EVENTS

Nights get darker!
 

Time for stories

Have you heard the tale of little Dartie already? She's a beautiful little girl, such a cute child! She loves it when nights last longer, because then her Grandmother has a cozy fire burning in the good old parlor and if Dartie asks especially nice, then her Grandfather tells stories. Dartie can listen for hours to fairy tales about heroic Trykers, about pretty Matisian Ladies, about cute Yubos. Dartie likes Yubos especially much. She says they are so cute and cuddly. She even has a pet Yubo. She feeds it every morning and afternoon and even cuddles with it in the night. Because of that she loves her Grandfather's stories about Yubos so much. All except the legend of the Ghost Yubo. She shouldnt have been listening to it, because she is still too young for it. Her Grandfather was telling it to her older brothers last year. Dartie thinks that it is at Angi wins. Or was that Anlo winns? No matter. At any rate after Dartie has eavesdroped, she has an evil dream.
 
Dartie cuddles in her bed with her Yubo in her arms and sucks, satisfied, on her thumb. The fire sputters in the fireplace and burns down slowly. Shadows gather on the bed of the little girl. But what is that? in the darkest corner of the room it is suddenly darker than a shadow ever could be. This blackness is expanding, floating to all corners and up all the walls. Underneath Dartie's bed, it is crawling up on the bedpost. The fire dies. A last spark lightens the sleeping face of the girl. Her breath shines as a white cloud. It's cold.
 
Alas! It is so sad. They are saying that little Dartie breathed out her Seed peacefully in her sleep. She was ill, they are saying, but it is odd that her Yubo has been missing since then.

Have you heard the tale of little Dartie? She was such a beautiful girl, such a cute child!

[OOC]
Soon there will be a campfire evening with the opportunity for story telling by players. Those who cannot attend may like to give their story to a friend or in advance to the event team via mail to events@ryzom.com. Your story then will be told by a storyteller.

Oh: Don't forget to buy Marshmallows!
[/OOC]

[OOC] Official announcement [/OOC]

Tale by Naton Lydos

Sprite's gift

Caura Aepan and Anidi Antoni traveled together to answer to one of their mutual clients needs. They pretty often worked together, he was making jewels in a mixed Matis-Tryker style, and she was making clothes in a pure Matis style.

As they lived in Matisagoo tribe, they went to Heretic's Hovel, but lost their way.

Roving and terrorised in the Maze of Sprite, they were surprised by night. Running breathlessly to escape from predators, scared by all the noises around them, they heard suddenly some beautiful music with a lively rythm, with a smooth and melodious song accompanying it. They decide together to head towards this music and arrive in the middle of a grove, near a small pond, where they saw some cutes dancing and singing in circle. In the middle of this circle, a hunched figure remained motionless.

Driven by curiosity, Caura comes nearer, so he can better look at the view, and Antoni follows her soon after. What they thought were cutes wasn't really. Finer, and more gracious, they wore colored clothes with audacious cuts but still very beautiful. The clothes were enhanced by jewels that could turn the best master crafter jealous.

Amazed by the clothes of these small beings, Antoni comes nearer and is seen. The shape in the center of the circle is a very old homi who seems ageless, with a blazing white beard falling on his chest.

He beckons to them to come nearer, and the circle opens to let them enter.

The two artisans walk shyly into the circle that closes after their passing through. Without understanding a word of what is said, they start to dance with the others, moved by a desire against that is impossible to fight.

Suddenly the music, dancing and singing stops. The two friends are exhausted and collapse on the ground. The old homin came to them, pulling a knive out of his belt. He walks to Antoni with a determined face and shaves her head. Antoni doesn't dare to protest. The old homin did the same to Caura, and thanks both with a litttle pat on their shoulders, and the dancing starts again.

When the time to go arrives, the old homin shows them a heap of rotten leaves and they understand seeing his signs that they have to take some. They do so without hesitation, to not offend their host.

Having found a quiet place to get some sleep, they rested. In the morning, they find their pockets heavy and see the leaves turnes into dappers during night. They're rich homins now! In addition, they remembered the techniques to design the wonderful things they had seen. They'll become very good crafters, known overall Atys!

Antoni saw all of her dreams suddenly become possible. She will answer favorably to the young merchant who had started to woo her, without risk of appearing too ambitious; and she will become one of the best crafters in Yrkanis, maybe a crafter for the court.

Caura will be able to pay off his debts and live with the mother of his children, who asked this as a pre-requisite, and will ensure them a nice life! However, he wanted more. But Antoni managed to convince him that Sprite's prank could be dangerous, and that shouldn't try their luck, having gained from it once.

Caura was a little musician and remembered quite well the melodies. He told me this story, and taught me one of the Sprite's tunes, listen.

/em takes a flute and plays : ♪♫♫♫♪♫♪♫

Tale by Kaliss

This is a true story, I swear it!

One day, a band of friends decide to organize a group of powerful fighters : "La Lune Eternelle" (the eternal moon).

Afterwards, as there were lots of new people in the group, they decided to take a trip to Almati Wood the day of Anlor Winn. After a long walk, they found an encampment with a sign. On it was written "Ghost Village". Although hesitating a bit before doing so, they entered. After some minutes, they found a stable, and decided to spend the night there. After a meal of bodoc meat, they had an urge to tell themselves horror stories. After 2 or 3 tales, a Marauder armor without a head apeared sudenly from the ground, bearing a Tekorn axe. The members of "La lune éternelle" all stood up to defend themselves.

Fighting as quickly as if he had a dagger, the headless marauder rushed at Dipsie who performed a super-homin dodge. Artran cast a stun spell on the Marauder followed by Xylog who cast a shockwave that made the marauder fall over. Dipsie approached him with her autolauncher and shot 3 times at him. Even then, the Marauder still managed to stand up. At this moment, the stable door opened and a shape appeared.

It was difficult to see because of the darkness. The mysterious character moved forward three steps, then "La Lune Eternelle" were happy that this person had come in. NIZYROS!!! Leader of "La Lune Eternelle" ! He moved forward slowly, head high, and said : "You should have never have attacked my friends". He stepped back two meters and all of a sudden shouted so loud that Tenwo ran back to Ranger camp. Quickly Nyziros took out a vedice spear and rammed it into the headless Marauder's chest. He fell in one shot, and we could see a veil fly away and disapear in the ceiling of the stable.

Tale by Anesia

Once upon a time there was a planet where four peoples with different builds, temperaments and traditions were living. More precisely they weren’t living on the mineral part of the planet but on its vegetable part so much the 
flora was important there, forming continents. The four peoples could be made out physically through the presence of small ones, tanned ones, pale ones and big blue ones. You’ll have understood at this point of the story
 that it’s indeed about us and our beautiful Bark. These four peoples never stopped making war. Incessantly, always conflicts, always mayhem between peoples, between believes, and between them of same people and same 
belief. Every pretext was good to bring weapons out and try to demonstrate who would be “the strongest”… And for this, all of them were trying to gear up, to arm themselves with always more weapons, more armors. This 
frantic and irrational quest for power and pointless domination drove them to slowly but surely drain all the resources of the planet. All those efforts to tear each other apart to the detriment of the planet instead of helping each 
other, of acting hand in hand to make everyone progress… The four peoples divided by so many battles finally came to the only thing which united them:
 
A final battle which would define once for all who would dominate the other ones.
 
All were gathered in a same and unique battlefield. And fighting which followed on this gloomy night of Anlor Winn saw in incredible sap flood flow. So many life taken, brought back by the powers to succumb again… On the whole day never was there rest for all the ones so hungry for power. The Bark wasn’t covered with sawdust anymore but with gear, sap and limbs torn to the shreds, crushed by all this fierceness. It’s on the evening that they all stopped suddenly, taken by terror: the Bark had just shivered with a monstrous roar! Burning pikes rose all around the battlefield, trapping the whole of the peoples, taking away and isolating the powers from them places of prayer to life. Some tried to escape but there was no way out. The pikes were far too high to climb on them and the fire spreading quickly in addition to the poisonous fumes which were spreading quickly in the sky, covering the stars and their lights. The Bark had been so wounded by its peoples who were consuming it while consuming themselves… All of them were asphyxiated at best, burned alive at worst. The fire purification was over after moons of disparate fires. All of them went back to dust amidst the burned sawdust. The Bark had offered them life and it had had to retake it from them because of the misuse they were doing of it. It had been their home. It became their grave…
 
Simple story or macabre premonition? To be meditated upon in any case… in front of a good fire of course.

Conte par Krill

Krill lève les yeux vers le ciel.
Krill fait une drôle de grimace et baisse la tête.
Krill ouvre une bouteille de bière et prend une gorgée avant de se lancer.

« C’était il y alongtemps. Très longtemps. Bien avant le Premier Essaim. Ça se passait dans l’ancien Empire des Fyros. Enfin, plus ou moins dans l’ancien Empire. En tous cas, dans un coin désertique. Après, savoir qui prétendait commander à cet endroit… Les dunes s’en fichaient probablement comme de la dernière pluie. »

Krill réfléchit à ça.

« Mmmh… C’est peut-être pas très adapté comme expression, là… Peu importe… »

Krill boit un coup et reprend.

« C’était donc il y a très longtemps, dans un coin bien désertique des Anciennes Terres. Il y avait un brave Fyros pas très futé… Mais bien gentil quand même.
Il ne fréquentait pas trop les autres Fyros, mais il allait de temps en temps dans l’oasis la plus proche de chez lui pour y acheter quelques bricoles.
Le reste du temps, il le passait dans les dunes, tout seul, à écouter le bruit du vent, ou à compter les bouts de sciure peut-être.
Y n’en sais rien en fait. Et c’est pas vraiment important pour l’histoire. »

Krill reboit une gorgée.

« Ce qui compte, c’est qu’il ne s’intéressait pas trop à ce que disaient les autres homins. Alors quand il est reparti de l’oasis, cette fois-là, il n’a pas fait attention à ceux qui lui conseillaient de ne pas rester dehors.
Le vent ? Quel vent ? Il avait l’habitude du vent. »

Krill relève les yeux brièvement vers le ciel.

« Cette nuit-là, effectivement, ça souffla plutôt pas mal dans le désert.
Mais le Fyros en avait vu d’autres. Il s’abrita dans son manteau, se cala comme il faut dans le creux d’une dune, et attendit que ça passe.
Au matin, le vent était toujours là, mais il avait faibli, et le Fyros se rendit compte qu’il y avait un yubo pas très loin.
Il n’avait pas l’air très vaillant, ce yubo.
On pourrait même dire qu’il était sacrément mal en point.
Quand le Fyros s’approcha de lui, c’est tout juste s’il bougea une oreille.
Tout le reste du corps, les pattes avant, les pattes arrière… Tout ça, ça avait l’air comme racorni.
Le Fyros donna un peu d’eau à boire au yubo en lui parlant doucement.
Eh oui, les Fyros, ça peut être doux des fois.
Enfin, il paraît…
Faut pas qu’il y ait du monde qui puisse les voir, probablement… »

Krill finit sa bouteille de bière et la range dans son sac.

« Le yubo but l’eau, et le Fyros décida de s’occuper de lui.
Il lui trouva un coin abrité, à boire, à manger…
Mine de rien, ça fait du boulot de trouver à boire et à manger pour un yubo malade au milieu du désert. Mais le Fyros connaissait bien le coin.
Et petit à petit, le yubo commença d’aller mieux.
Bon, il avait bien toujours l’arrière-train tout racorni, mais il réussissait à avancer sur ses pattes avant.
Et le Fyros était tellement content de le voir, qu’il ne faisait pas attention aux courbatures et aux douleurs dans ses épaules. »

Krill jette un regard noir vers le ciel et prend une nouvelle bouteille de bière dans son sac.

« A force de vadrouiller partout, de tirer de l’eau des shookis… de l’eau ou d’autre chose, oy… Bref, de se démener pour son petit yubo, le Fyros commençait à se sentir vraiment fatigué.
Mais il continuait, parce que chaque jour qui passait, le yubo semblait aller mieux. Il était de moins en moins racorni. Et de plus en plus affectueux.
Si ses pattes arrières le lui avait permis, il aurait probablement sauté au visage du brave Fyros pour le couvrir de léchouilles affectueuses.
Mais pour l’instant, il ne pouvait pas.
Alors il se contentait de tituber et d’essayer de lui grignoter les bottes.
Et ça faisait rire le Fyros, qui n’avait pas l’habitude que quelqu’un lui tourne autour comme ça. »

Krill soupire et boit une bonne rasade, sans regarder le ciel cette fois.

« Le Fyros riait, et il en oubliait qu’il avait mal partout. Et qu’il avait de plus en plus de mal à se déplacer, à trouver à boire et à manger pour son petit compagnon. Sans parler de lui-même.
Mais maintenant, plus il riait, et plus ça le faisait tousser. D’une pauvre toux creuse et sèche.
Un soir, il revint là où il avait laissé son yubo et ne le trouva pas.
Il était épuisé, mais il ne pouvait pas laisser son compagnon seul dans le désert.
Il partit à sa recherche, sous la lune et les étoiles.
Il marcha, marcha, marcha…
Il se sentait faible.
Il se sentait vide.
Il se sentait…
Le vent se mit à souffler, comme il n’avait pas soufflé depuis des jours.
Et le Fyros bascula au sol, trop faible pour bouger.
Recroquevillé sur lui-même.
Racorni.
Alors le yubo lui sauta au visage, et lui arracha les yeux.
Et puis il le démembra avec une telle violence que la tête fut projetée loin, loin, loin, tout là-haut dans le ciel.
Et depuis, quand Anlor Winn souffle, parfois, on voit la tête toute racornie du Fyros, à qui il manque les yeux, là haut, au milieu des étoiles… »

Krill vide toute sa bière d’un coup.

« Y n’aime pas les histoires des Fyros, y préfère celles des Trykers… »

Krill range sa bouteille vide et retourne à sa place.

Krill regarde tous les homins sans tête présents ce soir, et se pose soudain des questions.
 

Tale by Drakfot

The Preposterous Painting

Each year a time passes on Atys called Anlor Winn. This be a time where the lands are stirred in an odd fashion of both joy, laughter and smiles. But there is also the notion of an underlying fear, the lands seems extra restless indeed. There have even been rumours of the Kitin avoiding certain parts of the lands for what could best be described as fear. But those be only rumors, at least as far as we know. But one of the odd properties of a rumor is that it could both be nothing at all, while it could also be true. What I am about to tell you is a tale I found noted in an old book during one of my travels through the lands of Verdant Heights. The book itself was quite aged, yet there is no telling of the age of the tale itself.

And for it being just a rumor or true, I will let you decide.

Dear Homins, have you heard the tale of the Preposterous Painting?

It all started the day before Anlor Winn, the time where Homins were in the midst of preparations for the feast to come. Everyone was eager to create the most eerie environment around their housings, some were working on making armor that was looking like various Kitin with hopes of scaring their peers. All for the joy of a good laugh, and to stretch their imagination.

Antionni Valini was walking down a busy street filled with vendors, both regular and new, whom was hoping to sell as much Anlor Winn ware as they could. With him he had his two kids, Nonne and Nirni - his daughter and son - and also Valena his beloved wife. They all shared the Anlor Winn spirit knowing that it be a time of both joy and remembrance. They were all out shopping for various items needed for the celebration. 
They walked among the different salesmen looking at all the various items available, purchasing a few things here and there. 

But as they were about to leave the market they were approached by a somewhat strange Homin claiming to be a painter and that he wanted to sell them a very special painting. They all looked at each other with scepticism at first, but he soon reassured them that it would be a magnificent addition to their living room and once he showed it to them they were almost instantly convinced. 
The painting itself was from a lovely scenery that seemed to be not far off Virginia Falls. It looked so soothing and relaxing that they all agreed that it would sit perfectly above the stove in the living room.

And so they bought it and brought it back home. And as the salesman had told them it was indeed made to be placed above the stove as it almost made the entire room feel relaxing. Everyone felt calm as they entered the living room. They then went on to prepare for the festivities. There were Stinga bread to be baked, a fearful Cuttler to be painted on the side of the house et cetera. There were many things that needed to be done so the day passed along quite fast and they soon found themselves sitting in the living room each with a cup of Stinga tea while admiring the painting. But it was soon time for them to get some sleep so each went to their rooms, all being content with the days work while eager to meet the mornings final preparations.

A few hours later Antionni was woken up by his wife telling him that she had heard an odd noise from the living room downstairs asking him to have a look in case it was some of the decoration that might have overturned. With sleepy eyes he walked downstairs and had a quick look into the living room and then turned around to go back up the stairs. He assured her that everything was in order, and so they soon fell back asleep again.
If only he had looked more closely behind himself at that time, things might have turned out differently.

The morning came and they all woke up a bit later than usual, but that was not unexpected as they had all worked hard the day before.
As they gathered around the kitchen table there were no answer when they called for Nirni and when they looked in his room they found it empty, with the bed all made - which was unusual. Perhaps he had woken up early and run out to see his friends, a not to uncommon thing for him during the weekends so no one paid any more attention to this. More than saving a few pieces of bread for him when he returned home later. Since this was the day of Anlor Winn there were still preparations to be made for the afternoon and so they all started working on them and so time passed along until the evening was upon them. And there was still no word from Nirni which was rare so they started to worry a little about his whereabouts.
 
Suddenly Antionni and Valena heard their daughter screaming from the living room so they both rushed in and they saw her pointing at the painting.

“He.. he… he’s there..” She said with a frightened voice still pointing. 

“What do you mean, in the stove?” Antionni asked a bit confused.

“No. Not in the stove, in the painting.” Nonne said with a shaky voice.

As Antionni walked by her and looked at the painting he could not believe what he saw. The painting had changed from the soothing image of Virginia Falls into.. their living room! And Nirni was sitting on the sofa!

“What..” Was the only words he could muster as he looked at the changed painting. 

Suddenly they heard a door slamming on the second floor and they all made their way upstairs, but the only door that was closed was the one to Nirni’s room. And as they opened it everything seemed to be as before, but now the bed was in a mess.

“What is going on here?” Valena asked Antionni. “I do not know, perhaps it is a bad joke by our son?” he replied. “If so, I must say that it is in bad taste” Valena stated.

“Mommy, I’m afraid” Nonne said and Valena tried to comfort her. “Let’s go outside and see if we can find your brother and have this mess sorted” she said with a voice as calm as possible. 

“You two look outside, and put up some lights on the porch while you are at it. I will look for the rascal inside.” Antionni said and started wandering between the rooms on the second floor as they exited the house. It did not take long until he heard his wife screaming and he rushed downstairs only to meet her in the door, covered in blood stains.

“It.. it .. IT TOOK HER, IT TOOK OUR DAUGHTER!” She screamed out grabbing his hand dragging him outside. “What? What took our daughter, what do you mean?” He asked her.

“THAT” she said and pointed to the Cuttler they had painted on the house earlier. For a second Antionni thought that the entire family was in on the joke, but as he looked at the Cuttler closely he saw that it too had stains of blood on it. And between its teeth hung a real rag stuck between the boards, and it was the same cloth that Nonne’s dress was made of.

“What in the name of Jena is this” Antionni muttered to himself before the next scream reached him. It was his wife again, this time from inside the house. He had not noticed that she had disappeared and so he ran back inside, only to see how she was scratching the painting while fading away. He shouted and tried to grab her but his hands went through her as if she was air. And just like that she was gone, nowhere to be found in the room.

“Am I going insane? What is this?” Antionni thought to himself as he looked at the painting. Valena had managed to tear it a little apart, but still it seemed quite unharmed. It was not until Antionni lifted a piece of the painting cloth next to the part where Nirni sat that he saw why his wife had screamed, Nonne was now sitting next to Nirni.

“But how.. why? Who? what?” The questions started to mount up in his mind. Was this still a joke? Or was it real? Then he remembered the salesman that had sold him the painting and he thought that perhaps he could give him some answers to what was happening. Hopefully he would be somewhere near the marketplace.

Antionni went to open the door but it would not budge, no matter how much pressure he placed on it it did not move an inch. Even a strong kick would not convince it to alter. Not even the glass in the windows gave in to his punches or kicks. It was as if the house suddenly would not let him leave. Finally fatigue overtook his mind and he walked back into the living room, only to see that the painting was now whole again! 
And standing behind his children was Valena! Had they all disappeared into the painting?
Was this a bad joke? He did not know. All the thoughts swirled around in his head as he sat down on the sofa while looking at the painting. Then it all went black.

A few days later some friends of the family knocked on the door as they were worried about them. They had not seen them during Anlor Winn, nor in the following days. So they had decided to check in on them.
At the third knock the door opened and they could look inside. They shouted their names but did not get an answer so they went inside to look around. Everything was in order, nothing was touched. It was as if no one had been in the house at all for the last few days. They wondered where they might have gone, perhaps they had gone visit some friends far away and forgot to mention it? 

What they did not notice was that there was one thing missing from the house; the painting above the living room stove.

This is the tale of the Preposterous Painting.