Post by Barr Tulip on Feb 10, 2013 19:01:25 GMT -5
The oral traditions of the Cheltians are very strong. Many songs are sung, and in this way the culture of their forefathers are remembered. One of the most important tales in the oral canon is the story of where the tribe comes from, where they are going, and why they are going there.
Between two peaks that reach so high
Their sharp shapes seem to pierce the sky,
In restful peace, in that low crease
An eager nation came to lie.
The land was fruitfully disposed;
The men mused on their safe repose;
The children cried no more than died,
Tended by women in furs clothed.
Simple people with fulfilled needs,
Happy, full lives, and no great deeds.
But we are all eventually called
To follow Fate wheree'er she leads.
Not Asphodel's dark shadow long
Nor Chenrezig's winds fast and strong
Could stop the march of the Great Parch
Which killed their crops and cattle throng.
For six new moons there was no rain.
Still six yet more, and nothing came.
The ground won't turn; instead, leaves burn.
Mad heat and hunger are men's bane.
The oldest spirit of that place,
The holy river, spoke to their race:
"I am now dry; and soon I die -
But before I go, one parting grace.
"Your men and women always honoured me.
Your children always swam with glee.
My lot is set, but I can't forget
Your offerings, and humility.
"Follow my skeleton to the source,
Far to the north, a winding course.
You must all go where from I flow,
To flee a dark and evil force.
"It leaves destruction in its wake.
All that It meets, in weakness breaks.
The trees all crack; the land turns black,
And shows its fear by violent quake.
"The valley kept you safe from harm.
I nourished you, your crops, your farms.
That time is past. Be not the last
Of your people: heed my alarm.
"Beyond the ridges lie cold plains.
The home of snow: hard travel, much pain.
Your fate's not sealed; Hate is afield;
The snow may yet with blood be stained.
"Further north still, there lies the azure sea.
Daughter, father, mother to me.
Cross frozen floe you all must go,
To a land left in trust for thee.
"The water there embraces all
Of twelve huge islands, standing tall.
Across the blue, they wait for you,
To come and claim your rightful hall.
"I stream my last; I am now done.
Follow my trail 'til there is none.
There is still hope - now up the slope!
You should already now be gone."
And so the people left that land.
Hardened with travel, strong of hand,
They learned to fight - and then at night,
Dreamt of the Twelve; their right, their sand.
Their sharp shapes seem to pierce the sky,
In restful peace, in that low crease
An eager nation came to lie.
The land was fruitfully disposed;
The men mused on their safe repose;
The children cried no more than died,
Tended by women in furs clothed.
Simple people with fulfilled needs,
Happy, full lives, and no great deeds.
But we are all eventually called
To follow Fate wheree'er she leads.
Not Asphodel's dark shadow long
Nor Chenrezig's winds fast and strong
Could stop the march of the Great Parch
Which killed their crops and cattle throng.
For six new moons there was no rain.
Still six yet more, and nothing came.
The ground won't turn; instead, leaves burn.
Mad heat and hunger are men's bane.
The oldest spirit of that place,
The holy river, spoke to their race:
"I am now dry; and soon I die -
But before I go, one parting grace.
"Your men and women always honoured me.
Your children always swam with glee.
My lot is set, but I can't forget
Your offerings, and humility.
"Follow my skeleton to the source,
Far to the north, a winding course.
You must all go where from I flow,
To flee a dark and evil force.
"It leaves destruction in its wake.
All that It meets, in weakness breaks.
The trees all crack; the land turns black,
And shows its fear by violent quake.
"The valley kept you safe from harm.
I nourished you, your crops, your farms.
That time is past. Be not the last
Of your people: heed my alarm.
"Beyond the ridges lie cold plains.
The home of snow: hard travel, much pain.
Your fate's not sealed; Hate is afield;
The snow may yet with blood be stained.
"Further north still, there lies the azure sea.
Daughter, father, mother to me.
Cross frozen floe you all must go,
To a land left in trust for thee.
"The water there embraces all
Of twelve huge islands, standing tall.
Across the blue, they wait for you,
To come and claim your rightful hall.
"I stream my last; I am now done.
Follow my trail 'til there is none.
There is still hope - now up the slope!
You should already now be gone."
And so the people left that land.
Hardened with travel, strong of hand,
They learned to fight - and then at night,
Dreamt of the Twelve; their right, their sand.