A place to put your stories, back stories, anecdotes and downright lies…..

Offered with grateful appreciation to Oliver Dickinson; whose tales kept me in touch with Glorantha through many a long Gameless year. I cannot imagine that anyone in this game is not familiar with this great man's work; but, if you are unfamiliar with it, rush out and buy a Griselda book. At once.

The title is simply one that I think fits: I'm not sure myself where the horn has actually got to. The narrative came from a potential scenario hook.

A Horn in the Hand is worth Two in the Rubble

It all starts after the Sable races, when Big Nygg is dancing off with this broad and not so much as a thankyou for helping to set the odds; leaving me to wander back alone.

This means I am walking through Badside in a hurry, very much keeping my gaze upon my feet, when who should offer me a drink but Becx Two-Hands.
Now she's a broad you don't take the time of day from without making enquiries regarding the price in barter. What she is giving with one hand she is taking back with the other; and usually with interest. I am a guy who does not need to have his drink, and I am on the point of making my excuses when she sees the look on my face and says the magic words: "No obligation, Olaf".

So I am stepping into this ramshackle hut with her when the delicate aroma of decaying wharves hits me. At the table, I see two specimens I take to be fishermen because zombies are reputed to be cleaner and a Humakti is once explaining to me that the remarkable thing about ghouls is the way they don't smell of second-hand fish.
When my nose has given up trying to crawl inside my face for safety, it is time for the eyes to do their stuff and what they bring to the party is almost worth the price of admission. There on the table, half wrapped in a net, lies a fine Sable horn; all nicely carved; with what seems suspiciously like a red crystal jammed in the base by some sort of worked golden fixing. Now this is hefty merchandise for a pair who know their way round the insides of a fish better than the contents of a money purse, and I am asking myself what the cross might be plus how come it is so important I see the thing when one of the smelly brigade is making me wish I had headed for the Rubble instead of home. "Come on, Becx", he asks with a derisive glance at yours truly. "You are telling us you can deal with the heat for a price: is this your muscle or something?".

I am already wincing as I am told off to keep my ale company by the barrel in the corner and not disturb proceedings unless I am keen to get a boff on the beezer – an instruction I do not question because if there's one thing my beezer values it is repose – when I hear the whiffy twins told I am here as insurance because nobody sensible goes causing trouble in front of a blabbermouth you can back against all comers. I am drawing breath to explain how I do not deserve this pretty compliment, but have to exhale quietly into my mug because the door is darkened by something looking very much like a mountain on legs but which on closer inspection is Badside Samm, the Sables' chief enforcer when as is all too common a town matter crops up. At this point, being the centre of attention is not such an attractive or healthy choice for someone who enjoys the little pleasures of life such as owning a full set of legs.

I am having to hand it to Becx at this point: before Samm can make with his fists, he is learning how he had better come to terms unless the dearest wish of his heart is for his ever-loving wife to find out how the business he transacts each Clayday on Crook Street is not exactly as mother makes and is in fact a doll called Goneera the Sheath; in part on account of her fascination with swords that do not rightly belong to her but mainly due to her living by the death temple so she can avoid disrupting her trade by presenting her man friends with any inconvenient babies. Now this knocks the bounce clean out of Samm, who turns a strange shade of green and slumps on a seat by the table like he has taken one to the short ribs. I once see him punch out a zebra left-handed, but he must be yoked to one tough judy for he is no longer wearing the expression of a man bent on seeing us choose between having our features rearranged for us or handing over the artifact with alacrity. In fact, he is all ears when Becx unleashes her scheme, by which she is taking the horn off to the Lunars; as it turns out all parties intended from the start; but instead of the label reading, "A present from the Ingillis" or "In celebration of our growing alliance" she will put it across as a joint effort with kudos for all as a symbol of Lunar Harmony.

Those present have some trouble getting this down at first, and there is much spluttering over who dredged the thing up and whose antelope ancestor carved those runes and such, but short of mass murder – which is apt to cause trouble when there is every chance someone will get away to spill the beans – there is little alternative. Anyway, it is seeming like a real lily of a plan if only it works. In the end, Samm grins hugely and reckons he can sell the deal to his khan so long as there is no gabbing of weekly business arrangements near his family. With all this excitement, I am becoming somewhat stewed up keeping the ale barrel company so what the Pongo Brothers have to say gets by me apart from it sounding relieved. Anyway, the party breaks up in decent humour.

On our way back to the River Gate, I am not asking for the lowdown off Becx either: in this man's town, a reputation for wanting to find out other people's business can be bad for the constitution; especially if those people are thinking their affairs are of the private kind. Still, Becx is telling me that she does not intend to reel me into that conference without my say-so but things happen quicker than her reckoning allows for. She even says to come and see her one day if I am in need of some scratch because I am doing her a significant favour by being among those present, and I am mightily glad of this because I back a loser that evening and get to pondering how to stake myself for a few little items such as rent.

In fact, on the evening when I turn up to see Becx I have barely a couple of clacks to rub together, but when I go through her door I consider a change of plan and going round the corner to Teelo Norri instead as an answer to my shorts. She is sitting on the floor, which is not her usual habit as she prefers a nice chair, and I am fixing to make some somment about her having her pots on early and where is my mugful when she groans like a rusted hinge and tells me she is glad it is me because for the past hour or so all she is seeing is Orlanth's Ring dancing round her head in quicktime.

Whoever is whacking her does a nice professional job of it. No blood, just a lump the size of a slingstone and a headache it takes two goes with some Healing to fix up.

"Maybe I am getting too advanced in years for this game, Olaf" Becx tells me, starting in on a blush. "I am just shutting shop when along come these two little customers, all hooded up so their faces don't meet the eye and wearing big wide flappy shoes. Of course, I ask them their business thinking they are maybe Mostali incognito, and one is telling me to come look at this rare item he fumbles for under his cloak. Feather-lined it was, I think."

She is redder than a Vingan's hair by now.

"So I am bending down to see the merchandise when I fall for the oldest trick in the book. The other one must be slugging me from behind because the next thing I see is your physiognomy, and that lifted board over there is telling me they make off with the Sable artifact out of the river. And I am meant to present it to His Nibs up at the governor's residence soon as well."

"Back home there is a scholar - Hero or something - who can find anything. Not yet being tired of breathing in and out, I am much in need of someone like that right now."

And of course, that is why I am telling you all this. It goes no further, I hope.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:58, Fri 03 Feb 2017.

Well, Melock, we have a long watch to pass tonight. As I promised, I'll try to make the time pass well as we watch. Here's a tale I once heard, though I can't vouch for its truth. It's called the tale of

Ongar the Unstung

Sometimes, there is a hidden valley shaded by the Gold Lamb on Sartar's marches; lush like a garden where the grain nigh-on reaps itself and Berry Boy runs its trackway verges throwing sweet fruits to weary travellers at day's end. Tellers claim that the moonrise there shows silver as if the light's blood has been taken from it and the husk dried clean, but tellers say many things that are hard to sift to truth. Untouched by Jaldon's raids, it is; for when his war-band was westfaring he clapped his teeth together so mightily the warriors turned from thoughts of easy plunder to look at him. "It is like the garden that was once ours and which the wastes may be again", was his message; as they turned aside in joyful sorrow to find a new war road.

The sheep of the dwellers there are thought to have luck if their curved and shapely horns grow through with silver strands upon them: such beasts are free from the stinging flies that mar hides and turn milk sour. The womenfolk thank the earth when such a one is found; yet Ernalda has revealed this is none of her doing. Like us, the people move their herds for grazing so none could say from whence the silver came.

A fair place, you would think; and maybe you would be right; yet there was a time when its men found it ill, fair living coming to taste like the ashes of a fire burned low. The hunting was easy and with no foes to slay they grumbled at disuse. Grumbled and cast around for means to prove their manhood. As if they needed such proof – as their wives could have told them should the question have chanced to be asked, there is always another way to prove such things. Yet, men being men the world across, they searched and found a fear. A dark hole like a wound in the earth with no tale to be told, hid in their storm season grazelands; fluttering with webs at its edge but lightless below, seeming to drink in the daylight to feed some arcane hunger. A suspect place, perhaps, for in many a year the season's count of the herd would tally imperfectly.

This the so very brave herders and hunters resolved to assault. All save Ongar, a man in years but cleverer than his strength and one who saw many hidden joys. "It has its place and its beauty", he said. "The dew maid dances with those wisps after the rains, and once Elmal sent the Rainbow Girl to rejoice in the dance with her". For this telling, laughter was his lot: as the others  prepared their swords and their torches, he was sent to watch the sheep alone, finding comfort in their rich voices and the glint of starlit silver atop woolly brows.

No tale was told of what befell by the men who entered that hole. Return they did from the unknown; but with open wounds that healed slowly and closed mouths that never spoke of below. As their hurts grew less they found other things to kill more fitting to their stature. Many of the honey-pawed knew the bite of bronze that year and found little protection in their hide of rich fur, becoming a memory of strength roasting on camp spits above the grateful flames. Food, but not for Ongar; who sat still at pasture watching strands fly on the storm and curvet in gusts by the dark maw of the hole like unconquered pennons snapping homage to the winds.

Sacred time followed storm to the renewing of the world once more; and as growing time came the woods seemed to hum with new life. And hum they did, with increasing pitch and anger. Soon, hunters told tales of the bite of the woods and stings like thorns; their truth shown clear in blotched faces. Then were troubled those who draw the plough, dancing crazily with flailing arms and hooted at by laughing children until they too saw yellow and black pain draw near. The brewer smiled at first, thinking of the death of bears and speaking of mead and Minlister, but not for long; taking to his bed with by no means the first pained and swollen body the white robes had needed to tend.

Up higher, at fertile sea season pasture, Ongar watched the flocks all unknowing, drinking the sweet water and eating fresh honeycomb among the silvered sheep, till a wandering trader passed him by. "It's good to see a normal person", he remarked, sharing bread and savoury cheese from his wallet in exchange for wild golden sweetness, "Down there it's nothing but stung faces and poultices. The white ladies have had near all my cloth. Not that I grudge them, for they cured my own ills on a promise when times were bad".

"I am unstung", thought Ongar that night having waved on the wanderer, and he thought long under the stars among the sheep. What passed before him in the stars' reflection on the stranded horns, he never told, save that he saw a sight and inside him he thought a thing which took him down with the sheep to his village; for at daybreak he was there where people meet and speaking with a loud, clear voice.

"I bring word from a grandmother. The truth of my word to you men is in that which you have not spoken, for it is from the spider that drove you back from her home – she against whom you set your faces and of whom you closed your mouths in defeat. Her word is this."

"I take a sheep betimes, but I pay. Oh yes, I pay, you fools who have forgotten. Silver webs on the horns, strands on the winds to keep the fliers that sting from your sheds, my children in the forest to keep the flying stripes in their place. Yet you choose to come to my home like thieves with torches to burn and sow rapine? Well now you have paid, and now you have seen. Send me a sheep and be done, unless you like your new faces, for I am hungry and we all have our place on the web: pluck it, and maybe the thing it shakes off will be you.".


It is curious to see how lax a tally the storm season shepherds keep in that valley now but there is no more call for the white robes' poultices thanks to Ongar the Unstung, longtime spirit-talker of the She who dwells Beneath; and the smiles that play round the edges of the goodwives' lips seem to hint that their husbands are maybe learning to ask how to prove their worth with other, less fatal, weapons.


Hoskar smiles hopefully at Melock. I hope the tale pleases you – don't mind admitting just between us the spider spirit scares the horn off me, and I'm not sure what you really intend with her, but it puts me in mind of what I wonder if you looked to achieve, and perhaps still will.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:04, Wed 10 Feb 2016.

"While we are sitting here, I'll tell you how I found that canteen" He gets himself comfortable.

"Bright treasure was close to entering the gates of dusk when we found the campsite we were looking for. It was within a jumble of rocks surrounded by cactuses of different sizes. The knot map we were following said it was a haven, surrounded by cactus. We followed the trail to its center and found a sand covered clearing, littered with old camp fires and on one side a massive slab of rock jutting up from the ground with enough space underneath to shelter us if a storm hit. In the middle of the clearing stood a cactus, 2 lances high and covered in spines, looking like the granddaddy of the smaller ones.
 As we entered the campsite, Kaonu jumped off Yellow Wing and grabbed some prickly pears from the nearby cactuses, Kobal followed him, but was after something else that ran off.
As I entered the clearing and looked at one of the old fires, I saw a strange red blob, so I dismounted and investigated, while Amara kept look out. When I got closer, I found it to be a part of a hyena, possibly killed by the pack lizards we encountered the night before.
As the party separated, Greeshar clutches his head and bellowed a warning, "Chaos!" He nudged Stoneskin forward and got his lance ready so he could charge whatever the foul chaos turned out to be. We all looked up and checked our weapons, and waited for Greeshar to tell us where to go. After scanning the area, Greeshar called the all clear.
While Greeshar was looking for Chaos and Kaonu was picking prickly pears, they had both seen signs of Grandfather Jerboa, so they both headed in to the cactuses looking for him. Amara and Fireborn decided to check that none of the pack lizards where still around, while the rest of us, apart from Whispers from the Sky and Long Grass's fetch, hunted for anything to eat.
The clouds gathered and the smell of rain was in the air as we settle down to eat under the overhang. We found signs of other travellers in the form of broken equipment and hundreds of prickly pear spines. Once we had eaten, Kaonu and I headed out in to the darkness to set snares, just as the rain started, hoping to catch some jerboa for breakfast.
When we got back from setting the snares, it became apparent that we had missed Amara and Whispers disagreeing over something, as Whispers stalked passed us saying she is taking the first watch. As I look around at the others, trying to figure out what had been said, Fireborn held up a very flat jerboa which looked like a rhino had trodden on it, which he fed to Sun Chaser. I was about to ask what had been said, when an unearthly scream pierced the dark, followed by a sickening squelch of something hard hitting soft flesh. The bison and rhino started bucking and stamping and going wild.
We all grabbed our weapons and ran out in to the wet darkness, Kaonu and Long Grass did their best to calm the mounts, while the rest of us ducked and dived our way through the mass of angry beasts. Amara was the first of us to make it passed the mounts and she saw Whispers unconscious but no sign of her attacker.
When the rest of us got there, Amara turned and growled at us, her face so full of rage that Stoneskin, with Greeshar on his back, bellowed his anger. As she growled at us, we all felt a sense of doom and anger trying to worm its way in to our minds. Kobal gave voice to what we are all thinking, "Beware, foul magic!"
Amara drew her sword and charged toward Salen, with his death in her eyes, Salen barely managed to avoid having his head severed by her, Amara tried again, growling all the time. While Amara and Salen were fighting, I started to look round, hoping to find what attack Whispers and was controlling Amara.
Kobal cast a charm to slow Amara down and Greeshar, seeing an opportunity, jumped from the back of Stoneskin and landed on Amara. Kobal then stepped in and knocked her out.
Mean while I had found some strange tracks in the ground, big round ones, about the size and shape of my old shield, suddenly it clicked, it was the giant cactus. So I made it look like I was following some tracks that went past it, then, when I got near it, I stabbed it. When I pulled my sword out, a vile green liquid sprayed over me and the giant cactus started to move. Even though I was expecting it to move, it still shocked me which is why it managed to hit me and Fireborn, who was fairly close by, sending us both flying. My left arm and Fireborn's right arm were both crushed to a bloody pulp. Luckily for me Long Grass come running to my aid.
While Kaonu chucked his javelin, Salen attacked it with a flaming torch and Greeshar, jumping back upon the mighty Stoneskin, the only mount who hadn't run away, charged the monster. Kaonu's javelin barely scratched it, Salens torch got ripped out of his hand by a massive arm as it narrowly missed his head. Stoneskin zigged when he should of zagged and ended up missing, which caused Greeshar's lance to dig in to the ground almost unseating him.
Just as it is looking like we are about to be flattened like that jerboa, a javelin burst out of the monsters chest, killing it instantly. As it fell it revealed a very smug looking Kaonu, which he had every right to be, as he had just killed a giant walking cactus with one shot.
Once Long Grass had help Fireborn, he rushed over and help heal Whispers, though its a close thing as she had lost a lot of blood.
Then the cactus melted in to this foul smelling liquid and gas, which made most of us throw up and tainted all out water.
We headed back to the overhang to get out of the rain and away from the smell. Later while I was on watch and walking around, I saw something sticking out of the ground, the sand having been washed off of it by the rain, it was the canteen, still held by its owners skeletal hand."

Hoskar's river trip through the Rubble; now with added Uz

It begins soon after I roll up in the city, shaken and nervous after that bad battle and fleeing north to escape the bastard Sables' mop-up. I am rather a wreck then, waking in the night seeing Jondar's face with that arrow in it and such. Becx has been out two nights straight, but one morning she is back and not saying much about her doings. She is wearing the expression of someone on the edge of a big thing – smug and kind of worried all at once. To this day I have no idea what she gets in trade, but she does say she is off again to see a man in the Rubble about a deal and wants everyone – me too – to bring a crate when sent for. Worryingly, she adds to me that if no word comes by Godsday I should get my two feet out of here to the wastes with Kor and as much portable property as can be shifted pronto.

Believe me, I am mighty edgy the next day; not wanting to lose my other parent so soon; and get a real kick when a message comes in before sunup the morning after telling us to be by the river quick. That is my first time face to face with an Uz. Well, an Enlo anyway – one of the stunted ones. Can't believe it, but the Lunars have got those little buggers enforcing curfews now, and they're a crafty bunch although this one seems nothing special. No fangs and his body is twisted a bit. But he's haughty and no mistake, like he's too grand to be taking messages for some salt-shifting Issaries type. All puffed up and wanting to be away while it's dark, he shoves me the note saying "this is for you, boy" then turns his back and is off like a rat into a sewer.

As you can guess, all this is top beans to me: mother safe, river trip, and a sight of the insides of the old walls. I am hopping up and down to be gone while the hired staff laugh at me when they think I don't see it and mutter about danger. It is quite a trudge round through the gate to the river, and wanting to keep things quiet we aren't leaving by the river gate either; but when we get to the jetty I see why Becx wants me there for manpower: there's this great big box in a boat ready to go and I am not looking forward so much to unshipping it later on.

A few rivermen are on board to guide the boat and push us off, and I think someone waves a permit before we're off. Largely, the current can just take you down in that direction, but rowing helps. It is eerie floating through those walls into the old city: the sheer size of them you'll not believe unless you see. Reckon all of us standing on one another's shoulders wouldn't reach the top and they're thick to match. What's worse, when you're past them and in it's like you're trapped there in a different world with no way back against the flow.

To be honest, I am not seeing much detail for most of the trip. The idea is not to attract attention in there unless you desire to win the runner-up prize in a missile fight, so I don't stand up and take in the view. To the right at first we could see the hill where they graze zebra, but everyone knows about that. And then we go under a bridge.

I think the riverfolk throw some sort of toll onto the bank for a guard, but I am just staring up like my jaw stops working. Built like the walls, those bridges: looking like one piece of stone shaped by centuried charms into an arch. Vast. And high. If the rumours about why they say Zola Fel is the river of cradles are accounting for their height...well...I would not like to be meeting the parents.

After that, we all hunker down and watch for trouble – the men tell me it's a bad area – but I pray to Issaries for peace and either he hears or we get lucky and it is quiet. One thing I do see, though, is an opening on the left. Room for a big boat to go in with walls set back from the river, but I am not wanting to go in there if I can help it: the water is darker than is wholesome, or so it strikes me. I enquire later and am told there's a complex in there – some experiment or other from before the old city falls. It gives me the shivers back then, and I'm not sure I'd like it much now.

So there I am, totally creeped out and staring so hard at the left bank for trouble that I miss the rest of the view till it's starting to go dark and we're going under the last bridge. I must have been losing it with the tension by then, for I think I see a man with leaves looking down at us and spend some time checking I'm awake because it just all keeps getting stranger. Past the bridge, the right bank is green as far as you can see and the left is troll ruins: old buildings with new junk. The lads are getting less twitchy now – they say we're less likely to be jumped by bandits here – but I am well relieved when we pass through the walls again and are out; and still happier to see Ram there on the bank with a couple of sturdy fellows I know mother hires when there's hefty lifting to be done.

I am not going to bore you with how we heaved that crate out of the boat – hard work doesn't entertain. One fool almost had Ram's eye out, and my little heal charm came in handy once we'd convinced him the man wouldn't look prettier with a horn up his arse. Took three goes of healing – he's still got the scar.

It gets interesting again when we've lugged things up to where the wall on our left gets ruinous. Can't imagine what it takes to knock it down like that, but it reminds me of that place we camped before we attacked the shaman at the Finger Holes: giant masonry scattered by some massive force. Anyway, there is Becx waiting for us with altogether too many Uz for my liking in the starlit darkness. Big fellows with fangs either side of their jaws and snouts rather than noses, plus a gaggle of the little ones running round having what sounds like orders barked at them although I don't understand any of it.

The word I am getting along the way is to keep back, stay quiet and speak Trade if I have to as they don't like not to understand. Oh, and if any of them says something is his, don't touch it with any body part I want to keep. Thanks to this, I am not putting myself forward for conversation but keep quiet and play nervously with a black stone I found while fleeing the battle. Nothing special, but someone had carved an open circle into it.

Do not be letting anyone con you into thinking the Uz aren't organized: one word from the bigger of the two standing with Becx and the rest are jumping to it. That crate is off the rhino and into the hands of the biggest four of anything two-legged I've ever seen before you can say winking and Becx has a pouch in her hands from one of the little ones who is surprisingly well dressed. Flunky perhaps.

I am taking all this in, turning the stone over in my hand, when the other big Uz that was by Becx is standing right by me. He moves like oiled velvet – I hear not a thing till he is on top of me, all fangs and unreadable expression and me only just coming up to his chest wondering if I'm on the menu.

"You give me that, I give you this" he is saying in passable Trade. He is pointing at my stone with one hand and holding some sort of chinking pouch in the other, and I am not about to argue. "Deal", I quaver and hold out the stone; which he takes from me surprisingly gently. I remember the touch of his hand is as rough as dry old leather, but I am not thinking of much apart from not running at the time. He plonks the purse in my other hand, and is gone; and when my vision clears from panic and I look up there is not an Uz to be seen anywhere.

I still have no idea if he 'tyried me or not: that stone could have been anything from a worthless carving to the tear of his god and I'd not care. For all I know, he is taking it for a snack. Not that I mind either way – I am still alive to talk of it and that's what matters.

I don't recall much about the trip back. We just went outside the wall and I was dog-tired, but I do remember Becx is grinning like Melock's familiar there after a hearty meal and is pleased with me. She is shaking too, though – when I greet her after the deal, I can feel it through her hands.

The pouch? I still have that. Quite a lot of troll coins in there. Could use them in my sling, but I keep them as curiosities.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:33, Thu 12 Feb 2015.

The Wasted Khan

I recall that we had lost our way, but not where we were going. The guides were embarrassed and casting around for anything they might recognise in the unfamiliar twilight while Jondar ran to and fro checking the train and Becx fretted, her emotion making me uneasy. I was only a lad then, you know. We were resolved to press on into the night; knowing at least our direction from the setting of Bright Treasure; when a flickering light to the right of our chosen trail came into view.

Before even our guides could react, Jondar was off to investigate and once again I was proud to be his son. First into every new venture, he was. In moments we had his report of safety and with the caravan I saw for myself.

Beside the trail was a hollow. In the hollow, a firepit fierce in flickering flame. Upon the flames a steaming cauldron suspended. Beside the cauldron, an aged man clad only in a loincloth of badly-tanned fur from some small animal; ribs starkly shadowed in the dusk and stirring a broth.

Young though I was, I saw that this was strange. He was alone in the plaines without weapon and seeming without fear. His cooking pot was great enough for many, so how had he filled it alone, or put it to the roaring blaze? Somewhere beyond the circle of firelight, I thought I heard his mount move: a hooved tramp almost like that of a big deer yet not really – softer and more delicate maybe, but still big.

I am giving you an idea of time passing here, but the scene came in a flash for as soon as we reached the edge of the light the venerable cook stood straight, hand raised in greeting. Welcome, he said. It seems this night we will be lost together for a time, though I sense that you at least will find your road rising to greet you in the morning. Fire, air and darkness are free comrades. Maybe they and the outcast will bless us, and there is no harm here.

Can’t say why, but I felt drawn to this stranger with his brown cooking pot. Brown outside, anyway: I saw later the inside was white like a bone despite its age and use. The guides hesitated, but I went forward into the firelight before even Jondar could move. Could swear the old man mouthed “wotcha” at me; but I was very young and tired eyes can play tricks on still-children. My going forward seemed to break the tension; probably because I wasn’t eaten by ghosts or stuck full of arrows from ambush now I think of it; and soon we were all by the fire, or as close as we could get for the heat was fierce in the chill, and our host was helping us all to liberal doses of a meaty stew while Becx actually broached a cask of Esrolian for good cheer at an unexpected benison. This seemed to loosen the stranger’s tongue for he offered us a tale – a rare one that happened when the land was in danger of the darkness.

I’ll try and tell you what I recall of it as he told it, but it’s been many years and I was a shade addled – had managed to filch some wine and was kind of busy counting my fingers and wondering at their shape.


There was the long-nose Khan, and he rode two: a mated pair. He was curious, and wanted to know where the wind came from and where the darkness went in the morning.

There was the outsider, and he came and went as he pleased with all places alike as long as he could ride there quietly on Mount.

Then there was jackrabbit, and he had some fine new puppets on strings that could jump up through the sky and vanish quick as anything so even the sharpest eye could not follow or see where they went.

And as usual, there was mischief.

Whatever you hear tell of the old long-noses, remember there were never many. They tramped their paths and saw what they saw, but the tribes did not grow. They went their own way, and I don’t say these were the last; but any others are longer gone than an old whore’s maidenhead and less likely to be found again as well. This young khan wanted to know, though. Wanted the why and the where, and to travel new paths without the old memories, and his folk would not gainsay him for he was the khan and they knew they were few. Maybe they wanted to be something other than they were, and that’s always dangerous.

Mostly, their new paths led true enough from what I’ve heard, but it was one promising start that led to their end. At the leaping place they gained a rare gift of the river – a jumping magic into the rising sun exchanged for the shine of the setting sun on a spray of water only the long-noses could shower. It was the outsider showed them there to the secret place, though his fear of below kept him from the cave behind the falls and the inner secret of warm-sun-on-the-water. The long-noses couldn’t jump far before that and afterwards…well afterwards they never jumped again. But now I get ahead of myself. Need to tell you of that old jackrabbit first, for there he was a little downriver drinking the refreshing water and practising with his puppets making them dance like they were alive. It was there the outsider saw him, wandering straight through tricks to keep watchers away as all places were the same for him; and I wish that day had never dawned, for over he went to ask that old trickster wot’cha doing? I guess he wanted to find something out for himself while the long-nose clan was below, but all what you learn off Jack Rabbit is not to turn your back on him ever unless you want your breeches sliced open and your arsehole stolen.

I am of the view jackrabbit probably thought “ahey – here’s a rube on whom to check my puppets and maybe find out where they really do go", but I can’t say I’m sure. All I know for definite is he put on a fine show and a fine speech, those manikins acting out like they were real then scooting up-up away when the tale told of miracles and rescue. “I’m creating new truth” said jackrabbit, and that should have warned anyone whose mind wasn’t asleep. “The man who follows these and can see where they go will learn a new thing, for even I don’t know that – just that they come back when fetched.”.

Now the outsider wasn’t young and wasn’t daft, but he was beaten this time as anyone can be by tricks – even Urox and Tada in their day – except maybe the sun’s clear sight if it’s looking in the right place at the time. I know a man who desires new paths, the outsider thought; saying, “Stick around, my friend, and maybe that new thing will be told to you”. And off he went to find the khan when he’d finished in that nasty dark hole behind the falls; and he brought that khan to see the show even though the other followers were exhausted from their bargain.

All excited with his new magic, the khan rushed along with his two long-noses; leaving sun-man behind him to rest with the others, taking only his thunder-wind man who had not been part of the bargain beneath and wasn’t tired out. And when the khan saw the show, he wanted to find the path those puppets took out of sight behind the sky. But khan he was, and he knew a bit about risk for the tribe. “You try”, he told his trusted man of the thunder-wind. “You rush through the air faster than I’ve seen – surely you can follow.”. But although the wind is fast, it won’t rise through the walls of places or start fast-up in a moment from still; and thunder-wind couldn’t follow quick enough however he tried.

It was then the khan thought again of his new jumping-magic. “Maybe if thunder-wind and I ride together and both my long-noses jump together, the wind can follow on from the jumping beginning”, he muttered. And the outsider was worried for the first time then, for the khan sought out danger for himself and loss for the tribe if it hit home. So he slipped up onto Mount to look for the sun-man, who would be resting from the deal in the cave but who could probably still see what was what.

Curse it again, but it wasn’t easy finding that cave this time. There was supposed to be just one damned fall not many, and maybe a trick covered things, but by the time outsider and sun-man were on their way back they heard a thunder of running and the call of two long-noses and knew they were too late even to see what occurred.

In fact, all they saw was that darned rabbit; face all innocence as if nothing had happened at all despite the wind-blown greenery by the water and the trampled tracks that stopped like two heavily ridden mounts had just gone ‘pop’ into the sky from a running start. While the outsider was scratching his head over this, the sun saw straight through it tired though he was and got onto that pesky jackrabbit like a shaft of light through the clouds.

“How do we follow them? Or get them back?” he yelled, shaking the tricky one from side to side. “Speak or the light shrivels you!”.

“Okay, okay – it’s a deal” winked the rabbit; keeping what looked like far too much urbanity for one in danger of the wrath of the light. “You fly where they’ve gone – follow the cord here – or climb up – or pull them down. Up to you, really. And now I’ve kept my side, I’ll be on my way”. Somehow, he was free in a moment, but he left the end of his puppet-cords under a stone where they’d stay put good and true before he scarpered whiskers and all.

Now the sun don’t fly, and the cord was too thin for climbing, which just left the one option. So those two men pulled on the end of that cord and sure enough down came…the damned puppets. And nothing else. Of khan and thunder-wind there was not a sign.

Sun-man’s anger was so hot it burned those puppets, cord and all, neat as you please. It was the end of those long-noses, though: with neither khan nor wind in their ears, they sort of wasted away into a memory; though not before they’d made it very plain to the outsider he was doubly outside now even despite his vow before time itself that he would not rest till the khan was found.

Maybe somewhere there’s a jackrabbit that flies and can follow his puppets and the sun for sight and the wind for speed and a guide outside that’s all and none, and the khan might be out there somewhere with his pair of long-noses. Sometimes when the lightning splits the sky I can almost swear I hear his long-noses rushing there, looking for a hole and a gap back to us.

Still, I’ve never seen…


He may have had more to tell, but the spell of his story was broken by the sound of crashing outside the hollow. “Mount’s restive”, he said. “Best care for him. Help yourselves from dadki here while I’m away”, he added gesturing at the pot. “Don’t know why I made it really. Can’t abide rabbits, even in a stew”.

What was wrong with his mount I’m not sure, but he wasn’t back by the time I was asleep full of stew and sneaky gulps of wine. Next morning he was gone. The others were sure he must have left while we slept and were keen to get back on the march, for our trail was as clear to see as anything now, as the old man had thought it would be. But if he’d just sneaked off, how did he move that damn great pot alone and not wake us? And how come that firepit was full of dead-cold ash and nothing else?
This message was last edited by the player at 13:24, Fri 11 Dec 2015.

An addendum: Olaf's "Point of view" regarding Becx Two-hands and her predicament as described in "A Horn in the Hand is worth Two in the Rubble".
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I am wondering how this Becx is going to get out of the hole which she is digging for herself, for she may be a smart doll, but for my money she is not in Griselda's class. But then, as you will doubtless say to me, not that I am needing the information, very few persons are in Griselda's class, and there is no doubt that this is very true. Maybe you will figure that the best thing this Becx can do is appeal to Griselda for help, but if I am in her position I will not be doing that, for it is well known to one and all that Griselda is such a doll as will only very rarely do anything for someone she does not know unless she is guaranteed to profit and will not incur any exceptional risks. In fact, there are some who say that she is a hard-hearted little doll, but perhaps she figures that the only way to make a success of the adventuring game is to avoid doing too many favours, and many will be agreeing with her, at that.
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Text copyright (c) Oliver Dickinson 2017. The author's Moral Right under the Berne Convention is asserted.
This text is reproduced here with the kind and generous permission of the author.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:59, Fri 10 Feb 2017.

Melock nods his head in thanks to Kobal and makes his way to the cleared space. He grabs a spare chair and proceeds to stand on it and claps his hands to get everyone's attention, then pauses, looks round for Asha and jumps down and runs over to her and whispers, "I'm about to entertain everyone with a story and I've just realised most of them won't understand a word I say, please can you tell them what I'm saying, I'll make it worth your while." Asha looks a bit shocked but nods, "Yes, you will." she puts her tray of drinks down, quickly downing a glass of wine, and follows Melock back to the chair. He stands just behind her, "I'll speak softly to you then you speak loudly to them." Asha giggles, "ok" Melock looks out over the crowd which now is looking at the duo with expressions ranging from amusement to annoyance, gulping loudly he starts, "Good evening, I am Melock," Asha repeats this, then stops and blushes and shakes her head, then points to Melock, "he's Melock."
"Tonight in way of thanks to our hosts for this lovely meal, I would like to tell the tale of Ongar the Unstung. Honoured hosts, respected guests and others," when he says the words others he glances at the lunars, "my tale takes place in the marches of Sartar," Melock puts his hand on Asha's shoulder and walking backwards leads her to the side, with his other hand pulls two Raven feathers from his hair and throws them towards the wall, where they make the air shimmer and a green valley appears with lush fields and bountiful numbers of sheep. "Sometimes, there is a hidden valley shaded by the Gold Lamb on Sartar's marches; lush like a garden where the grain nigh-on reaps itself and Berry Boy runs its track way verges throwing sweet fruits to weary travellers at day's end. Tellers claim that the moonrise there shows silver as if the light's blood has been taken from it and the husk dried clean, but tellers say many things that are hard to sift to truth. Untouched by Jaldon's raids, it is; for when his war-band was west faring he clapped his teeth together so mightily the warriors turned from thoughts of easy plunder to look at him. "It is like the garden that was once ours and which the wastes may be again", was his message; as they turned aside in joyful sorrow to find a new war road. The sheep of the dwellers there are thought to have luck if their curved and shapely horns grow through with silver strands upon them: such beasts are free from the stinging flies that mar hides and turn milk sour. The womenfolk thank the earth when such a one is found; yet Ernalda has revealed this is none of her doing. Like us, the people move their herds for grazing so none could say from whence the silver came" As he talks, Melock lights a lamp and shutters it so it only shines on the valley, "A fair place, you would think; and maybe you would be right; yet there was a time when its men found it ill, fair living coming to taste like the ashes of a fire burned low. The hunting was easy and with no foes to slay they grumbled at disuse. Grumbled and cast around for means to prove their manhood. As if they needed such proof – as their wives could have told them should the question have chanced to be asked, there is always another way to prove such things" As the image zooms in to the edge of the valley, shadow figures appear sitting talking in a group, but soon start pushing and shoving, then fighting, only to be broken up by their wives. The men head out to tend their flocks, "Yet, men being men the world across, they searched and found a fear. A dark hole like a wound in the earth with no tale to be told, hid in their storm season graze lands; fluttering with webs at its edge but lightless below, seeming to drink in the daylight to feed some arcane hunger. A suspect place, perhaps, for in many a year the season's count of the herd would tally imperfectly." The shadows twist and reform to show the men with spears pointing at a cave in desolate place. All but one of them ready their spears and walk in to the darkness, the other returns to his sheep. "This the so very brave herders and hunters resolved to assault. All save Ongar, a man in years but cleverer than his strength and one who saw many hidden joys. "It has its place and its beauty", he said. "The dew maid dances with those wisps after the rains, and once Elmal sent the Rainbow Girl to rejoice in the dance with her". For this telling, laughter was his lot: as the others  prepared their swords and their torches, he was sent to watch the sheep alone, finding comfort in their rich voices and the glint of starlit silver atop woolly brows." After a few moments the group reappears from the cave staggering and helping each other stand, clearly injured, but all still alive. "No tale was told of what befell by the men who entered that hole. Return they did from the unknown; but with open wounds that healed slowly and closed mouths that never spoke of below. As their hurts grew less they found other things to kill more fitting to their stature. Many of the honey-pawed knew the bite of bronze that year and found little protection in their hide of rich fur, becoming a memory of strength roasting on camp spits above the grateful flames. Food, but not for Ongar; who sat still at pasture watching strands fly on the storm and curvet in gusts by the dark maw of the hole like unconquered pennons snapping homage to the winds." The men make it home and the scene changes to one of dancing and celebration, "Sacred time followed storm to the renewing of the world once more; and as growing time came the woods seemed to hum with new life. And hum they did, with increasing pitch and anger" Melock pulls a third feather and flicks it in to the air where as it fades in to the darkness a low level buzzing noise starts, rising and fading as if many insects are flying around the stage. As the shadow men go about daily life, they are attacked by swarms of insects. "Soon, hunters told tales of the bite of the woods and stings like thorns; their truth shown clear in blotched faces. Then were troubled those who draw the plough, dancing crazily with flailing arms and hooted at by laughing children until they too saw yellow and black pain draw near. The brewer smiled at first, thinking of the death of bears and speaking of mead and Minlister, but not for long; taking to his bed with by no means the first pained and swollen body the white robes had needed to tend." As the valley fades from view so does the buzzing, "For now we leave the poor farmers and find out what became of the one who didn't enter the cave,"  A high hillside covered with grazing sheep becomes visible, "Up higher, at fertile sea season pasture, Ongar watched the flocks all unknowing, drinking the sweet water and eating fresh honeycomb among the silvered sheep, till a wandering trader passed him by. "It's good to see a normal person", he remarked, sharing bread and savoury cheese from his wallet in exchange for wild golden sweetness, "Down there it's nothing but stung faces and poultices. The white ladies have had near all my cloth. Not that I grudge them, for they cured my own ills on a promise when times were bad". As Ongar makes his nightly camp, "I am unstung", thought Ongar that night having waved on the wanderer, and he thought long under the stars among the sheep. What passed before him in the stars' reflection on the stranded horns, he never told, save that he saw a sight and inside him he thought a thing which took him down with the sheep to his village; for at daybreak he was there where people meet and speaking with a loud, clear voice" Ongar stands before the villagers who fidget as they are pestered by bugs, "I bring word from a grandmother. The truth of my word to you men is in that which you have not spoken, for it is from the spider that drove you back from her home – she against whom you set your faces and of whom you closed your mouths in defeat. Her word is this. "I take a sheep betimes, but I pay. Oh yes, I pay, you fools who have forgotten. Silver webs on the horns, strands on the winds to keep the fliers that sting from your sheds, my children in the forest to keep the flying stripes in their place. Yet you choose to come to my home like thieves with torches to burn and sow rapine? Well now you have paid, and now you have seen. Send me a sheep and be done, unless you like your new faces, for I am hungry and we all have our place on the web: pluck it, and maybe the thing it shakes off will be you.". As Ongar talks, some of the folk shake their heads, others nod at the wisdom of his words. By the time he's finished talking they are all nodding in agreement and a few of them help him to drive a few sheep to the dark cave. "It is curious to see how lax a tally the storm season shepherds keep in that valley now but there is no more call for the white robes' poultices thanks to Ongar the Unstung, long time spirit-talker of the She who dwells Beneath; and the smiles that play round the edges of the goodwives' lips seem to hint that their husbands are maybe learning to ask how to prove their worth with other, less fatal, weapons." The cave mouth pulses and darkness swallows the whole image before fading away to be replaced by a giant shadowy spider which, as Melock tilts the lantern, scurries up in to the eaves and disappears, "and so ends the tale of Ongar the Unstung." He takes Asha's hand and they both bow.

As I've just mentioned our fight with Tripanandar and that's a story I've already written up, I'll post it here.

our story starts with the party, covered in painted runes,  about to enter the lair of Tripanandar.
With a brightly burning torch, Fireborn runs in on one side with Kaonu and Kobal following him. Greeshar and Amara run straight down the middle, as is fitting for rhino riders. Hacha Lor and I, cloaked in darkness, take the other side. As we all charge in the painted runes come alive as everyone feels the presence of Tripanandar somewhere ahead. Suddenly, from out of the darkness, a leaping bear knocks Kaonu to the ground. At the same time Amara is confronted by another one heading right for her, but the valiant Vingan throws her javelin straight in to its chest and it drops to the ground, dead. From the edge of his torch light, Fireborn sees 2 yearlings start to circle him. Kaonu's assailant leaps at Kobal only to be hit in the guts by Kobal's javelin and collapses to the floor snarling at them both. Hacha Lor emerges from the darkness and hits one of the yearlings that is about to attack Fireborn, it turns and attacks him as they head back into the darkness. The other yearling attacks Fireborn and savages his leg, but Fireborn manages to stab it with his dagger causing it to let go and run back in to a near by cave.
Together Kobal and Kaonu attack the injured adult, who with one swipe of her massive claws, smashes Kobal's shield and sends him flying backwards. Kaonu, seeing his chance shoves his sword through the ribs of the beast, killing her.  Hacha Lor slices at his yearling but his blade glances off of its hide, it then lashes out with both claws, he manages to avoid one but the other opens up a massive gash on his head, just as it is about to finish him off, I manage to hit it with a well placed sling stone causing it to drop to the ground, where we both hack it to pieces. Fireborn, corners the last cub in the cave and impales it with his lance, killing it. Further into Tripanandar lair, Greeshar and Amara spot a dark shape above them and call out a warning, though it comes too late for Hacha Lor as Tripanandar knocks him to the ground and then scoops him up in his jaws and shakes him like a rag doll until his body flies apart. Everyone who has a javelin throws it at Tripanandar, one hits his hind leg and pins him to the floor, Fireborn manages to pin a front leg with his lance, Greeshar also manages to impale Tripanandar with his lance as do I and then Kobal and Kaonu hack at him with their swords. Then finally Amara rams her lance through his head, killing Tripanandar.

Eyota's spirit voice, normally silent or hidden in talk for Ohanzee's ears only suddenly booms out to the Wandering Rangers and their various spirits.

"There is a story, an old one, older than memories but then my spirit has been away from the people for longer than I can know so it lies still in my memories."

"Perhaps it is no more than a story, but perhaps there is a thread of legend that runs through it or the seed of a legend waiting to germinate."

"In the Great Darkness many were lost and many lost their way, then there were those who were both lost and who had lost their way."

"Waha did not find all of the people, there were a wretched few who survived in the Darkness thought they were both lost, for they knew not what where their path lay, and they had lost their way for they had lost or eaten their beasts."

"These people were destined to be the seed of a new tribe, the Tribe of the Walking Square. Walking for they had no mounts and Square for the act of forming the tribe would transform the founders, bind them together yes, but bind them each to a Rival too. Four Rivals, four sides and four angles. Square too perhaps because they had gone into the Earth during the Great Darkness."

"The lost ones did not know it, but The Rivals knew it though and in a rare act they sought to work together to see this vision through."

"The Rivals themselves took to their wings and flew into the Great Darkness, Raven bringing his abilities in Darkness and trickery to confound those who would stand against them, Sun Hawk bringing his Light to reveal the hidden and his Truth to bind together the new tribe, Thunderbird bringing his strength and his courage to defeat those who would stand against them and Condor bringing his abilities to find the path."

"So long ago though was this, the Rivals were younger then and the Rivalry strong, stronger perhaps than ever before or ever since. The tale goes that they found those lost in the Darkness, found them and brought them together."

"Then the old rivalries took hold the Four argued between themselves. They argued over who had contributed the most to the venture and thus who should take to himself the most followers, even though it had take all Four and they had agreed at the start to take an even split of followers."

"And as they argued between themselves the Darkness crept back again and stole away those who would be the beginnings of the new tribe, The Walking Square."

"As I say it is perhaps no more than an ancient tale. Perhaps though it has a threat of legend running through it, a copper thread perhaps."

"And if legend it is then perhaps those who follow the Rivals and so are a step removed from the Rivalry, those who have worked together already, they can stay together to see the legend through to the foretold end."
This message was last edited by the player at 09:23, Fri 10 Aug 2018.

A long, long while ago, before even Time was born there was a litter of creatures born to a strange mother, who this tail is not about.

Two of those creatures looked so alike that you could not tell them apart by appearance, but by nature they were so different.

Yes of course one of those was Grandfather Porcupine, but can you guess the other? No? Well, it was Grandfather Marmot.

We all know how social and how industrious Grandfather Marmot and his children are, digging and living in their communal burrows, stocking up the stores in those burrows with food for harder times, looking out for each other so that if one sees you stalking it'll shout a warning to the others.

Well Grandfather Porcupine and his children are little like this, usually solitary wanderers and larger groups little more than a mother and a couple portcupettes or a pair meeting briefly to mate. Yes they share the habit of using burrows, but they are as likely to steal the burrow of another as dig their own.

And of course where they are contrary. Because of their spines you might say, but no, Grandfather Porcupine got his quills because of his contrary nature and here is how.

When they were born Grandfather Marmot looked at Grandfather Porcupine and said genuinely "My but you are a fine looking beast, what lovely thick, quality fur coat" not knowing that they were the spit of each other. "We should have a home, a nice burrow will do. Let's dig together and share a home."

Grandfather Porcupine looked at Grandfather Marmot as he spoke but was listening to the complement rather than seeing the creature, so instead returning that complement he tried to look at himself "Am I? Oh good, I thought I should be. A home? Maybe later, I want to go look at myself" and he walked off heading for the nearest watering hole.

On the way to the watering hole Grandfather Porcupine saw Nopal and saw the delicious looking fruit and he decided to take some. If he had asked nicely then perhaps he would have gotten a better reception, but instead Nopal made sure that Grandfather Porcupine's path to the fruit was filled with spines. Grandfather Porcupine found that he could not even turn so he had to walk backwards. Being contrary he decided that when faced with an enemy or with danger then backing up was a good policy. He liked that.

As he approached the watering hole he was mobbed by many biting insects that had hatched from the waters in the warmth of the sun. Despite his fine fur coat they bit him and feasted on his blood and he almost backed away from there. The watering hole was so close that he carried on, but he did decide that it was best to travel by night when the insects are not so warmed and active and to this day his children prefer night.

The watering hole had been visited by many beasts, the Earth was rutted and muddy and with the Water level low the sides were steep. With the biting insects buzzing around his face and the bright sun above Grandfather Porcupine glaring from the water surface could not see well. He slipped, he fell and he rolled down the bank of the watering hole landing with a splash in the Water.

By the time he struggled out of the water and up the muddy banks Grandfather Porcupine was covered in a thick layer of sticky mud. And by this time he didn't care what his fur coat looked like, but he was pleased with one thing when he realised that the swarms of biting insects could not get to his flesh through the mud. He smiled and he had the thought that perhaps Nopal's spikes would likewise be stopped and so off he went back to the spiky fellow.

On his way he met his brother again who took pity on him and said "Come, let me help you groom that mud from your lovely fur coat before the heat of the sun dries it!" to which Grandfather Porcupine replied "No, I'm off to try steal Nopal's fruits!"

Reaching the Prickly Pear he was met again with a barrier of spines and was delighted as the mud did indeed stop them. He pressed on and Nopal put his biggest spines in the way, but these could not penetrate the mud either.

Grandfather Porcupine gorged himself on the stolen fruit and then fell asleep in the warmth of the day ignoring the spikes that Nopal rained down on him in his anger and frustration. When he woke he found himself in a bed of spines and when he shook they rattled but did not fall off.

He backed out and shook harder, as hard as he could, but to no avail. All of this noise attracted Grandfather Jackal who snuck up behind Grandfather Porcupine thinking he had the chance of an easy meal whilst the fellow was distracted.

Too late Grandfather Porcupine noticed him and with a jump he instinctively scurried backwards as he had learned, straight into  Grandfather Jackal's open mouth.

Poor Grandfather Jackal got more than he bargained for as he bit down and got a mouth full of quills. Off he ran yelping, some of quills till stuck in his his muzzle.

So that is how he got his quills and having done so found them so pleasing that he decided to keep them. That too explains why sneaking upon a porcupine is not always the wisest plan, behind is no safer than in front.

Earth too is the way to remove the quills if you want to taste porcupine meat. Just as they are stuck in with sun baked clay they can be unstuck by covering with clay and baking again.