The Mythos of the Cingedoz

[Ibn Khaldun 7729]

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

 

A crone and an elderly patriarch sat using a gnarled mangrove root for seats. A group of men and women, much younger, sat cross-legged beneath the two in the wildflower and tall cattail patches that nestled against the mangrove leaning precariously over the bay surrounding the Crannogtown. The patriarch looked to the crone for permission to begin and she gave permission with a single tap of her pikestaff and a doddering nod.

 

"Slanu ye'all. I will speak in Common lest there be any of ye' who adopted t'tradition, bot' have neh' learned our tongue. Oim' Arminius, instructed hereto that I may pass on t'mythos of our kin," the patriarch became animated, using his hands to draw symbols in the air and confer added meaning to his words.

 

The Cingedoz think of the relationship between God and the mundane world like that of a carpenter who has built a table. The table is synonymous with the mundane world and the carpenter a rational reference to God. Just as the carpenter is outside of the table, not within; the Cinged mythos conceive that God is outside the mundane and outside of all that interlock together to compose the table such as time and space. In this way, the Cingedoz recognize that God is all-powerful and all-knowing. This form of primitive, yet intelligent monotheism is the first of many lynchpins that hold together this Highlander tribe.

 

"We neither take partners t'Deiwo, t'e word fer' God in our tongue, nor do we place beneath Deiwo any similitude ov' a pantheon whether ov' saints or ov' conjured deities," the crone doddered a nod, approving of what the patriarch continued to recount.

 

The magickal arts are those that the Cingedoz recognize as brought into the mundane to wonderful works or dreadful deeds and they abstain from the latter. A number of great legends exist in the Cinged mythos of the wonderful works done with the magickal arts as well as the mundane sciences. The tradition encourages men and women to adventure, to discover, and to explore the magicks and the sciences so that one may find a boon to bring back to the whole. This mythmaking manner of bringing benefit to the tribe provides a certain drive to men and women composing the Cingedoz.

 

The patriarch stood up on his feet, stumbling at first after having sat down for so long on such an irregular seat, and raised his hands upward. His unkempt and unencumbered beard reached to his sternum and made for a fitting prop for what he began to describe. The elder described a behemoth of over twelve feet tall whose bone and skin were instead timber and bark and had twine and flora for the hairs on its body and from its face. The gathering passed on its name like a secret only to be kept in the fold of one's ears: The Brigbonon - the Foddergiant.

 

 

Spoiler

Cingedoz myths will be placed here for reading and reference in-game.

 

[Ibn Khaldun 7729]

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

 

"Antesposju rixju, druwit Catalaunos"

 

The snap of twine and jute and the friction between wood ensnared the attention of the group of men fixing and fastening binds. They helped each other inch great yew bracers further up the forearms and an inanimate construct sat on the ground and leaning forward.

 

"Vinju durekoz, brigbonon hal'lendhan"

 

The bracers had intricate markings inlaid with coral and a reflective metal. Sprækjom words read from these etched sentences and commanded a ginger treatment by those presently fitting them on. A tawny man with broad shoulders directed with terse command and a directing forefinger as he muttered incantations under his breath.

 

"Cawr, lǣstanju ekoz badr ach catu ok frōfordenagh"

 

Just as the men slipped on bracers along the forearms, so did they for the ankles of the great giant. The overseer approached the giant's head, hung low, and placed an outstretched hand on its broad oaken forehead. "My name is Catalaunos o' Brigbonon," he addressed it like a master to his servant with all the sternness one might expect in the relationship. The giant's head creaked and doddered, like an old man waking from a long slumber to his limbs nearly rigid. Catalaunos stepped back as his body bathed in the cerulean glow that emanated from the waking construct's glassy eyes.

 

"Vinju Gergovi, duriz ok havaloniz. Ogbiju aingid di banaoz, hafju weald ok teutava lǣstanos sidos ach durekoz. Rabo hústhegnekoz!"

 

Catalaunos and his aids stepped away in order for the Foddergiant to have room to stand itself up. The groan of the tension of its wooden frame supporting itself fully standing and the rustle of flora, meadow grasses, and hanging vines brushing against each other excited the ears and eyes of those surrounding the great construct. The Foddergiant at its full height casted a great shadow across part of the Cingedoz village with men and women exiting hovels and children dropping their fleeting concerns to gaze up what eclipsed the sun for them.

 

"Eigi forthan havalonek!" Catalaunos attempted to cry out, the Foddergiant repeating his words in a bellow that rattled along each branch and vine that formed its own ribcage and maw. Some came forward to gaze upon their new protector while others cowered back inside their hovels.

 

 

One of the women shot up their hand and the Patriarch obliged to select her to interject.

 

"How is it that they could conjure such a great giant in yore, how did they achieve this feat?"

 

The crone took to answering him, holding out a hand to the patriarch to grasp and help lift her on the balls of her feet. She leaned against her pikestaff to help her maintain balance and looked to the questioner with morose eyes.

 

"Daughter, that is one such mystery we have yet an answer for. We call upon our kinsman to dare the adventure and labyrinthine puzzle that is discovering how the Foddergiant was created. We know little more than potential leads, might it be a Druid's art? Might it be an alchemical reckoning? Had we contact with the Dwedkin and learned a manipulated form of smithing with runes? We simply have leads and dare the younger to pick up one end of the many strings and see where they lead. . ."

 

Spoiler

Translation from Spraekjom to Common:

#1: You answer to your leader, the wiseman Catalaunos.

#2: You serve our village, Foddergiant of the Land

#3: Giant, you aid us both in battle and keeping peace

#4: You serve Gergovi (the settlement's name), its village and its people. You are the protection from enemies, you have the power and dignity to support peace in our village. Zeal! Wake o' soldier-companion of ours!

#5: Do not fear/dread my people!

 

[Ibn Khaldun 7729]

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

 

Ill plots prefer dark places to veil themselves until fruition and one such plot conjured by the warlock Bodhmall found sufficient hiding in one of the many-forked tunnels of the Dwedmar. Both Dwedmar and Men gave much sweat and toil to digging the riches of the world, carving quarries for stone and mines for the gems and minerals that laid between strata of rock and soil. While the many nations of Man often confined their mining strictly to the procurement of earthen elements, the Dwedmar made their abodes and grand architectures inside their burrows and their tunnels. They gave most of their attention and detail to those halls and homes they would regularly use and, though their mining took on an organized scheme, many of the mines they had either emptied of treasure or chased naught but little ore had been left to desertion and emptiness.

 

The warlock Bodhmall found one such deserted mine and its many-pathed routes and clung to one such node at the furthest end. He conceived of an eldritch depravity that took on tumultuous powers in its fists and a fiery face that stared into souls and seared away courage from all it locked eyes with. Upon summoning this depravity in full, it took to quaking the mine and the halls beyond with its great strength and sending the earliest to confront it routing with panic.  This demon dwelled through the mines and ambushed those Dwedmar that passed the mouth of the mine to any great number of halls or other mines yet producing ore.

 

Word of this demon made many Dwedmar cross and their wroth led them through the narrow decision of confronting it face-to-face either as individual heroes or as legions. Rebuked and repulsed the Dwedmar were for they could not withstand its overpowering strength nor the forge-fed visage that faced them. Some returned with their fallen prepared in stone coffins, some returned injured with burns across their own faces. The Dwedmar of that particular mountain sent missive out through the land in search of recourse for the dread that waylaid them. The famous bard Boiorix of the Cingedoz heard the Dwedmar's plea and rode to their aid.

 

Bodbmall's handiwork dwelt in shadows save for that part of the walls and chambers illuminated by the face of the demon. Boiorix confided that silence ought accompany his advance into the mine and reckoned he needed only a handful of companions instead of a thousand. The bard brought his otherworldly chisel with him and bade his company bring bows and slings and ammunition plenty. This small company meandered through chamber after chamber, corridor after corridor, before finding the central-most node. Boiorix made for the widest expanse of unmined stone and counseled his party thus. You will make all manner of racket with arrow and with lead pellet that I might strike this stone under the disguise of each of your munition's echo through the mine. I shall invest upon this stone such a relief, ever-moving, that the demon be brought to rest enraptured by the movement of the engraving.

 

The company went separate ways with Boiorix waiting for the first release of missile from the archers and slingers. With each echo of an arrow or a bullet ricocheting down forked tunnels, Boiorix would carve away at the stone until the echo faded. Again and again, the demon took to chasing after ephemeral dins and echoes in the mine. Again and finally, Boiorix finished the engraved relief in the central-most node and cast upon it his mana until the relief took motion and moved on its own against the earthen surface. The demon by that time had poured over each of the inner-most chambers and approached the central-most with brewing anger heaped upon confusion.

 

Boiorix ushered the company towards the mine's entrance and left the demon to peer into an empty chamber once more save for a relief that danced and dared any to question how. Bodhmall's handiwork turned to the relief with intrigued, Boiorix's own handiwork became like that of a pendulum captivating and keeping hold of the attention of its newfound audience. The bard and his archers and slingers exited the mine with haste and bid the Dwedmar King to look upon the mouse in its trap. The Dwedmar king recited words of praise for the ingenuity of the bard and commanded his own to seal the demon in the mine and Bodhmall too with no means for either to sally forth.