Flashback [Flash Back] The Tale of Basalom

[Opalla]

(winter 50th 499 AV) – …and strap ‘em tight! – Shout Shouher to Haidyym – I don't want any more packages lost. I have no use for smashed up goods that won’t sell. These Isurians are picky folk… Shouher had been grumpy since the first rays of sunlight had cross the sea of grass and lite the tents canvas against the purple western sky. The caravan had been awake for hours but only the golden morning light revealed the extent of the damage caused by the glassbeacks raid during the night. One half horse eaten, height goats vanished, two dogs dead and fourteen wool packs slashed and scattered. Despite the torches burning night long all through out the camp the raids had become increasingly frequent. Crossing the Sea of Grass during the pick of winter had it’s dangers, one of them and probably the most deadly was the hungry glasspeaks packs. If it is true that hunger makes the birds weaker it also makes them more daring and aggressive. – Myrah! – Called Shuryah – Where are you?! Myrah, It’s time to go! They wont wait for us! Myrah wasn’t listening. She never did, she could hear her mother’s voice in the wind, far off like a distant call from an uninteresting reality… but she could not comprehend her. Understanding human speech was a task that demanded too much effort for such a low rate of satisfaction and right now she was scooping a far more interesting reality, a mocking cricket! Though fairly common through out Eyktol and Cyphrus, Myrah had never seen a mocking cricket, as any other five years old child every new creature was a discovery worthy of full attention and this cricket big as Myrah’s own hand was no exception. Curious creatures, mocking crickets repeat whatever sounds they find interesting and new and for Myrah every new word was a motive for owe! – Dog! – Insisted Myrah. – Krog, krog, krog! – replied the mockingcricket. – Now… Goat! Say gout! – Guoat, Guoat, Guoat! – There you are! – Shouted Shuryah – I have been calling for you, Myrah! What did I tell you about wondering off? – But Mom! – Protested Myrah – Look at the sun, is high already. The caravan is moving we have to go! – Myrah barely had time to snug the cricket on her coat’s pocket before her mother picked her up and started trotting towards the moving caravan. Shuryah was angry with her daughter but Myrah knew she wouldn’t be for long. Her mother was never angry with her for long. Those scowling brow would have relaxed before they joined the rest of the caravan and her mother sweet smiling eyes would have replaced them. Her mother was beautiful, light blue eyes on a sunburst golden skin, small nose and soft cheeks, peach smiling lips and the most soft hands anyone had ever had. For Myrah her mother was the very meaning of beauty and softness. How she wished that she had the same eyes, the same skin. – Shu-shury-ah! Shou-her is s-s-saying we shou-should press on to the sho-shore tonight as planed. We’ll s-s-skip camping and will keep moving on until we reach the sho-shores of the S-s-suvan Sea. He is tired of glassbeakers roaming around every night. If you need any help with Myrah let me know. I can carry her if sh-she goes to tired to walk on her own. – Thank you Haiddym, you are too kind. The caravan moved in moderate silence through the rest of the day. Normally Myrah would be running end-to-end talking to everybody in search for a long lost interesting thing to explore or a revealing tale that she hadn’t heard. But on that day she didn’t. Her mother told her to stay close and save her strength for the extra hours of journey they would be pushing on the night. Myrah did not protest, she was more than satisfied on tailing her mother while listening to the mocking cricket’s efforts to replicate Shouher’s constant ranting. The red fire in the sky had begun to cool down to a charcoal violet and blue and Myrah was now riding on her mothers back when a shower of falling starts bright as the sun reflection on watter. – Look mommy, look! Fireflies! – Myrah had never seen fireflies nor falling stars. And neither had Shuryah seen the later, but she knew fireflies and she knew those weren’t fireflies – Those are falling stars, Myrah. – She told her daughter. – Falling stars? – asked Myrah in owe – but why would the stars fall from the sky? – Because they have missed behave them selves and the Gods saw fit to punish them, shooting them out from the star into the realms of Mizahar. Shuryah could listen to the songs of her own youth and realized she had never told Myrah about the origins of her house and the song of Basalom. And before she could stop herself she began singing on a voice sadder than she had intended. “Casted out from the sky from home to roam through lands of sand and stone my eyes will shine alone bound in flesh and bone and as long as the One won’t see fit for me, to come home, I shall be Basalom” Shuryah immediately realized that the tale of Basalom wasn’t a story for children. She herself didn’t hear the tale until she was much older than Myrah. She instinctively looked at her child, but Myrah’s eyes were far beyond her song still in owe with the falling stars. – She hadn’t heard a word – thought Shuryah, and that was for the better. Children should not be confronted with the cruelty of the Gods. But she did. Myrah had heard the song and would never forget it, all she would ever remember her mother telling her. The tale of Basalom would be forever engraved on her mind.

[Opalla]

(winter 50th 499 AV)

– …and strap ‘em tight! – Shout Shouher to Haidyym – I don't want any
more packages lost. I have no use for smashed up goods that won’t sell. These Isurians are picky folk…
Shouher had been grumpy since the first rays of sunlight had cross the sea of grass and lite the tents canvas against the purple western sky. The caravan had been awake for hours but only the golden morning light revealed the extent of the damage caused by the glassbeacks raid during the night. One half horse eaten, height goats vanished, two dogs dead and fourteen wool packs slashed and scattered. Despite the torches burning night long all through out the camp the raids had become increasingly frequent. Crossing the Sea of Grass during the pick of winter had it’s dangers, one of them and probably the most deadly was the hungry glasspeaks packs. If it is true that hunger makes the birds weaker it also makes them more daring and aggressive.
– Myrah! – Called Shuryah – Where are you?! Myrah, It’s time to go! They wont wait for us!

Myrah wasn’t listening. She never did, she could hear her mother’s voice in the wind, far off like a distant call from an uninteresting reality… but she could not comprehend her. Understanding human speech was a task that demanded too much effort for such a low rate of satisfaction and right now she was scooping a far more interesting reality, a mocking cricket! Though fairly common through out Eyktol and Cyphrus, Myrah had never seen a mocking cricket, as any other five years old child every new creature was a discovery worthy of full attention and this cricket big as Myrah’s own hand was no exception. Curious creatures, mocking crickets repeat whatever sounds they find interesting and new and for Myrah every new word was a motive for owe!
– Dog! – Insisted Myrah. – Krog, krog, krog! – replied the mockingcricket. – Now… Goat! Say gout! – Guoat, Guoat, Guoat!
– There you are! – Shouted Shuryah – I have been calling for you, Myrah! What did I tell you
about wondering off? – But Mom! – Protested Myrah – Look at the sun, is high already. The caravan is moving we have to go! – Myrah barely had time to snug the cricket on her coat’s pocket before her mother picked her up and started trotting towards the moving caravan. Shuryah was angry with her daughter but Myrah knew she wouldn’t be for long. Her mother was never angry with her for long. Those scowling brow would have relaxed before they joined the rest of the caravan and her mother sweet smiling eyes would have replaced them. Her mother was beautiful, light blue eyes on a sunburst golden skin, small nose and soft cheeks, peach smiling lips and the most soft hands anyone had ever had. For Myrah her mother was the very meaning of beauty and softness. How she wished that she had the same eyes, the same skin.
– Shu-shury-ah! Shou-her is s-s-saying we shou-should press on to the sho-shore tonight as planed. We’ll s-s-skip camping and will keep moving on until we reach the sho-shores of the S-s-suvan Sea. He is tired of glassbeakers roaming around every night. If you need any help with Myrah let me know. I can carry her if sh-she goes to tired to walk on her own.
– Thank you Haiddym, you are too kind.

The caravan moved in moderate silence through the rest of the day. Normally Myrah would be running end-to-end talking to everybody in search for a long lost interesting thing to explore or a revealing tale that she hadn’t heard. But on that day she didn’t. Her mother told her to stay close and save her strength for the extra hours of journey they would be pushing on the night. Myrah did not protest, she was more than satisfied on tailing her mother while listening to the mocking cricket’s efforts to replicate Shouher’s constant ranting.

The red fire in the sky had begun to cool down to a charcoal violet and blue and Myrah was now riding on her mothers back when a shower of falling starts bright as the sun reflection on watter.
– Look mommy, look! Fireflies! – Myrah had never seen fireflies nor falling stars. And neither had Shuryah seen the later, but she knew fireflies and she knew those weren’t fireflies – Those are falling stars, Myrah. – She told her daughter. – Falling stars? – asked Myrah in owe – but why would the stars fall from the sky? – Because they have missed behave them selves and the Gods saw fit to punish them, shooting them out from the star into the realms of Mizahar.
Shuryah could listen to the songs of her own youth and realized she had never told Myrah about the origins of her house and the song of Basalom. And before she could stop herself she began singing on a voice sadder than she had intended.

“Casted out from the sky
from home to roam
through lands of sand and stone
my eyes will shine alone
bound in flesh and bone
and as long as the One
won’t see fit for me, to come
home, I shall be Basalom”


Shuryah immediately realized that the tale of Basalom wasn’t a story for children. She herself didn’t hear the tale until she was much older than Myrah. She instinctively looked at her child, but Myrah’s eyes were far beyond her song still in owe with the falling stars. – She hadn’t heard a word – thought Shuryah, and that was for the better. Children should not be confronted with the cruelty of the Gods.

But she did. Myrah had heard the song and would never forget it, all she would ever remember her mother telling her. The tale of Basalom would be forever engraved on her mind

The Night had come swiftly; the dark blue canvas enveloped a sea of stars shining bright as small diamonds. The crystal clear air harboured a fast stream of raging winds as cold as the white waste on the northern tip of Taldera. Below, a mountain range of blackened thunderclouds ravaged descending from the northwest spreading all across the Sea of Grass. On the ground, the pitch-black environment was only interrupted by the flickering torchlights that the caravans men, at great cost, managed to keep burning. Adding to the copious storming rain the wind picked salt water from the breaking waves and spread it through miles inland. The great plateau of the Sea of Grass braked abruptly when it reached the Sea of Suvan, so the caravan had to descend to the beach through a staggering trail following one by one on a single man row that spread for over 100 yard.
Towering over the precession on a slightly elevated parallel trail, Shouher stood immobile with eyes fixed on the horizon where two bluish grey shades demarked the two cogs that would grant the caravan passaged through the Suvan Sea.
– Haidyym! Press the slugs on the back to get moving faster! As soon as those Cogs hit the shore I want to start loading the packages!
– Yes brother! – replied Haidyym, the half Drykasian, didn’t enjoyed the idea of trading the solid ground beneath his feet for the constant shifting of the uncertain Sea of Suvan during the winter. But he wasn’t willing to risk a prolonged stand on the beach. They had been hearing the screams of glassbeaks on their tail since the last sunlight had sunk beneath the horizon. And the arrival of the storm only made the cries of hunger more savage.
Yet when the cogs finally arrived to shore half of the caravan was still stumbling down the steep trail. The cargo had travel in front of the caravan so Shouher had them loaded as fast as possible. The Captain of the ships, a tall Isurian merchant named Simander, had half his crew down to the sand helping the loading of people and goods but remained himself on deck. He had seen enough winters on the western shores of Cyphrus to fill unease about being on the open beach sands on a night as dark as this one. He would rather count the packages of wool from the deck and go through the trouble of verifying the quality of the wool itself midway Kalea. His attention was stolen from the cargo by a raven long hair woman followed by a flaming fire girl, the light was dim but for an Isurian light was not a requisite for good sight.
Shuryah was leading Myrah by the hand, the girl had been exhausted since before the caravan reached the end of the plateau and her mother had to lead her all the way down the trail. Shuryah was as much warned out as her child but the wet sand beneath her feet had renewed her strength and the hope for exile for her and her offspring. Myrah however had long since past her limits and the girl was barely able to put a foot in front of another and even on the soft sand the blisters on her feet forced her to limping motion. Every few steps she would trip and fall and Shuryah had to raise her up and cheer her for another few steps. Five more steps and the girl fell again this time Shuryah knelled in front of her and placing her hands on the girls cheeks said – We’re almost there, my love! Soon we’ll be aboard the cog and then you’ll see the great open sea. It’s filled with fish big as a Tskanna or even bigger.
–Bigger?! – whispered Myrah in disbelief – Far bigger, you’ll see. – reassured Shuryah.
Simander was witnessing a scene worthy of the tales of his own legendary ancestors. The beautiful woman black strains of hair kneeling down in front of the flaming fire of her small offspring, there was something about that fire, it was copper like, no silver! – Izurith blood runs on her veins! The truth was clear to his eyes the moment his eyes crossed the girl’s strange metallic bright eyes.

The events that followed that moment took immensely much less time and were far more horrible than Opalla would remember them later on sitting in the great halls of Sultros. The first scream departed from the mouth of a young woman after seeing Haidymm’s head falling from the cliff above. Her scream was almost immideatly silenced as her throught was ripped from her neck on a talon. The 400 lbs bird killed 2 other men in less than 10 seconds but by that time the screams had multiplied. There were glassbeaks everywhere on the trail, on the beach. Everywhere where torchlight shine there were four, five, six glassbeaks killing more than feeding. And not only average sized, several 450 lbs males where making an onslaught on the beach. Where before Shuryah was kneeling in front of her child a mist of blood swayed over a blood and shit soaked swamp. Shuryah laid mortally wounded, barely dead, her entrails half spread in front her, half eaten by an enormous glassbeack that was now gazing hungrily to Myrah. Tired and in shock the girl didn’t move, barely breath her eyes fixed on her mother.
The glassbeak had begun charging, beak wide open when a huge war hammer blasted through it’s scull projecting blood and brains as far as 30 yards and making the the huge bulkie dead weight stumble to a halt less than 50 inches from Myrah. Simander held Myrah with his free arm while clutching tightly the silver war hammer on his green arm. Without blinking even once the mighty veteran of the Izurdin's Hammer trotted towards his ship slaying 8 more glassbeaks on his way.
Nearly 300 of the initial 386 caravans men were dead before the ships had set sail. All animals lost and over a third of the cargo had to be abandoned on the beach. By Simander’s count there were more than two hundred glassbeaks on the beach. – Forty days to spring still and this much hunger already. I pity those who’ll cross this lot. Hopefully the beach will give them pause for a while. – he looked to the girl, head resting on his shoulder. She had felt asleep as soon as he had commanded to release sails, on her hands a scared mocking criket stand still. Simander could only hope the girl wouldn’t remember too much of that night.

[Jackalope]

Alright, Opalla. We have some problems we need to take care of. First off, that cricket hasn't been approved, and it doesn't exist in real life, so it can't be used. You need to wait on the approval before introducing them to play.

NPC: Simander appears to be someone of note to be able to slay glassbeaks with such ease. Someone like that needs a writeup and approval to play.

Glassbeaks: Regarding killing them so easily with one person. It takes dozens of Drykas or Akalaks to take these horrific beasts down. I don't think a single guy with a warhammer is going to cut through them like butter. Also, 200 glassbeaks gathered together is just unreasonable. These are territorial pack hunters. They would tear into each other. If there were 200 of them, everyone would be dead. They are common in Cyphrus, but they aren't absolutely everywhere. They likely wouldn't harass a group this large so directly.

There either needs to be some serious editing done or a complete re write. I appreciate the effort and the detail, but it doesn't fit within the lore or the rules. Lemme know if you make adjustments.

Thanks!
Jack