Date: Wed, 13 Apr 1994 22:54:24 --100 Message-Id: <9404132054.AA25097@aft-ms.Holland.Sun.COM> To: RuneQuest-Digest@glorantha.holland.sun.com From: RuneQuest-Request@glorantha.holland.sun.com Subject: Volume 10, no 8: Stories from Nick Brooke and Rich Staats. Reply-To: RuneQuest-Digest-Editor@glorantha.holland.sun.com Contents: Richard C. Staats - The Tale of Thrimball the Storyteller Nick Brooke - The Fox King Editorial: Two stories, first quoting: Nick About the Fox King: "My story from the RuneQuest-Con Orlanthi Storytelling Contest. Knocked out in the first round by a damn' fine Vingan myth, so it's only been heard by a dozen or so people (and distributed in half a dozen hard copies at the Con). Asterisked bracketed numbers refer to the scholarly notes at the end of the story. Best read aloud, to catch the rhythms, but isn't that true of all good stories? For the record, I learned it while guesting among the Hiording Colymar; but there are other Sartarite folk tales that corroborate the events described." But first, the honourable Rich Staats, about a different storyteller. - HL -------------------- Date: Wed, 02 Mar 94 11:42:33 +0100 From: staats@MIT.EDU (Richard C. Staats) Subject: The Tale of Thrimball the Storyteller The Tale of Thrimball the Storyteller as recounted by Rich Staats I was but ten years old when Thrimball entered our camp one evening and delivered his tale, but the visit would long be remembered as the day when our chieftain, Gregor Staffswinger, was fooled by an Illuminate into sparing a Trickster's life. We were gathered for the Dark Season rites, and as was our custom, all of the best storytellers were gathered to deliver their tales. The usual crowd was there, Gomgrof Troll Slayer, Iggy the Corpulent, Shalishmak the Wise, and a host of others, but the storytelling contest was open to all. Iggy was the local favorite. The rules for participation were simple. The story teller got to his or her feet and presented the tale to the assembled group. In exchange the story teller was given a straw tick to sleep on, a meal to warm his belly and the admiration of the crowd. I was sitting near the door flap, fairly far away from the blazing hearth at the center as I was not yet of age, when Thrimball entered the tribal hut. He looked at the assembled warriors, women and children of the tribe, took their measure and nodded to himself in silent approval. I was close enough to see the sparkle in his eye as he made his entrance. He noticed me too, because he reached down and pulled a lunar from behind my ear and handed to me! Gregor noticed Thrimball at once, but it was not fitting for the chieftain to greet a stranger in our midst at once. Thrimball did not have the ritual markings on his face, showing him to be one of our tribe. After another flagon of ale, "borrowed" from a Pelorian trader who strayed into the tribal lands unescorted, Gregor boomed out "Ah! And, who is this stranger in our midst? Come forward and tell me what brings you here to our hearth to steal our warmth and light on this cold Dark Season night? What have you to offer in exchange for our hospitality?" Thrimball was half guided and half manhandled to the hearth. Thrimball stood silent for a moment while he and Gregor locked eyes. A smile crept across both countenances, and Thrimball bowed somewhat melodramatically to Gregor while addressing his words to the assembled crowd. "Oh wise and ferocious chieftain Gregor! Your fame has spread far beyond the limits of your tribal lands - vast though they be - and, I, Thrimball the Storyteller, wish only to share the hearth of one so noble and a tribe so powerful and gracious. In exchange for a warm bowl of porridge and a straw tick I shall spin a tale tonight as none of the tribe has heard before." Gregor laughed aloud for it was well known that nothing intrigued Gregor more than a good story! Gregor had felled nearly as many foes with the honey of his tongue as the sharp edge of his iron bastard sword. Gregor gestured dramatically "arise Thrimball and sit here by the hearth! As you are a stranger in our midst, you shall be the last to present us with a tale this evening." Thrimball straightened himself while suppressing a smile and sat down by the glowing flame. All the storytellers accounted themselves well, but Iggy outdid himself. The tribe rose as one to their feet, stomping, clapping and cheering Iggy, and he was clasped warmly on the back by Gregor as Iggy ambled away from the glow of the hearth. Gregor turned to Thrimball and stated flatly "Perhaps you have learned something from the tales before you and in particular the last! Well now, it is time you earned your keep this evening! Spin us this tale Thrimball, entertain my tribe on this darkest and deepest of nights!" Thrimball rose slowly, and as he did so, the fire crackled loudly three times. Was it my young imagination or did the very flames seem to bend toward Thrimball in an effort to better hear his tale? Thrimball bowed again, though curtly, to Gregor and queried "Oh wise chieftain, is it also not the custom that the storyteller be not held liable for his words on this hallowed eve when Yelm begins to reclaim the sky from the grasp of Xiola Umbar? I ask that in addition to a tick on which to sleep and a meal to warm my belly that I be granted the traditional immunity that you have bestowed so many times in the past." It was still enough that I could hear the thumping of my own heart while Gregor eyed Thrimball slowly and stated "you shall be free this evening, and on the mourn you shall be given one hour's head start before you are pursued if any are offended by your tale!" The tribe thumped its spears and shouted its approval of the ruling. Thrimball said "Oh mighty chieftain, you are too kind!" As the tribe came once again to silence, Thrimball began his tale... "It is a story as you have not heard before! A story of gods and goddesses, of Life and Death, of Powers and Portents and of the Time itself! There was once and there was not in the days before Time a humble servant of Arachne Solara named Taron. He was a simple being who willed only to serve She Who Is All Things. In those days, mighty Yelm presided over the world far above the lands below." As Thrimball spoke, the hut seemed to warm and the flames took on a soft quality. I felt at peace and relaxed as though I were wrapped in my blankets after a good meal and a hard day of chasing and working. Thrimball's voice broke through my solace like a knife "But, there came a period when mighty Yelm did not rule the skies when all was darkness!" The flames dimmed and a cold wind blew through the door flap, chilling me to the bone, but Thrimball never faltered. "Do you remember well the tales of the days when Yelm was lost in the black abysses of Hell? Do our children not yet shudder at the passed remembrances of those most cruel of times? I see in your faces you do remember. The very visions of the time are passed on through the flesh from mother to child. Creatures of darkness strode upon the world. The gods found Death's true, black sting. God fought against brother god and sister goddess. The world shook and in those crazed moments of godly struggle, the world was shook to its foundation and protean Chaos oozed through the cracks in the world's foundation!" The shadows seemed to weave and slither. Something soft, cold and slimy slid across my hand in the shadows by the wall of the hut. I pulled my hand back but there was nothing on it! The inside of the hut had taken on an ashen appearance and for an instant I thought I saw fear creep across the haggard visage of Gregor in that ghastly light. Thrimball's voice softened and pulled me back with a start from black despair. "Arachne Solara saw that all threatened to be thrown back into the Void from whence it came! She wove a mighty spell, the mightiest conjuration from the creation, and threw her cosmic webs across the face of the struggle catching all in her net." Webs seemed to fly from Thrimball's fingertips across the hut. I flinched as something brushed my face. "Arachne Solara put all of her strength into the enchantment to hold back the destruction of Creation. She sought to drive out the Chaos, but some of her webs had struck and touched the protean Chaos as webs flung out are wont to do. The gods pulled one way and Chaos another. Arachne Solara called out to her servitors to aid her, and one did come. Does any remember his name?" There was silence in the tent as Thrimball shrieked on. "No one remembers for his name is lost to us now. It leaves us like sugar on our tongues is lost. He, Taron, took the webs while the world tilted anew upon its foundations. How many of us have seen a millstone so heavy it would take twenty brave, strong warriors to lift it? Yet, when the millstone rests for less than an eyeblink on its edge, even the smallest toddler is able to push it and determine its path. So it was with the Dawning. This least but most faithful of all Arachne Solara's minions pushed the world disk and caused it to spin." I felt the ground heave beneath my feet. Thrimball looked across the crowd and asked "And, what was the name of that fiery orb that rose for the first time from the East that day of Dawning?" As one voice the crowd called out "Yelm! Mighty Yelm!" The hearth sprang back to life and warmed the dark corners of the hut once more. Thrimball continued "And so to this day Time continues. The world spins on a fine edge, and here too is the nature of Illumination. Taron recognized that both the old order and protean Chaos are part and portion of Time. If one or the other of the forces pulling the strings that bind the World, it will fall, and Time will cease as the world shatters." An angry gasp rose from the voices of the warriors and Gomgrof grasped his spear to impale the heart of Thrimball the Illuminate! Thrimball cast his gaze to Gregor and spoke. "Orlanthi put down your spear for your own chief has sworn an oath to protect me for the things I say this night!" Gregor, though he fumed mightily, said "what he has said is true. Put down your spear Gomgrof." Thrimball took up his tale again. "And so it is the end of the tale, or is it just the beginning? Now bring on a bowl of porridge and my straw tick!" True to his word, Thrimball had told us a tale as none had ever heard before. The next day when Yelm rose in the sky, Gregor also true to his word gave Thrimball a full hour before he sent all the warriors of the tribe out to blot the Illuminate from the face of the world, but they never caught him, and perhaps even if they had, Thrimball might have lived on in the words he spoke to us that evening. For one's perspective on the way of the world does change as one grows in wisdom... Hope you enjoyed it. In service, Rich -------------------- Date: 08 Apr 94 04:54:07 EDT From: Nick Brooke <100270.337@CompuServe.COM> Subject: The Fox King ============ THE FOX KING ============ Esmeralda was the daughter of old chief Rastan of the Hiording clan {*1}, in the days when Venharl Intagarnsson ruled the Colymar tribe {*2}. Now Esmeralda was young, and Esmeralda was fair. She had three strong brothers, and more lovers courting her than you could shake a stick at. But the tallest and most handsome of all of them was King Fox {*3}, whom she had met when she was hunting in the forest north of the Creek. He had russet hair, and deep dark eyes, and he wore a fine clan tartan that had never been seen in those parts, and a torc of silver about his neck. No one knew who his people might be, but as a King he was certainly brave, and surely rich, and of all the men who loved her, Esmeralda cared for him alone. At last it was agreed on between her kinfolk that they should be married {*4}, for apart from all else, he offered a fine bride-price in gold. So Esmeralda asked the Fox King where they would live, and he described to her his clan-stead, and where it was; but, strange to say, he did not ask her, or her brothers, to come and visit. So one day, near the wedding-day, when her brothers were out hunting, and the Fox King was away for a day or two on a godi's business (he said), Esmeralda took her two spears and crossed the Creek, setting out north into the woods and following the trail that King Fox had described. And after much searching she came to the edge of the tula of the Fox Clan {*5} -- and there, staring at her through empty sockets, were two skulls atop poles to either side of the path {*6}. Esmeralda threw her Cloak of Mist about her, to hide her from their sight and avert whatever evil they might do her, and so concealed she walked into the tula and up to the stockade. And there another grisly sight met her eyes, for the stockade was of sharpened stakes, and atop each of the fifty tallest stakes an impaled, severed head stared outward, silently screaming in their deep decay. But Esmeralda was a brave one, and followed Vinga's path. So through the portal she passed unseen and into the stockade of the Fox Clan. And there she spied the hall of the Fox King. And the hall was roofed, and from the eaves of the roof there dangled by their hair more heads of dead men and women and children. Now Esmeralda slipped on her Sandals of Darkness, that none within might see her, and she passed between two thanes of the Fox Clan and into the King's feasting hall. And here she could see that the roof of the hall was of thatch over bones, and the benches of bone likewise, and in niches about the hall were set the severed heads of freshly-dead maidens. And their headless bodies lay all bloody and dead in a stall behind the Fox King's seat. And for another thing, none of the maidens had any fingers on her hands, but bloody stumps were all that was left. Well, this was quite enough for Esmeralda, who had by now taken a strong aversion to her mysterious suitor, but as she left the hall and would have left the stockade, whom should she see coming through the gate but King Fox, and he dragging a beautiful young lady along, all in her finery. Well, Esmeralda was afraid he would see her, for all her cloak and sandals, for his eyes were so deep and so dark, so she rushed back into the hall of bones and hid herself in an empty stall, just in time, as the Fox King came in with the poor young maiden, who now seemed to have fainted. And he took her hand in his own, and bared his bright white teeth, and he bit off her fingers, one by one, and threw them into the stew-pot that hung from the rafters and simmered in the centre of the hall. But when he chewed through and cast away the first finger on her left hand, he missed his aim and it landed flat in the lap of Esmeralda. She was mortally afraid he would note his mistake, but the Fox King was now sawing at the neck of the unfortunate girl, taking her head for a vacant niche beside his seat, so while his back was turned she slipped silently from the hall and fled the tula of the Fox Clan, as fast as her legs could carry her. Now it happened that the very next day was to be the wedding of Esmeralda and the Fox King, when he would bring the bride-price and take her from her clan. All the things had been made ready, guests had arrived from far and near, and a Lightbringers' Ring formed to sanctify the bond, with Esmeral- da's older brother as the chieftain, and so on down to a wandering vagrant as Flesh Man. And the Fox King came with his thanes, and was greeted with all ceremony, and he was seated by Esmeralda's side as the feast was laid, and holding her pretty white hand in his own {*7}, when he chanced to notice that she was white as snow. "How pale you are this morning, my dear," said the Fox King, all concerned. "Yes," said she, "I had a bad night's rest last night. I had horrible dreams." "Dreams may go wheresoever they will," said King Fox; "but tell us your dream, and we shall see what we can make of it." "I dreamed," said Esmeralda, "that I went yesterday through the woods to visit your clan, and that when I found the bounds of your tula they were guarded by twin skulls on poles." "Why, that is so {*8}," said the Fox King, "for the ancient enemies of the Fox Clan must now guard our bounds and warn us of unwelcome visitors; though certainly there has never been a guest as welcome as I shall make you..." "And then in my dream I walked up to the stockade, and there were fifty tall stakes to it, and a severed head topping each of them." "Why, that too is so," said the Fox King, "for our more recent enemies whom we have defeated in war now ring our stead to warn others away. And I find it very moving, Esmeralda, that you should have dreamed so of our future home on the night before our wedding day..." "And then in my dream I passed into the stockade and up to your hall, and from its eaves there hung more heads, of dead men and women and children." "Ah. But that is not so," said the Fox King, "for dreams are often..." "And then in my dream I entered your hall, and its roof and furnishings were all of bone, and the heads of maidens adorned its niches, and their bodies were all slumped cruelly dead in your stall. And there were no fingers left on their hands, but they all simmered in the stew-pot hung over the hearth of the hall." "Now that is not so, and it was not so," said the Fox King. "And as I would have left the hall, you came in, King Fox, and you dragging a young lady behind you, and she in a swoon. And you bit off her fingers, one by one, with your bright white teeth, and you threw them into the stewpot." "It is not so, and it was not so, and the gods forbid that it should be so," said the Fox King, and he was rising from his seat when Esmeralda cried out: "Ah, but it is so, and it was so, and here's her finger to prove it!" And she pulled out the lady's finger from her dress, and pointed it straight at the Fox King. And at that, all sprang to their feet and drew their swords, and would have cut King Fox to mincemeat there and then, but the Grey Lawspeaker stopped them. "This man has been offered the hospitality of our board," he said, "and a curse will be upon our clan if we kill him now." And Flesh Man, who had come from the road and who carried no sword {*9}, answered him thus: "Aye, he has been offered your hospitality. But will the gods permit that he should accept it?" Then King Fox snatched up his guest-portion from the table, and cried, "I accept this meat gift {*10} with gratitude, oh Hiording men, and I will speak ever of your generosity." And he raised the succulent roast to his mouth, and would have bitten into it with his bright white teeth, but it choked him and he could not swallow. He snatched for a mead-cup and would have drained it dry, but the foaming drink leapt from the cup and spilled itself all down his russet beard and his fine clothes. And the Hiordings, seeing this, knew that he was in no way protected by their hospitality: the gods forbade that it should be so. They drew their swords and drove him from the hall, striking many mortal wounds. And after that, King Fox was never seen in Hiording lands again. ------- The End ------- _____________________________________________________________________ NOTES AND REFERENCES: {*1} Like all unabridged Orlanthi tales, this one begins with a brief genealogy to set the scene. On the Hiordings, cf. King of Sartar p.207: "Also sometimes called the 'Swansons,' this clan are descendents of Hiord and Safeela, a swan maiden. He stole her magical wrap, and so she stayed with him for seven years, and their children head the main bloodlines of the clan. When they were attacked by the savage Varmandi, they joined the Colymar tribe for protection." None of these details are germane to the story at hand, though they help in its interpretation. {*2} King of Sartar, p.210: Venharl Intagarnsson was twelfth king of the Colymar, ruling from 1492 to 1502. He led the tribe to join the confederation with the man named Sartar. It is uncertain whether this event predates the present story: King Sartar seems as likely to have wandered outside as within the bounds of his confederated lands. {*3} Interesting, in that Esmeralda (as a Hiording maiden) would represent a Swan. This tale is perhaps an ancient Hsunchen or Durulz cycle (cf. the cautionary tale of Jemima Puddleduck and the Foxy Gentleman, ed. Potter), now repeating itself in the more developed folklore of the Sartarite Orlanthi. {*4} The Hiordings, descended from a swan maiden, would presumably have been favourably inclined towards marriages with mysterious, unknown, but above all powerful figures from beyond their experience: they could look to their own magical ancestry as evidence for the beneficial results of such matches. {*5} The sacred home territory of an Orlanthi clan, wherein all its ritual sites would be located. {*6} Compare with the well-documented trollish practice of creating "Foe-Cursers" (Troll Cults p.81). {*7} At the Lightbringer wedding of Biturian Varosh (Cults of Prax p.111), the officiating priest orders the bride and groom to hold hands throughout the ceremony - a detail which adds a rather horrible frisson to this particular tale. {*8} Head-hunting was an ancient practice and by no means a despised one, though it was rare by this stage in the evolution of Sartarite Orlanthi culture. There would have been no shame in the Fox King's admission that his clan had formerly followed the custom, but perhaps some slight awkwardness in admitting that it was current. Beyond this point, the disclosures become repugnant to ordinary Orlanthi sensibilities, and have to be denied. {*9} These traits are enough to identify this mysterious Flesh Man as the legendary King Sartar in disguise. Sartar was said to be a Master of the Motion Rune, and was never seen to raise a weapon against another person. For his wanderings, cf. King of Sartar p.137: "Sartar was loved by the common tribes people, for he often went disguised among them and searched for those worthy and just enough to help convey the kingdom towards a good future. Those who he found sufficient were rewarded, often in simple ways..." {*10} In the traditional Orlanthi rituals of hospitality and gift-giving, the meat gift is "a thing we offer only to kinsmen, and those as good as them" (King of Sartar, p.62). It would thus be appropriate at a wedding. Certainly the curse for breaking such a hospitality-tie would be great, and the Lawspeaker's caution is wholly justified. ____________________________________________________________________ ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: This story is essentially an Orlanthi retelling of "Mister Fox", a traditional English folk-tale (obliquely referred to in Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing). My text owes much to the 1821 version collected in Angela Carter's excellent Virago Book of Fairy Tales, and at least as much to the oral version recounted by Peter Ewing at several meetings of the Oxford Arthurian Society. The original Gloranthan tale is told in King of Sartar, p.137: > One time, in disguise, Sartar dealt with the foul Brangbane, the > king of the Dinacoli tribe who was buying daughters from distant > families with illusory gold. He would cut off their fingers to > make a vile brew of evil potency which gave him great power, > and then kill the women. Sartar's magic gave the evil king an > insatiable appetite, and an illness which made all real food > repulsive to him. Brangbane solved this by eating the dead, and > extracting power from the corpses. But though he survived as a > ghoul, he was ever pursued by the ghosts of those he had unjustly > slain. Furthermore, the ghosts of these women can be called upon > by any Sartarite who needs help against ghouls. Brangbane still > runs about the hills of Sartar, plagued and hating, still full of > great power until the wailing ghosts catch up with him. His name > is usually not spoken, and he is called the King of Ghouls. For this version of this story, it proved difficult at first to identify the antagonist without giving the game away from the start. But as Brangbane is customarily not named (to avoid attracting his attention?), while any of his modern epithets would be inappropriate, it proved overwhelmingly tempting to identify him with the trickster, Fox, a mythical enemy of the Ducks and the Swan People. The key element of the lady's finger plays the same role in both versions of the tale, and appears even more appropriate in its Orlanthi setting than in the old English story from which it was derived; while Mr. Fox's "God forbid's" find their ironic comeuppance. ==== Nick ====