man’s lessons at all. He did nothing but toil with his father in the fields, scraping a meager existence from the soil.

One year a man stumbled into town from the woods, looking gaunt and injured. The townspeople, amazed at seeing a new face, flocked to see him. They all asked him questions, though with his injuries he could not answer them until he had gotten some rest. The wealthiest family in town offered to take the strange man into their home, and care for him. Weeks went by while the man regained his strength, and some of the children would often gather at his window to peak in on him until one of the older folks walked by and scolded them. The children began calling him, “The Man from the Land of Dragons,” or Drekin Teris for short.

The man soon ventured out, walking around town talking to people. Everywhere he went a crowd would gather, like moths to a lantern. He would tell his story, strangely it was similar to the stories each child had heard from the venerable when they were little.

Drekin Teris called himself a monk. He said that people could call him Drakin Teris, as the children already did. He told of how he battled evil creatures; huge animals with tentacles, and gaping maws filled with needle like teeth.

The children shivered when he told them of trolls so ugly and mean that to merely look at them made you go cold on the inside. Vile creatures that would kill you for merely being near them. Dragons and medusas who stole children from their beds, to bring them to their lairs and eat them. Soon some of the adults stepped forward and asked why he had made the long journey to their town. The man replied simply, “I was told through meditation, that I must come alone and leave with another.”

This caused an uproar in the town. Children and adults alike would all beg to be the one to leave with him. They would tell great stories of their bravery and strength… Promising that they would be able to fight monsters and would not be afraid.

Months passed, and the stranger had not left. Vent and his father went to plow the fields for next season. Vent knew his place was not with the stranger, even though he had heard the tales, he knew his place was beside his father taking care of his family.

One afternoon Vent and his father were finishing a long days work in the fields, when suddenly the ground shook and threw Vent off his feet. The earth shook and quaked violently for several moments, then settled. Gaining his footing Vent stood and wiped dirt from his face, and coughed waving his hands in front of him as he waited for the dust to settle. He looked across the field to where his father had been, and now in his place there was a split, as if the ground had swallowed him.

Vent ran across the upturned field to where he thought his father was. He dashed to the edge of the crack in the earth and peered down through the darkness. Deep in the ground was an eerie orange glow, like thousands of fireflies lived in the earth. Vent could see the form of his father lying in the pool of glowing water. He rushed to get help, and soon a crowed had gathered around the hole to see what had happened. They helped lower Vent down to his father.

Vent reached the bottom of the crevice and glanced about noticing that all around him there were crystals that shimmered in the glow of the pool. He reached his father and tried to wake him. Shaking, and poking him lightly, when he noticed that the man lying in the pool was a frail old form of what his father had been. Dark hair turned to white, and strong muscles appeared to be withered flesh. He hollered back up to those that were still gathered at the top of the crevice, and they pulled him and his venerable father out of the hole.

A week passed after they had pulled Vent and his father from the hole. No one could explain what had happened to Vent’s father. Vent had climbed back down to the pool and collected some of the glowing liquid in a vial to bring to the wise man. The wise man could not give Vent any answers. He soon became angry, and frustrated that he could do nothing for his father here.

He decided that he could not help his father if no one had any answers to what had happened to him. And after exhausting every option he had he began to realize that if he did not find an answer his father might likely die. If he could not find the answer in the valley, then he would just have to go look outside of his town. He gathered his things, the few meager possessions he had. Tucked into the folds of his cloak and wrapped in velvet he carried the vial of glowing water. Then he went to Drakin.

Vent found Drakin standing in the exact spot he had emerged from the woods from. Drakin looked to Vent and asked him why he wanted to leave the village for the world outside. Vent looked back at his town, then at Drakin and told him he did not want to leave, and that the outside world scared him. But he would do anything to help the man who gave him the strength to survive. He knew he would have to venture out of his village to find the answers he needed. Drakin nodded and then turned and walked into the woods.

Vent took one last look back, then followed until the woods had swallowed them entirely.

[Vortext]

The sea-less ship was the creation of a mad mage who wanted to see the land but not leave the comforts of home behind. To that end he enchanted a sailing ship that ensorcelled the land nearby and tuned it to liquid that the ship sailed through. Trees would sink, or fold about the hull as the mage crossed the lands, looking for artifacts and amusements. As his crew died he turned them into undead. If a people objected to his passage then he unleashed his power upon them. But it was not just he that was the threat.

Monsters rode the wake of the ship. Huge land sharks known as bullettes, planar entities drawn to the residual magics, scavengers feeding on the ruin he left in his wake. The passage of the sea-less ship was never an event, it was a catastrophe. And so it was until it came to the Nars.

The tribes were separate then, fighting among themselves. . . .it was the golden age for the tribes. But when an outside force threatened the land the old rivalries would soon be set aside and the Nars would rise up as one hand to swat the offending invader. And so it was with the arrival of the sea-less ship. Skalds went to ask that he turn his path from their lands . . . the remains of the skalds were eaten by the scavengers. A war party tried a frontal assault, and was fireballed for their efforts. They paid in lives for the bitter lessons that other lands had also learned. There was no way to stop the ship from sailing across the lands.

But one young skald, newly made as his master had died in a trip to the ship, had a plan. On the plains south of where Norwick is now, the trap was made. A war-band attacked and retreated, tauntingly out of reach, to draw the ship to the plains on the floor of that valley. The bravest would get close enough to be singed by magics before fading back and moving on. In the center of the valley lay a hill and on that hill were canoes, though no water was about, even the creeks were dry. With good cause.

When the seal-less ship entered the valley it saw the impudent war-band standing on a hill, obviously making their final stand. The mage planned on making it very final then using the bodies to replenish his crew. He never had a chance. He knew he was stronger than any mage the tribes might have, but he was not smarter than the skald. As the ship was into the valley . . .the dams on the rivers and creeks were broken and others raised. The water flooded in with a rush and the mage learned the true intent of the attacks on his ship earlier. While it might sail on the land, it could no longer float being holed in a dozen places. And a ship that floated so gracefully on the rocks of the plains, sand like one of those rocks might, once it hit true water. The valley swiftly filled and to this day, we fish in the lake it became, just south of Norwick. But deep deep down, there is a ship, crewed with undead and a mage. We are not sure that he died or passed unto an unlife but the people have never removed the dams to the lake to drain it and find out.

You may say that the artifacts and treasures on board are tempting . . . but we, of the people, remember far longer and know that no treasure is worth the land itself, and some things should stay sunk, in the water, where they should have stayed. So here is to the ancestors who saw that the best way to fight an abomination was with the truth of what it should be, and to the skald, who knew that thoughts are the true magic and the weave is just a way of expressing those thoughts. Making thought the greater power.