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A Tattered Tradition to be Taught


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𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

Vines held the shards of limestone in a grasp as if they had a mind to piece together the once whole runestone. Odoacer traced his fingers along the engravings that had yet to erode away; he peeled back moss that gripped the surface of the shattered stone. A dispirited demeanor clouded his face as he struggled to pronounce the Sprækjom carved in a harsh, unforgivingly square font. The humidity about the bay gave him a heady drawl to his words which, as he sounded out each word, seemed to cut the air above him. He paused as he saw an ambling group of travelers look down from an outcropping of the canyon overlooking the Bay of Vistulia and watching him dictate to no one in particular.

 

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"He-hello. . . An-anuanek Odoacer makos Brennus makos Gaisorix!" Odoacer greeted, first in Common, then in that most strident Cingedoz language.

 

"Who are you?" one of the travelers begged, eyebrow cocked nearly enough to exclaim his confusion and surprise.

 

"Sorry, my name is Odoacer. Thought you were one of mine own kinsmen . . ," Odoacer trailed off embarrassingly.

 

As if invited by Odoacer, the travelers meandered their way closer through one of the many narrow cuts in the canyon to the bay below.

 

"Well met mistah' Odoacer!" replied a particularly stunted man. A halfling like mine own grandfather befriended on these very shores. The travelers unsaddled their pack animals and pitched a modest shelter before Odoacer. Before the next hour, they had a campfire kindled and a pot of stew settled in bowls.

 

"Say there lad, what made you make us out for one of your own?" another traveler, far taller than the halfling, asked.

 

"I grew up on stories from mine own father which gave me the impression that most of our kinsmen, the Cingedos, traveled and adventured. The southern continent has long emptied save for the gilded cities of Atrus and Lurin and I was quite surprised to find you all out this way," Odoacer answered.

 

"You must not venture on the mainland much then. We've come as refugees from the wars with the Mori'quessir."

 

"Mori'quessir? I've not the mind to remember if I've ever heard such a name!"

 

"Aye, the Mori are a foul folk who've crawled up from the bowels of hell-beneath-the-world atop great spiders that'll put the fear of Gott in ye!"

 

Odoacer looked aghast, his mind running with the description and painting a grotesque image that caused him to shiver. It was then that he noticed an even more grotesque array of trophies bound up in the travelers' gear - mandibles, eyes, and pincers. The image in his mind's eye took on more definition the longer he studied the trophies. He looked away at last to find the halfling questioning him further.

 

"What brings you here if not for the same such reason as us?"

 

"I have come to visit this runestone, one of many dotting the two continents, that I may practice my speech and mother tongue. Some of these were raised by my father and his father who were previously chieftains of the tribe," Odoacer answered.

 

"Sounds like you've got big shoes to fill! No pun intended either," the halfling remarked, letting out a brief chuckle towards the end as he looked upon the great shattered runestone.

 

"My father passed on that duty, that of being chieftain, to another warrior before my coming of age. Fortunately, I've no great expectations upon myself. The chieftess taking charge after my father passed has migrated the Cingedoz from the north to the midland valleys of Minitz last I heard," Odoacer conceded. The travelers let out a variety of hums and umphs, a mixture of understanding and displeasure.

 

"Say, would you lot do me a favor since you are traveling. Can you share word that I'd like to reconnect with any who hold our tradition or belong to any families of the Cingedoz? Mayhaps I can find some far distant relatives or fellow tribesmen," Odoacer asked. His face, though downcast, briefly lit up for a moment at the idea that he had.

 

"Aye, we wouldn't mind. What with the Mori besieging town after town, seems we will all be encountering more and more folks. We wouldn't mind doing this for ye and wish ye luck in reconnecting with lost kin," the halfling said. Odoacer felt a relief come over him. That I learn what my father and his father kept alive in tradition, might be that I can pass this on to others as they did in their lifetimes.

 

 

Spoiler

I posted a status update recently regarding my intentions for next map. I am only acting in a moderator capacity and will not play a personal character, though will have one "character" operating either a trading outpost or library for the benefit of the entire playerbase on the server. In an earlier poll on Discord on whether that outpost character should belong to the Cingedoz culture or Farfolk; majority of votes were for Farfolk.

 

With this in mind, I am looking to do one of three things with the Cingedoz by new map's start: end the tribehave another player/group of players lead the tribe, or incorporate the tribal tradition into another existing playergroup. We are having this discussion in the Cingedoz Discord and invite anyone interested to join in: https://discord.gg/zFpsXmGVQN

 

In regards to the vast Cingedoz tradition, here are some threads which may hopefully increase your interest in them as a whole:

 

1. Condensed "Wiki" Thread: 

 

2. Culture Thread: 

3. Epochgyre: 

 

 

4. Cingedos Narratives: 

 

 

 

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