Rise of Legends
- Enekos
- Aug 15, 2023
- 9 min read
The Obscene Monster
Sand. Sand everywhere. He hated the damn stuff. It swirled into wisps of dust devils – always threatening to become something more. The watched the caravan below him and counted three guards and a fourth man: the driver he supposed; if the informant was correct. He smiled at the plan. When the sun dropped towards the horizon, with the wind behind him, the angel of death would visit these lost souls. If things went well, he’d be home in Qarbah by nightfall. It was a strange name for a town, he mused.
He wrapped his black cloak around him, despite the heat and prepared his attack.
They say in the deserts that there are monsters; they ride the wind and arrive with such ferocity that you either run for your life or stand and hope your scimitar is stronger. It seldom is, but desert songs were never about the hero who ran away.
Moments before his death, the caravan driver had a second to peer into the oncoming haboob – sand and dust whipped into a frenzy, see the flash of metal, followed by the guard’s blood erupting from his chest as the dark-cloaked figure appeared to phase through the freshly brewed corpse and set a gaze upon him. The caravan driver didn’t care for hero-songs, came to his senses, turned to flee, and ran straight into a short length of metal held by the same dark figure. He felt his stomach explode as he looked into the darkness where eyes should have been. On his final breath on this earth lay two words… “Oh Fahch!”
In Qarbah, the campfire crackled as the velvet canvas of night arrived with a myriad of tiny lights in the heavens. Three cases of salted oryx, some fine linens, yak milk, and a pouch of fine jewels not to mention the rings taken from the guards. He sighed. The risk of death used to come with far greater rewards and friends to share in heroic stories…
Across the fire he saw a figure approach and his instincts returned – a sword in his hand. The other man removed his shroud and beamed a warming smile. “Jiliang – conqueror of nations – is that really you?” The visitor held his arms wide to show no weapons and nodded.
“He’s still taking that damn vow of silence!” Another voice, to his left that boomed like the arrival of a zephyr. “Zorbax – writer of dreams,” he responded, hardly able to contain his excitement and bewilderment.
“Fahch ze Wahch, you are a sight for the sorest of eyes!” boomed the man known as Zorbax, as he stroked a thick beard.
They sat, ate, drank, and told each other tales of deeds done, sadness observed, and wonderful new worlds discovered during Fahch’s two-year absence. A natural silence fell between them and Zorbax considered his old friend carefully. “Blood wants you to return to Veraku, my friend. There are things happening. Changes. He wants your wisdom. He… we… we all miss you.” Jiliang nodded in approval. Silence again as Fahch contemplated this.
His response was softer, a tone of regret: “And Kobak? Is Kobak still there?”
Zorbax looked at him, then took a drink: “Ah Kobak. That’s a whole different story….”
Pink Sails
“Most origin stories are simple. Someone is born, events happen, and they arrive on a ship. And we have a story. But sometimes the origin story is different because it’s not about a person, but a ship.” Enekos looked at Jean Flint who rocked back in his chair.
Enekos continued: “We think of the ship as oak boards nailed together with pieces of steel, laced with ropes and great sails. The ship has a body. There are memories and a mind too – but there’s also a soul.”
Jean Flint’s gaze wandered as his mind slipped back in time…
It was mesmerizing, A poetic dance of pink silk, with the odd flutter of cherry blossoms and somehow silenced yelps of pain. Sure, drunkards were no match for the lady, but that didn’t hide the speed and grace with the way she moved. And the silence.
Before the time of the symposium that would merge 3 houses, Kobak was beyond the Menavariyam – a range of mountains between Veraku and the Blue Sea. She had returned to honour her fallen teacher: a medicine woman who helped Kobak understand the plants and berries that could heal most infections, save that of old age when the last moon had risen, and the distant lights had called her home.
‘I will see you in the woodlands,’ thought Kobak, a small tear forming in the corner of one eye. Her walk through the village took her past the Winter Shrine and she stopped to make a small offering, before turning down the side street and past an inn where she now “danced” with some new “friends”.
As the last cherry blossom floated to the ground, Kobak gently glanced in the direction of a small boy – no more than 11; his mouth agape. She smiled at him, and he very carefully asked, “Where did you learn that miss?” Kobak smiled again, “Ah, it began in this village when you were very small...”
The village lay a day from the Blue Sea and under the tutelage of Lady Amsola, Kobak discovered various herbs, roots, spices, leaves, seeds, and fruits that when combined would cure almost every known illness. When her home was attacked by masked men, Kobak wanted skills that Lady Amsola did not possess. “Go to the east and find the priest known as Satyr,” the old lady had suggested.
The journey had taken seventeen days, her feet often sore, her lips sometimes parched. She stayed in simple homes or sometimes under the canopy of a tree. She found food from the land and drank from streams. She took a low pass through the Menavariyam and into the Forest of Daphun. Eventually she reached a village that overlook the distant port of Veraku. She needed a tonic and sought out the herbalist.
It was a simple shop with small windows and an aroma of scents – none competed over any others, but the seemed to compliment and take the nose on a journey. Above the door a sign of plants was branded into the wooden frame. She entered and tiny bell rang. A man beamed from the counter, spread his arms wide and said “Welcome to ye olde shoppe of herbs. I’m known as ZeuserG to my friends, and I’ll help whatever malady you have.”
Of course, the two became friends – kindred spirits. Kobak took her tonic and recounted her journey. ZeuserG sat in awe until he mustered the courage to invite her to meet his close friend, a priest by the name of Blood Satyr.
And so, Kobak’s origin story was written. She would meet Blood Satyr and recall the reasons why she had travelled. Blood agreed to teach her a special fighting technique, which she blended with her knowledge from the animals of the forests: creating a deadly (and silent) way to convince any poor soul who crossed her, that they, perhaps, should have stayed home that night.
Kobak made a home in a simple room within the Temple of Jaxstead Zeus. She added a small garden where she would often meet the silent priest Jiliang, who always greeted her with a warm smile and a simple gift of a creature folded from paper. Kobak learned that Jiliang came from a distant corner of the world and had entered a vow of silence when a terrible argument had left 7 people dead. He vowed to reflect on his choices and began to travel the world in silence until he reached the temples. And here, he also made a home.
Kobak would also meet Zorbax – the life and soul of any party: and a fierce warrior when called upon. He was born in the Menavariyam where the boom of his voice who cause landslides. Eventually the elders suggested he travel the world and he made it all the way to Veraku where he became a writer of local events and acquired an inn by means never quite understood. It was here he learned to fight – drunkards always seemed brave with evermore ale.
And then there was Fahch – her good friend from the desert town of Qarbah. His name meant monster: but he was a kind soul to Kobak. He was like a younger brother, full of charisma and he trained her to fight like the wind. Fahch had only known the desert but had travelled beyond the border, crossed the Menavariyam in search of gold.
The young boy beamed, but noticed a little sadness in Kobak as she told the story of Fahch. “What’s up miss?” She looked at the boy and said it was silly really. They had a disagreement. And the next day Fahch was gone. Many moons had passed, and he hadn’t returned. Kobak fell silent, offering a simple prayer to protect her friend.
Suddenly, a multicoloured bird dropped from the sky and landed on a nearby fence squawking. “It’s one of those speakin’ ones miss,” offered the boy and the bird responded with, “Message. Come back Blud. Come back Blud.”
Days later Kobak returned to the temple, greeted by the Zeuser’s smile and a warming tonic to chase away the mountain snow. There was some laughter echoing around the temple, “It’s not going to be a quiet one, dearie.” Kobak followed the sound of the noise, knowing she should pay her respects to Blood Satyr, but as she rounded one of the pillars she collided with a dark, hooded figure with eyes as wild as the night and a faint smell of charred sand. The two looked at each other – a gaze that reached into the arms of Oblivion and back. “Little Brother,” Kobak beamed and gave Fahch a deep hug. “Gosh I’ve missed you.”
Fahch led her to a fire where all her friends were sat, sharing stories. Jiliang smiled and offered her a paper bird. She hugged him too, and Zorbax, and others whose names are lost on this writer. And when Blood Satyr joined them, she was home. He spoke once to say simply: “It is agreed. The temple will always be your home but there is a ship; a tall, nameless ship that needs a moral compass. It needs my warriors.”
“Will you come with us old friend?” ZeuserG looked into the eyes of the Satyr who nodded and then added, “But only for a short time. I have made promises and a person is not worth a hill of beans if they cannot keep their promises.”
Days later, the warriors of the temple of Jaxstead Zeus arrived on the stone dock next to a tall, nameless ship. Shady the Elf watched the proceedings as Igor Crackovitch greeted them. Shady watched as cargo of all manner was lifted in rope nets onto the ship. Another group approached, led by the loud man in green he’d seen from the rafters. He seemed sober this time. Others accompanied him, including the one known as Jean Flint – a retired farmer from Ekrinaya, so the fable told. Shady the Elf gave this alliance a month and slunk back into his cabin.
In the hustle and bustle on the dockside, she almost blended in, carefully moving between the crates and barrels. She looked a little lost but caught the eye of Mearaithe. There was a moment’s silence until the man in green smiled. “One of yours?” asked Jean Flint. Mearaithe lied, “Yes, of course.”
“I haven’t seen you before,” that could be said for many of the cats. “I’m Waldeboeuf,” the woman nervously smiled back at him. Jean Flint nodded. “Well make yourself useful then.”
Flint looked at the tall, nameless ship. His mind turning the question ‘forest beef?’ in his mind. He looked back at where the woman was to ask why she was named Forest Beef, but she was gone. He sighed and turned his attention to Igor Crackovitch.
“So, we get to name it?” his question was offered out.
“For the amount of gold you’ve paid, of course,” responded Crackovitch.
Jean Flint sighed again and called: “Mr Saxo!!”
The young man appeared, quill in hand.
“Mr Saxo, get your paint and branding irons to the back of this tall, nameless ship and let’s give her a name.”
“What name, Mr Flint?”
Jean Flint took one more look at the tall, nameless ship and responded with one word: “Behemoth.”
Back in the present Jean Flint poured himself a rum. He offered one to Enekos who politely refused. On one wall of his quarters, an ornate wood board was nailed to the ship. It read:
“Which is more important,” asked Big Panda, “the journey or the destination?”
“The company,” said Tiny Dragon.
Jean Flint sighed again. “You’ll be leaving us then Mr Enekos?”
Enekos looked back at Jean Flint. “There are so many origin stories to discover and share. But yes…” he paused for a moment. “It was something Blood Satyr said. I want to spend some time in the temple. I want to understand the soul of the Behemoth. I know it’s only a story, but it resonates. Don’t worry Jean Flint, I will be here for many moons before I take that brief journey… and I will always return. Home.”
Jean Flint raised his glass to Tiny Dragon and the sun set one more time…
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