Orlanth has many titles, among them King of the Gods, Master of Storms, Death Wielder, and Bringer of Light. He is heir to great portions of his father's, Umath's, realms, and sometimes the distinction between the two is unclear in the legends about early times.
Orlanth is one of the Seven Lightbringers, and is considered the chief of those deities. His worship is widespread. He is a dire foe of the Red Goddess of the Lunar Empire.
Orlanth is worshipped as one of three aspects.
Orlanth Rex is recognized by many as King of the Gods, claiming, by right of his deeds, overlordship of the universe. As such, he knows justice and leadership, fine rhetoric, and other skills needed to rule. In this aspect he is worshipped by chieftains, nobles, and poets.
Orlanth Thunderous is the weather and storm god. As such he represents the power the god possesses over the natural elements of storm. In this aspect he is worshipped by some warriors and by those who live in places often visited by violent weather.
Orlanth Adventurous is the god of the wind. As such his skills as a poet, fighter, and lover are renowned. This aspect appeals to those who wander and adventure. This aspect is the subject of this write-up.
Orlanth is usually portrayed as a vigorous man of varying age, armed with the thunderbolt and other warrior's weapons, and wearing a tribal chieftain's arm rings.
It is said that Orlanth Adventurous welcomes almost all beings who breathe air, provided they join of their own free will.
To become an initiate, the candidate must have been a lay member for a year. He must formally reject all former cult ties and pledge to devote himself "to the winds". He must have a sponsor who is already an initiate.
Rune Lords of Orlanth Adventurous, called Wind Lords, are the supposed embodiment of the Adventurer. His life task is to perform deeds to honor his god. He roams the world seeking danger and strife, impetuously taking up quarrels and fearlessly defending his friends.
Candidates for Wind Lord must have been an initiate for at least a year. Among other skills, a candiate must have at least 90% profiency with any sword weapon.
Wind Lords have the immense benefit of being called upon for many dangerous tasks and chances to try to outshine his contemporaries in feats of glory and prowess. (Many other cults believe this behavior to be less than intelligent.)
Rune Priests of Orlanth Adventurous, Wind Voices, are the vessels for the magic of their god to enter the world. They are responsible for the spiritual health of their entire ministry. They spend much of their time performing the proper rites to keep the wind blowing.
Candidates for Wind Voice must speak both their own tongue and Storm Speech at at least 80% and must have been an initiate for at least two years.
Priests of Orlanth are reverred for their powers of Rune Magic. They must never fail to succor a member of their congregation, and must eat eggs once per week (as a sign of contempt for Yelm).
What do you call 10,000 Lunars at the bottom of the ocean?
A good start.
What's a Lunar in sea? Pollution.
What's every Lunar in sea? Solution.
What do you call 3 Humakti standing in the middle of the road with their swords drawn?
An ambush.
The locals were sure that its tavernkeeper was the strongest man around that they offered a standing bet with a prize of 1000 silver guilders. The tavernkeeper would squeeze a lemon until all the juice ran into a cup, and hand the lemon to a patron. Anyone who could squeeze one more drop of juice out would win the money. Many people had tried over time (arm wrestlers, Uroxi, etc.) but nobody could do it.
One day this scrawny little man came in and said in a tiny, squeaky voice, "I'd like to try the bet." After the laughter had died down, the tavernkeeper said OK, grabbed a lemon, and squeezed away. Then he handed the wrinkled remains of the rind to the little man. But the crowd's laughter turned to total silence as the man clenched his fist around the lemon and six drops fell into the cup.
As the crowd cheered, the tavernkeeper payed the 1000 silvers, and asked the little man, "what do you do for a living? Are you a lumberjack, a weightlifter, or what?"
"Nope," the man replied, "Tax collector."
A Lhankor Mhy devotee, an Orlanth Adventurous devotee and an Uroxi devotee walk into the local tavern. All three sit down and order horns of mead. As they discuss the day events the tavern keep brings each a horn overflowing with fine mead.
The Lhankor Mhy sage looks down and notes a fly swimming in his mead. "What sort of feculant establishment are you running here!", he shouts. He begins to quote the law of Heort and the punishments for transgressions of hospitality and the connection between the fly and Malia of the unholy trio. The tavern keeper quickly pours out his mead and brings him another horn with abject apologies.
The Orlanthi then looks down at his horn of mead and also notes a fly floundering about in his mead. He looks at the fly for a moment, grasps the horn and says, "Force is always an option!" and gulps down the entire horn fly and all.
Lastly the Uroxi warrior looks down and also sees a large black fly swimming in his mead. He carefully takes the horn from the bar and shakes off his leather and bronze gauntlet. With the bare hand he carefully reaches into the horn of mead and gently grasps the fly by the wings. He then lifts the fly so that it is just above the mead horn and slowly brings the horn and the fly close to his lips and with an earth shaking bellow roars, "Spit it out you bastard!!"
Orlanth went travelling and wandering, as was his wont, hunting with Odalya to find beasts to hunt. They
hunted for a long time, and Orlanth enjoyed the sport. But hunting is not battle, and he wished to raid the
Fire Tribe and feel the weight of the sword in his hand rather than the bow, and taunt and humiliate his foes
in battle.
So he returned to his tula. Ernalda bothered him when he returned, saying that times were hard, and they should not go raiding.
"Enough, silly woman! We shall raid and gain glory and booty, and our clan will prosper. My sturdy weaponthanes shall slice the weak Fire Tribe, and we will beat them as I beat the Emperor in the contests before the Storm Age."
But when Orlanth went to inspect his weaponthanes, they were weak and ill-nourished. Their swords and shields were battered and rusty. Ten of them could not have stood against a hoplite of the Fire Tribe.
Orlanth was shamed and angry that the weaponthanes were so weak and ill-prepared. He thundered at them for their idleness and poor condition.
"Do not blame us, O Chief. The carls are stingy with their grain, and won't muster for the fyrd to fight with us. Gustbran will not fix our weapons, or forge new ones. Our war magic is weak because the godi do not perform the rituals. What weapons we still have and what energy and strength is still in our bodies we must conserve to defend the tula against our enemies, because we know for sure hard times are ahead."
"Those lazy and selfish carls, they shame our clan ", fulminated Orlanth. And he went into the fields, to scold Barntar for not feeding the tribe. But when he saw Barntar, we saw Barntar was wounded in the heel, and the ploughs and hoes were rusty, damaged and falling to pieces. And all the carls looked hungry.
Orlanth held his tongue for a change, and asked Barntar what had happened. "The barns and fields were attacked again and again by the Night Tribe. I was wounded. They stole much of our grain. We fought with our tools, but we are farmers, not warriors, and only a few of those loafing weaponthanes would came to our aid. We damaged many of our tools in the fighting, but Gustbran would not forge more for us, and those tools left have feel into disrepair. Our crop magic is weak too, and the White Goddess will not spend magic to heal my wound. But I am doing what I can, and conserving the grain so it will last longer. Because we know for sure hard times are ahead."
Orlanthi feel silent, his anger against Barntar gone. "Gustbran. His forge-fire has went out, and he is too lazy to stoke it up again. I’ll take his hammer from him and forge HIM."
So Orlanth went to Gustbran’s forge, ready to pound his head with a hammer, and heat Gustbran’s backside in his own forge.
But when Orlanth got to the forge, he saw no piles of weapons or tools. And hardly any ore or charcoal. The forge was dim, its fire damped down. Gustbran, normally no happier when pounding out swords and ploughs for the tribe, sat listless by the anvil. His ribs stuck through his skin, as did those of his workmen.
Orlanth’s anger became as cool as week-old ashes. He asked Gustbran quietly why his workshop was cold and still as Subere’s heart.
Gustbran mumbled "The miners are too weak with hunger to dig for the ore. And the stickpickers are too busy foraging for food to gather wood to make charcoal for the forge I cannot get the carls to give us enough grain. I have asked Issaries to trade for what we need, but he laughed in my face. But it does not matter. Our magic is so weak now, that any weapons or tools I forged would be weak and puny things. Best to conserve our resources of ore and charcoal for later, because for sure hard times are ahead."
Orlanth turned on his heel and walked out of the forge without another word.
Orlanth then thought "Trade. Trade. That’s what we need. Let me get the Talking God to shut up for a minute, get off his pampered ass and get his cart rolling to trade for what we need, and we’ll be up and ready to go raiding again."
So Orlanth went to Issaries. Issaries stead was in poor condition, with the decorations and plush fixtures that had been before stripped away. Issaries himself was almost in rags. Orlanth was surprised to see Issaries so disheveled, but shouted at him why he had not been trading to get the tribe what they needed.
Issaries almost shook with laughter. Orlanth was tempted to strike him for his insolence, but instead heard him out.
"Have you changed jobs with Eurmal? Look at me! How can I trade dressed in rags
like these ? Our trading partners will fear they will get our bad luck if they take our goods."
"We were attacked by bandits in the last few trading missions. While you were off
shooting rabbits with Odalya, I was barely able to get one or two weaponthanes to guard the caravan, and they were too weak and their swords to rusty to be any good, and the dull carls are too attached to breaking their backs in their fields to help defend our wealth. And we had no magic to protect our paths. So we were robbed time and again, and could not defend ourselves. The last time, we had so little for the bandits that they even took the clothes from our backs. We have hardly anything left. Do you want me to trade a loincloth in return for bronze from Argan Argar? What little we have left we must keep it in case we need to pay debts or to use in an emergencies. Best to conserve it, because for sure hard times are ahead."
Orlanth left with Issaries still mocking him. He thought "Magic. We need magic and luck, and healing for the sick and hungry. Let me go to the temple."
Orlanth went to the temple, to speak with the godi there. Chalana Arroy was there, as was the Knowing God, Lhankor Mhy. He asked Lhankor Mhy to sacrifice to make the clan’s magic stronger, and Chalana Arroy to heal the sick and listless. But Chalana told they had no wealth to sacrifice, and that the sick were sick with hunger, so magic would not help them when their bellies were empty. Lhankor Mhy also said there was no wealth to sacrifice for more magic, and he feared using what little was left.
Orlanth asked the Knowing God for advice, but Lhankor Mhy’s wits were befuddled with hunger, because he kept saying on the one hand this and on the other hand that, until Orlanth was tempted to cut off one of his arms just to get a straight answer. Both the White Goddess and the Gray Sage advised him that the clan magic should not be squandered now, because for sure hard times were ahead.
Orlanth certainly agreed things were getting worse. "Violence is always an option", he thought, but when he remembered the state his sorry-looking weaponthanes, hedecided "maybe it’s not an option right now".
Orlanth thought and thought on the problem until his head hurt. He couldn’t think of an answer, and Ernalda was bothering him again and again to do something, so Orlanth decided to slink off and get drunk with Eurmal. Eurmal had stolen enough grain to make beer, and they both drank and drank until their heads were sore. Now Orlanth’s head was sore from worrying and from drinking, so he didn’t feel any happier. He just felt worse. Orlanth bemoaned the fate of his clan, and how everybody had let him down when he went travelling.
Eurmal rambled drunkenly, "Maybe you could kill a Dragon again and take its horde. After all, a Dragon just sits on its wealth. It’s of no use to it. And Dragons don’t ever have hard times, so what are they storing it up for? Hee hee. Maybe we could dig up a buried treasure."
Orlanth slurred, "Buried Treashure. Yesh. Thatsh a good idea. Where could we find it."
Eurmal sniggered, "We could bury the treasure ourselves, and then dig it up." And he laughed and laughed at his great joke.
Orlanth did not laugh, but fell quiet after Eurmal's joke. His brows furrowed as he pondered. He stood up, at once all sober: "The Hard Times aren’t ahead. The Hard Times are right now. We have buried a treasure in the ground. We have a dragon’s horde right here, sitting doing nothing. And, by Asrelia’s tits, we’re going to dig it up".
So Orlanth then did a bold thing, a thing of a leader. He went to the weaponthanes, and took some of their jewelry and their better weapons. They protested, but Orlanth said "The clan needs your wealth to work harder. I say this as your leader, who you have sworn to follow. Some of this I shall take as a tithe, but some is a loan, which I shall repay you in good time." He went to the carls, and took some of their grain and cattle, explaining to them about tithes and loans. He went to Issaries and the merchants, and took some of their wealth. He gave some of the wealth and cattle to the godi, and told them to sacrifice for luck and magic. The people were uncertain, but they trusted Orlanth as their leader, though what he was doing seemed strange and reckless to them. Because could he not see that harder times were ahead?
He gave some of the weapons, wealth and cattle to Issaries, and told him hire mercenaries to protect the caravans. Orlanth also told him to trade for better clothes for himself, so the Talking God would look prosperous, and then to strike bargains for ore and charcoal and the other items the clan needed. He gave some of the grain to Gustbran, who fed the miners and the stickpickers, and he told Gustbran to forge tools and weapons, which Orlanthi again took, part as tithes and part as loans. He gave these new-forged tools and weapons to the carls and weaponthanes.
The carls grew more grain with the new tools and magic, which he took and used to feed the weaponthanes up to better health. The weaponthanes then felt strong enough to defend the tula, the caravans, and finally to raid the Fire Tribe in a glorious victory, which was celebrated in a feast. Everybody became happy and cheerful and soon forgot about the hard times, and stopped hoarding. The clan once again grew strong.
In the new prosperity, Orlanth paid most of the loans back, and gifted those who gave the loans with more than they had lent. But the tithes remained, so that the Chief could use the some of the wealth of the tribe for the good of all the tribe, so it would not be hoarded and useless like the hoard of a dragon. That is why we Orlanthi value generousity. Because wealth hoarded is idle wealth.
And Orlanth still kept some debts unpaid, though he paid interest to the owner of the loans; for it was wealth the tribe owed itself, and so made the tribe no poorer.
And so it was that the hard times ended.