My name is Patrik Sandberg. Homeland: Sweden. Maybe someone out there =
will
remember that I wrote up an Orlanth temple in Lankst for Tales#12. I've
never sent anything to the Digest though, but hope that some of you will
have some use for this one.
I think some of the best pieces that have been written for Glorantha are
the various eye-witness reports from certain cult-rituals. I'm thinking =
of
the first-person stuff in Cults of Prax, but first and foremost the =
pieces
on troll rituals in Troll Gods. But I have always missed the equivalents
for the more "common" cults, Lightbringers or Lunars. So I have written =
one
up myself. It portrays an Orlanth Holy Day in Sea Season 1617 in Sartar.
Inspiration for this one comes from many parts. I draw heavily on KoS =
and
Wyrms Footprints, but maybe even more from the writings of John Hughes =
in
Questlines I and the Convulsions 3 D programme book. I think he is a =
master
of portraying the first-person perspective in a god-laden world as
Glorantha. I'm sure he could have wrote this up much better, but =
hopefully
he will be inspired to do similar things and share it with us on the
Digest. One thing which escapes me totally is, for example, how would a
Issaries or Lhankor Mhy Holy Day look like? Maybe you could tell us =
John? I
wouldn't like to see them lame and bureaucracy-like, even though their
write-ups maybe have let us think so.
Another thing I wanted in my Orlanth Holy Day was the religious feeling
which Rudolf Otto named "mysterium tremendum et facinosium" (I think).
Sometimes certain gods in Glorantha seem a little bit too nice, =
laid-back
and cozy to me. I wan't most of the gods in Glorantha convey the mixed
feelings of facination and fear, appeal and terrifying respect. Of =
course,
some of them instill this more than others: Maran Gor, Humakt, Urox,
Shargash, Yara Aranis etc. But even worshipers of "kind" gods (Orlanth,
Ernalda, Deezola, Yelmalio etc) should always feel a healthy respect and
uncertainess. This I try to portray in this ritual.
This is an eye-witness acount by Geolgar Harefoot, an initiate of =
Lhankor
Mhy in the Nochet temple. He was born in the (Culbrea) tribe but on
mysterious ways ended up in Holy Country joining the Lord of Knowledge =
his
early years. Maybe he had already been initiated to Orlanth by that =
time.
Whatever, he left the cult and joined Lhankor Mhy. But he always kept
contact with his kin in Sartar, and this account undoubtely hails from =
one
of his visits to his kin and friends. Maybe his background explains his
ability to _see_ things normally hidden to an Lhankor Mhy. Or maybe it =
was
just divine inspiration. Who knows?
Apologies if this posting was a bit long.
Comments welcome.
*
The land had suffered from bad weather. Too little rainfall. The =
farmlands
were dried out, and Fire Season was near. I had been told that the Holy =
Day
would be a retelling of "Orlanth-and-Aroka-saga".
It was still early morning when folk from the clans began to gather at =
the
foot of the Hill. Some of them had been travelling half the night to =
reach
the Hill in time. Others, who were more lucky, had shared the =
hospitality
of relatives having steads near the Hill - those were the Martehiording =
and
the Stirlgon clans.
People ascended the Hill. The different clans took various positions on =
the
slopes. Closest to the top were the most prominent members - the
Chieftains, members of the rings, etc. But also some appointed = youngsters, good carls, and stickpickers. Two tricksters sauntered among the men andwomen.
From the south the Storm Voices and their Storm Servants reached the =
top of
the Hill. The Storm Voices blessed the six standing stones, carved in =
the
likeness of Orlanth, which surrounded the flat summit. This they did by
smearing some strange blue paste on the stones. All the Storm Voices =
were
wearing large, decorated, rune-inscribed masks, so it was hard for me to
tell them apart. But I understood that the man taking his position in =
the
center must be Lightning-Lartemal, the High Storm Voice, whom I knew had
fastened for several days to be able to interpret the hidden messages
Orlanth doubtlessly would present during the Holy Day. =
Lightning-Lartemal
stood beside the Law Rock. At his feet were the great Rune-carved logs =
of
the Sacred Fire. Two Storm Servants stood nearby with a white-painted =
cow
who was visibly shaking.
Now the Wind Lords entered the stone ring from the North, ready to =
defend
the ritual from otherwordly, and other, enemies. They had blue-painted
faces in some sort of swirling pattern.
The ceremony was about to begin. Yelm hadn't risen. A few clouds could =
be
seen in the sky.
Ligtning-Lartemal called out: "I call upon you, Lord of the six =
directions.
I call upon the Lord. I call upon Lord Orlanth to receive our prayers =
and
bless our center. We know that you are the god of our blood. You are the
breather of Life. You are the Ever-changer and the Wind. We know that =
our
weapon is the Wind, and the strength of the wind is that it ever =
changes.
This is a rune-truth. Listen and understand. The wind is never the
same...."
The Storm Voice clad in the Orlanth-Lawspeaker mask hit the ground three times with a magic Law Staff and tossed it in the air above the Law Rock were it stayed suspended in the air. Suddenly, faint, almost un-readable runes appeared on the Law Rock's surface. Although I recognized many familiar ones, still more were un-known to me.
At the same time the congregation began humming in a low drone. Three
staves in Stormspeech were repeated again and again in steadiliy =
increasing
cycles. Two Storm Servants and two initiates began a slow beat on drums
(The Opening Beat - slow, steady). Others were lighting fires beyond the
standing stones.
Now Yelm could be seen on the horizon. His rays piercing the few clouds =
in
the sky. But the fires burned with great smoke, now. And the smoke =
reached
for the heavens. High in the air they were caught and spread by the =
breezes
who the Storm Voices were calling forth with mighty gestures and magic
Runes emerging from their lungs:
("North Wind?"(said the Caller)). "I am coming, cold and dark and =
deadly",
said the North Voice Mask.
("Mountain Wind?") "I am here, adventurous and bold", said Quivin Voice
Mask.
("Beast Wind?") "I am coming, raw and wild and scouring", said
Thunderbringer Voice Mask.
("Earth Wind?") "I am here, warm and gentle from the south", said
Barleybringer Voice Mask.
("Upper Wind?") "I am not here yet."
("Lower Wind?") "I am not here yet."
The monotonous song of the massed crowd of initiates were rising. =
(Drums:
The Gathering Beat - irregular passes.) The sky was beginning to cloud
over. It was hard to tell clouds apart from the firesmoke.
Now, on the flat top of the Hill, between the standing Orlanth-stones, =
were
a slight depression in the ground were no grass grew. It took the form =
of a
chalk-filled, inward spiralling Air-rune. It ended at the Law Rock and =
the
still unlit Sacred Fire. Some Storm Servants brought forth four sheeps =
to
the place were the chalkpattern started. First they carved their own =
hands
with sharp, long, knives. Then they slit the throats of the sheeps and =
held
them up for the whole congregation to see. "Receive our gift, oh Lord.
Receive our sacrifice oh Orlanth." Many clan-members now shifted =
position
and broke out in cries in Stormspeech. Undoubtly they were half-way into
the Other Side.
The carcasses of the sheeps were dragged along the chalk-rune on the
ground. The white chalk turned absolutely dark after they'd passed. =
(Drums
now going Thunder beat - a low rumble with sudden crackling explosions.)
When they reached the center they piled the sheeps around the perimeter =
of
the Sacred Fire. Then they held their palms up to the Law Rock. =
Everybody
could see that the scars were mighty Runes of Movement, Air and Mastery.
The same runes began pulsating among the hundreds now visible on the
surface of the Rock.
By this time I could hear a distant rumble - the thunder was still far
away. But the further the ceremony progressed the harder it became for =
me
to tell thunder and drumbeats apart. There were thunder in the drums and
drums among the clouds. A most scary sensation!
In the ever-increasing din of the drums I saw the Storm Servants take =
hold
of the White-painted cow. It was sweating and trembling with fear but =
had
no chance of escape. Lightning-Lartemal raised an ancient Flint knife =
and
brought it down again with a great force. A gout of blood leaped from =
the
sacrificial animal into the Sacred Fire and suddenly a flame sprang =
forth.
The Sacred Fire was lit and lightningbolts crackled across the now
completely over-cast sky. I could see Rastoron Smoothtounge and someone
from the Jotoring clan put great, magic-wrought horns of bronze to their
lips. They were blown seven times and the world stood still. Everyone =
there
could see the spirit of the cow rise in the air towards the Sky-stead of
Orlanth. Many on-lookers were dark in the eyes with fear and respect, =
but
also brimming with other-worldly energy.
The Law Rock was now shining with an inner light. Thunder and lightning
could be heard and seen everywhere across the heaven, as the Storm =
Voices
released their Runes. The winds were roaring across the landscape. It
ripped and tugged the clothes of everyone. But you could still hear the
droning of the clans, the relentless drumming and the sound of the =
bronze
horns. (An old woman standing beside me: "...born with great noise,
deafening, disabling, like thunder in a cavern, like living in a horn. =
His
visage Rolled over the earth with anger, rumbled across the sky with =
greed,
filled the space with his grey brows and thunder...") The horizons =
became
very hazy. The air itself could be _seen_ swirling. There I saw mighty
cloudhorses blinking in and out of existence. The Flint Slingers were
leaping and doing a humming sound nearby. But still, no rain.
One of the Storm Voices began an invocation for the retelling of the
Orlanth-and-Aroka-saga: "I call upon the Guardians of the Six Directions =
to
awaken, to hold this space between us for our tale. I call upon the =
Talking
God to fill me with his power..." Even though many onlookers were a =
great
distance from the Voice everybody could hear his words as if they were
standing next to him. (Drums: Story beat - slow and steady) Bellowing =
smoke
from the fires were carried by the winds among the standing stones so
sometimes you coludn't see the Storm Voice as he recitated the story of =
how
Orlanth fought against Aroka the Blue Dragon and returned with Heler the
Rain god..."This is the way that Orlanth brought rain to the land." I'm =
not
sure, but I think I heard many other voices fall into line with the
trancelike voice of the reciter and one of them was mighty and
incomprehensible. It sent a shiver down my spine to see the faces carved =
in
the likeness of Orlanth on the six standing stones, with their open =
hollow
mouth and eyes, begin to stir and move their mouths! Maybe the god was
speaking to his worshipers in a secret way only understandable by the
initiated. But I can swear I heard those statues utter the word "I" =
among
the mumbling Stormspeech, or whatever it was.
As the tale was told the Wind Lords brought forth four gigantic sacks,
which they shook and shook. The wind increased. The sky was now =
completely
overcast and the air ripe with magic energies. It hummed. Many people =
were
now doing strange movements and dances striking out at invisible foes
around them. Some men and women had fainted and were brought down the =
hill
by their crying relatives. A twisted wine was set fire to. It must have
scorched the hands of the Wind Lord who held it.
(The Caller:"Upper Wind?") "I am here now, secret, steady and calm-dry",
said the Sylphfather Voice Mask.
I heard words whispered by my side at the same moment; it must have been
the old woman: "Look out. There is strangeness moving among us now. =
Someone
will be given a choise between kin and courage today. And it will not be =
a
godi."
The roaring of the winds, the drums, the smoke, the Stormtounge - my =
mind
was slipping me. What a terror to feel the power of the Storm King =
Orlanth!
And now they were burying a leather rope in a hole in the ground which
suddenly had appeared. An Ernalda priestess blessed the proceedings at =
the
same time as tears were rolling down her face. She must have known what =
was
coming.
("Lower Wind?") "I am here now, secret, hidden and brave and bold", said
Icebreaker Voice Mask.
I saw Lightning-Lartemal urge a Wind Lord into action. The Wind Lord =
drew
his Iron sword. But there must have been some misunderstanding, because
suddenly a figure broke free from the thronging masses of clan-members =
and
crossed the blood-soaked chalk-spiral. It was an ordinary-looking man,
maybe a farmer or a woodsman, but he had a sword, which he drew as he
sprinted forward towards some unseen foe. The Wind Lord tried to =
intercept
him, but was too late. The man thrust his sword and in the same moment =
he
was lifted from the ground by some invisible force and ripped asunder.
Blood and mead and water splashed over the sanctified area. "I am -
Orlanth" echoed across the land. It came from both standing stones, the
man, and the Wind Lord - simultaneously. For a moment an image of a
gigantic, awesome, dark shape could be seen. Maybe I discerned Iron-bone
horns, wicked teeth, maybe some endless dark flood of water, and maybe =
some
evil-looking, bottomless eye, but of that I must not think. The Wind =
Lord
lashed out and a crackling sound was heard. I fell to the ground - =
blinded.
I felt it before I could see it. The rain. It splashed us in the face. =
The
thunder was more distant again. The drums were softer and married
harmoniously with the sound of the bronze horns. (Drums: Celebration
beat.) When my sight returned I could see some house-carls carrying the
corpse of the man down the hill. The Storm Voices were leading a song of
praise and thanks. Everybody drank the rain. The tricksters were =
throwing
beer on the ground. I don't know were the kegs came from. "The wind is =
in
our blood. Hail Orlanth! Hail our Lord! The bringer of rain! The land =
was
cracked. We are in seven pieces. But Orlanth brings us rain. Friend of
things, the giftbringer! Hail Orlanth! Hail Orlanth Rex, Bringer of Fire
and Rain, Keeper of Laws, Lord of the Seven Winds, Judge of the World, =
King
of the Gods. Hail Orlanth!"
The Law Rock was humming and shining with magic. The clans lined up to
receive the blessings of the Storm Voices. Ashes from the Fire and Rain
upon their faces. I was later told that those who have the gift of magic
and has learnt the secret of the Runes are able to sing Runes from the =
Law
Rock so they can call upon the power of Orlanth during the forthcoming
Season.
It was evening now. The rain still fell. After the Law Staff descens =
from
the Rock, the ritual is over and everyone congregates to share a sacred
meal of meat from the sacrificed animals together with Minlister's holy
mead. At the feast I was told that the man who had been ripped apart was
Hrungyrl Rootcrawler of the Jotoring clan. The Chalana High Healer had
failed to ressurect him, and this was taken as a sign that he had been
taken into the Hall of Orlanth. His household would receive help from =
all
the tribe's clans henceforth. Everyone said he had "died Aroka" but =
never
explained if this meant that he had killed Aroka, been killed by Aroka, =
or
been Aroka. A great Stone would be raised in his memory on the slopes of
the Hill. "The Wind is never the same", never had those words sounded =
more
true to me than after the Holy day among the (Culbreans) in the =
fifteenth
year after the fall of Boldhome.
*
Cheers,
Patrik
kaselov.sandberg_at_swipnet.se
- ------------- End Forwarded Message -------------
End of The Glorantha Digest V5 #119
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