ROLEPLAY

Preamble.

*scribbled in large letters, on some fine capryni skin*


Xyan is my name. If Palteus is indeed my father's name, or someone just played a joke, I can't remember.

My parents were lost when I was a mere boy. Mother was a good, hard-working hunter; father was a known craftsman. Both of them fell in the jaws of kitins when they attacked, and I fled to the Prime Roots with the other homins. It is there where I developed a limp after a varinx bite, and where I was left malnourished by most everyone except for a kind trykette. In fact, my height is barely better than a tryker's.

Homins finally resurfaced, and with them I did too. A useless, sickly young malos who could neither hunt nor forge powerful objects. I unsuccessfully tried harvesting, but without the strength from weapon-wielding one can't survive harvesting accidents for too long.

I took an interest in writing, though. Hanging around Lydix, the barman, had the advantage of hearing rumors often .. and delivering news of them to the right people. A limping guy could not run, of course, but scribbling a few words for an izam to carry? That was a job I could do all day. Sometimes it even paid for half a yubo roast. I refined my writing with the enthusiasm of someone whose next meal depended on it.

So that's the story, most of it anyway, of a guy who found happiness in the most unusual place of all. I have come to terms with my lack of bravery, and my lack of good looks. My bloodline will not carry on, no kids of mine will tame the Great Vastness of the Scorched Corridor. That's fine.

I am collecting words, and I have kept them safe for future's sake. My name will endure through my work. Willing homins come and tell me their stories now, just to me; some of those I write directly, some of them I put into verse. My mount is full of skins I've filled with their words, and it is a great pleasure when new arrivals sit down by the stables, just to listen to the stories I've collected.

Of course, I don't have everything blooming for me. I never worked with the Matis Royal Academy, and they never answered my asking for folklore contributions. I travel very seldom, the mere thought of teleporting makes me sick. There's so much I'm missing .. and my only consolation is that homins do come to me to tell their stories. So, listen is what I do. This is my own chest of knowledge, no matter how trivial it seems to others.

((ooc : Feel free to post any short stories you want, if they don't fit anywhere else, don't make a story arc, etc. ))

(( OOC: I like this a lot! Might use it later. ))

I took the below notes from a young malos nicknamed "Mj". His mood wasn't the best, but some shooki liquor soothes anyone's problems...

I'm a healer.

That doesn't mean I sometimes put on my fancy amps, throw a spell at you, and call it a day. Nonono, no sir. You see, healing's a queer job to do full time.

They call me to battle, and I go. A healer is like a replenishing fountain with pure waters - no matter how close to death you may be, you shall be called back. Your life may hang by a thread. You may only have a sliver of sap left. No matter, no matter, you will be made whole again. Again, and again, so many times that you'll forget the breath of Emptiness when your time is running out.

And yet, it's a strange job, to heal. I make my own spells, of course. Some feel like hugs, needing close distance and a lot of time to throw. They're the best to give.

But in battle, there is no time to wait. I must summon a great strength of will, and give my life force away just so that a fighter lives a few more seconds. And, in giving them that, I chip away at my own health and sap - often times, bludgeoned into a coma right after releasing a spell. It's liberating, oh so liberating, so never fix on a target. The field of battle is the bittersweet place where you see your loved ones hurt - and you get to pry them away from the cold hands of the Void.

I've talked to other healers, too, they've all felt this. That sensation of giving life, of creating a wondrous thing - doing away with your own, fading with a sigh, satisfied someone else may carry on your fight. This is how the Fyros have endured, you know? Security isn't only in the strength to swing a Clevenyx.

Do you ever feel .. of course you don't, you never leave Pyr except with rare occasions. But I'll tell you what - I could be with only one another priest, or guardian. And I will never be afraid for my life. Water and security. I could be in the great vastness of the Outlaw Canyon, and feel ... safe.

Write it, do write all of it, for those who may yet come and learn.

with a wave of the hand, I was dismissed, and he nodded off to sleep...

Various saying from the desert, collected from many homins during the years

~*~
You are not Fyros by talking. You are not Fyros when you stay within the safe confines of your city, and within the range of guards. You are Fyro when, and only when you walk the thin line between life and death. When you're dying with thirst down in the Outlaw Canyon, when it's night and the varinx prowl ... then you learn the way of the Fyros.

Playing with fire is dangerous. So is life. Master what is readily available to you, do not go off chasing wild dreams. A Tryker knows how to swim like a fish. A Fyros must eat fire and spit fire.

The Fyros leader always remembers his duties: water, security, food; in that order ! A leader for the Matis is there to look good. A leader for the Fyros is there to look after his people.

(to be continued..)

Snapshots

~*~

Visitors of Pyr first see its massive walls in the distance. This defining feature of the city, its ability to encase its citizens and protect them, is something to think about when you do any comparative studies with other cultures.

In fact, one could start by comparing Pyr to its sister cities, Dyron and Thesos. Consider how bare Dyron lays in the path of destruction: it has no walls, no gates, and no means to keep an enemy out. In every way, Dyros and Thesos feel like mere outposts. One does not *live* there. Merchants come and go, as they are wont to do, but would any sane person raise a child there? Of course not.

~*~

Thinking back about the protective nature of Pyr, is it no wonder that it tends to attract all sorts of people who are naturally disinclined to fight for their survival. Scientists, scholars, learned men; but also priests, clerks performing all sorts of services, entertainers ...

Running on the streets of Pyr, you will meet people from all social strata. Just turn another corner and you will discover a new shop that builds swords, or you may stumble into a bar fight; you never know if on the next street you will find a butcher or an exalted priest, deep into a prayer for deliverance..

In the jungle, zorais go home at nightfall and pray that the wilderness will not eat them while they're asleep; on a thunderous night, it is nigh impossible to fall asleep in Zora. But in the desert, the opposite happens: a fyros is alert and ready to hunt at night, while in the torpor of the day, they may even fall asleep. Water is not to be wasted on useless sweating.

~*~

On what drives the people

The fyros are fairly meticulous. Perhaps this is not the best word, they have a special, secret word for it. It means "doing-that-which-is-right-to-do-exactly-when-it-is-right-to -do".

They wake up, not because they feel like it, but because it's nearing evening, and they can finally get to work. They have children not because they're in the mood, but because the group needs strength. They eat because the body needs nourishment. They drink water only when necessary. The frail member of a trekking party will voluntarily lag behind, so the group won't waste resources on him. Or the member will "go hunting" and never return.

The best preacher, and the best demagogue, sell the idea of a heaven that is not only plentiful, but also grants freedom. Many would-be public figures forget that a fyro does not look forward to having his next needs fulfilled. No, that is a most basic attitude, and the fyros are smarter than that. They dream of a world where the very idea of *needing* to do something is eradicated. A world where you can do things, and may do things, but only if that is your own will.

The kamis, in this regard, understand their protégés far better than the karavan. It seems the two factions have both tried to lure the fyros, but one has failed quite spectacularly. In the kami ideal world, a fyros would work hard but would read a bountiful reward for it. In the karavan world, the reward is being judged by Jena, and maybe perhaps sent to another world. It is unconscionable to the straightforward, reasoning desert dweller. The kamis promise a world in balance, which naturally appeals much better to the people.

To be continued...

Birthing customs (I)

I have had the honor to assist several births in my life. After all, if one is not a warrior or a crafter, at least he may look after the children, eh?

The zorais are the most weird group, in this regard. For once, they crowd around the soon-to-be-mother as if she's a spectacle to be watched. They look at her bleed and scream with almost child-like curiosity -- and at times they shout words of encouragement. Yet they are strangely protective, and will huddle over the baby, as if Dark Forces would steal its soul. A kami priest may be summoned, to utter the words usually said with such occasions. Once the baby is brought into the world, the group will start softly humming a soothing song.

The fyros are, as in all matters, practical. The pregnant woman is not asked to perform any task, once it's clear the time approaches. She may help weave clothes, or help sort herbs, this kind of thing. Then, once she goes into labor, she is hushed away into a quiet room, where only the father and a few important people in her life may enter. Note-worthy is that the choice is hers. Custom dictates that one or two people may assist with the practical matters; for example, the mother must always be provided with water, to drink and to refresh her body. There is a saying, that babies brought into the world with great pain may become great warriors. Once the baby is born, the fyros will light candles or let a lot light inside, and they start burning a strong incense.

With trykers, matters are much simpler: they understand a new birth is an opportunity for the tribe to grow. As such, there is celebration and merrymaking whenever the expecting mother goes into labor. Of course, with people getting tipsy, there may be few clear-headed folks to actually help with the delivery. Usually, this task will fall on the older women who have already gone through it a few times. Customs vary from clan to clan.

As for the Matis. only their gods know what they do.

The kami black years. Preamble.

Note: in this material, we refer to "kamis" in the sense of the disciples of the true Kami. Here, we only concern ourselves with the mere homins, not the Higher Beings.

Preamble

People think of kamis as a tight group. And they may be so, when fighting. They are a formidable enemy, sure. They're like a legion.

Nevertheless, kamis can be as quarrelsome as small children. Even moreso, in fact. When looking back at homin history, you must understand that Kamis never communicated to us in an orderly fashion. They showed themselves to us, and taught us magic tricks; but they never sat down with a homin and told him straightforward words. In fact, they barely have a language in common with us. We guess around their gestures, and we like to believe that we understand what they mean when they point to the sky. But in fact, we don't.

So naturally, kami disciples have some freedom to interpret the will of their masters. And where a breach in the hierarchy opens, people that are strong willed fight over the positions.

For example: both the fyros and the zorais follow the kami. But where a zorai is pensive and meditative, a fyros is ready to act. What does a fyros priest preach to do when you meet an enemy of the kami? To fight and kill! There is little place or call for goodwill in the desert, and this attitude carries over from priest to commoner. At the same time, a zorai priest will tell you to avoid being hasty. Yes, a karavan follower is misguided by black magic, but you should not simply fight fire with fire! Instead, what happens if you show them the love of Ma-Duk?

~*~

I vividly remember the bitter fight in Zora over the way of showing proper respect to the Kamis. Some lunatic dreamed one night that the Kamis told him to rebuild his house facing east. East, where the sun rises from, and all good in the world. He soon had a smattering of adepts, who all reorganized their homes to face east. But it wasn't enough, of course.

The idiots started demanding that all buildings should follow this rule. In fact, they wanted the rule codified into zorai law, "to show proper respect to the Kamis". This madness led to a small-time civil war, which at its heights claimed 5 lives. Eventually the entire group was simply banished from the city, and told to build their community in the vast openness of Grove of Umbra. No one heard anything about them, afterwards.

(to be continued..)

This point is obviously out of lore.

On Atys, the sun doesn't rise at east, the "sun" doesn't rise at all. The light comes from fixed luminous spheres in the sky. The day / night periods are fixed by light intensity.

That doesn't mean all other points of this writing are lore compliant.

Drumel, Lore Team

((Ahh, yes, my mistake. I will amend this, thanks.))

(And generally, most things in the roleplay category are not considered compliant unless specifically approved by the Ryzom team, yes?)

.

Musings. Personal journal.

Sometimes I wonder at how strange homins can be. We make stories up, we write stories down, we swear up and down that we fully believe in those stories. And then we go kill each other based on the same stories.

I guess the Kami and Karavan stories are the best known ones that cause homins to spill each others' sap. Both of them promise outlandish rewards, if only the followers stay true to their teachings... but those teachings cause strife and conflict.

The funny part about homins is the way they wage these wars. Sometimes, sufficiently large groups of religious followers will gather enough steam to attack a group of the opposite side. They regularly fight, sometimes with outposts as a pretext, sometimes over resources.

But the hate and rage cannot go on forever, do they? So these fine homins go through cycles of war, then uneasy peace, then mutual ignoring, then small-scale skirmishes ... and so on and so on.

A sufficiently skilled scholar may even attempt to determine at which point in the cycle his people currently is. A sufficiently skilled scholar might try to figure the triggers that move the followers' attitude from one stage to the next in the cycle.

And dreamers like me, say that maybe we could find the right combination of words and speeches, to keep the tribalistic religious followers in their current "uneasy peace" forever. Just dreams, it seems ...