Search the Community
Showing results for tags 'hyptos'.
Found 2 results
-
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- For the Spirits keep hidden from elves the means of life. Else you would easily do work enough in a day to supply you for a full year even without working; soon would you put away your rudder over the smoke, and the fields worked by bull and sturdy Giraffe would run to waste. But the creator in the anger of his heart hid it, because Malin the crafty deceived him; therefore he planned sorrow and mischief against Mali. He hid fire; that flaming wolf, but that the noble son of creation stole again for Mali from the creator the counselor in a hollow fennel-stalk, so that Neizdark who delights in thunder did not see it. But afterwards The Creator who gathers the clouds said to him in anger: “Son of Creation, first elf. Surpassing all in cunning, you are glad that you have outwitted me and stolen fire, my pet Scathach—a great plague to you yourself and to mortals that shall be. But I will give mali as the price for fire an evil thing in which they may all be glad of heart while they embrace their own destruction. But when he had finished the sheer, hopeless snare, the Father sent glorious Tarnished-Slayer, the swift messenger of the pantheon, to take it to Malin as a gift. And Malin did not think on what Larihei had said to him, bidding him never take a gift of The Pantheon's Father, but to send it back for fear it might prove to be something harmful to mali. But he took the gift, and afterwards, when the evil thing was already his, he understood. For ere this the tribes of mali lived on earth remote and free from ills and hard toil and heavy sicknesses which bring the Fates upon men and mali; for in misery men grow old quickly. But the tarnished woman took off the great lid of the jar with her hands and scattered that 'gift', all these and her thought caused sorrow and mischief to mali and men. Only Hope remained there in an unbreakable home within under the rim of the great pithoi jar, and did not fly out at the door; for ere that, the lid of the jar stopped her, by the will of Aegis-holding Drazkur who gathers the clouds, hie Aegis helding them at bay. But the rest, countless plagues, and impures wander amongst men and elves; for world is full of evils, and the sea is full. Of themselves diseases come upon men continually by day and by night, bringing mischief to mortals silently; for wise Ixli took away speech from them. So is there no way to escape the will of The Father of The Pantheon. Or if you will, I will sum you up another tale well and skillfully—and do you lay it up in your heart,—how the spirits, the gods and mortal elves sprang from one source. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-
(Part 1 of a couple part mythic epic about truly ancient times) Na Yallir Na Prenu Talar'Asul -------------------- The scene is set, A silver moon rides the sky, straddling a sublime city of purest marble and finest construction. The beautiful Mali'aheral, with their poets-a-canter, and maiden song singing, living their lives of plenty. Blessed are they, who dance amongst her white columns, sweet smells rise, and great friendships struck. In this scene, a symposium of comrades. The brothers few, who share with each other boasts and beratements, laughter, and love, gifts offered freely to one another. Together they strike out and make the night their own. Gathered they did, as the blessings flowed freely as gifts of their splendid lives. Salt and Fish from the sea, Fruits and Nuts from the hills, Sweet, sparkling Wine from the Vine. The Symposiasts gathered together for great intent, as these were the times where tongue is tempered in the ring of philosophy and debate. "What is the way to live?" The bronze-haired 'Aheral asked, his hand grasping only the juiciest grapes. "To be free of worry, far from battle, and the prater of lessers, where you have chance to cultivate" An 'aheral responds, his feet hiked as he drinks watered wine from the amphorae Another interjects, drizzling his comrade and himself with oil "That may be part of it, but truly one lives best when he is challenged" His wrestling partner returns as they lock together in a grapple. "I must not be living to the fullest then!" she exclaims before pinning her opponent. As the others drank their water and wine, the young 'Aheral, Son of a beautiful mother, bronzed by the blessed rays of the sun, his body molded by honor-heft in The Iron Temple, and mind enforced by the great teachings of venerated Mali'aheral scholars drank from his own cup of sparkling wine; then spoke again. "Why aren't you, then?" Crossing his legs as the Symposiasts gathered there in the sauna listened on with furrowed brows. "You all gather here almost every night, we eat from our fine plates, we sup from silver chalices and bronzed mugs. We heft big weight, and we clash many lyres, and orate many poems. Our slaves toil for all our needs, and we simply take as we please, bounty from the sea and isle. You say to be challenged is good, but at the same time wish to be free from harm? What is challenge with no risk? With no reward? Mere homework!" Enraged, the 'aheral symposiasts assaulted him with insult after insult, each one her curtailed, like knives off a shield. They all had the same core. "Well then mister bronze elf, why don't you go do something challenging then?" "Well lets go then" He laughed, the symposiasts, drunk on pure wine, did not think they would need to be proving the weight of their words, but they still accepted the challenge anyway, as these sorts of friends do. But when the morning rose, splaying itself out beyond that silver horizon and the waves were perfect to cast away, only him greeted that dawn, his shield of bronze polished, and his cuirass lined with silver laurels. He went about the silver city, and every chance he could, he reminded his friends about their weak word, and wimpish sensibility. Enraged again, the insults flew, but finally, the comrades relented, knowing that he was right. There is a saying in the islands of the Mali'aheral "I hate the symposiast with a good memory" Each of these Mali'aheral were obviously members of esteemed bloodlines of Haelun'or, and as such, benefited from the privileges of that. Obtaining quite easily what they wished, and gathered what was necessary. From polished shields, and arms so beautiful they would make a dwarf cry, even the food for the journey was a thing that not only nourished body, but soul as well. Oh, to be provided for my the fruits of your bounty, the labor of no labor, and to wear it proud, as we are blessed men. Each of them, clad in their heavy bronze with tied and filigreed with silver, and the blues of their crested helms. Each one a champion of mind and body, pure blood and pure spirit. The girls smiled finally having the saunas to themselves again, and then, the comrades set out on a ship of painted sails away from their mother island, yet it was good. One of the key features that distinguishes an 'Aheral sailor from lessers is their patience and ability in long journey Together, through these vast and silvery seas, the comrades knew many great songs and tale, they spoke legends of stars and light, but the lights ahead a manner of elf weeks into the voyage spoke more to them in that moment ((Heres the first post of an 'Aheral Mythic Epic of a great Warrior-Poet and one-day Hero-King! If you wanna read more check out my other posts on The Hyptos, a bloodline of heroes.))
