Make your own free website on Tripod.com
Balthasar's Archives
Home | Rowan Kingdom | The Rules | Oakenshield Documents | The Journal of Blaize Triestre | Green Circle Document | 98th Legion Document | The Minotaur and the Labyrinth | Memory Crystal Summaries | Death of Salvatore | Lexicon | Midpoint scroll | Maradas Graham | Maradas, part two | The Last Cry of the Swan | The Forsworn Knight | A Cup to Catch the Moonlight | The Soldier and the Coachman, Part One | The Soldier and the Coachman, Part Two | The Soldier and the Coachman, Part Three | Kethra's Stories | Mysteries Upon Mount Harakus | The Alchemist's Tale | Shipwreck Document | Crystal-Making Document | Durgia Ironhair | Junis 402 Proclamation | Truth and Reality | Juras and the Enslaver | A Mother's Love | Amulet of Shielding ceremony | Selections from Salvatore's Journal | Fragment of the Viper's Journal | Ceremony to Cure Lycanthropy | Spirit Anchoring Ceremony | Melody's Documents | Notes on the Labyrinth | Mathus' notes on Tal magic | Imperial Academy Documents | Imperial Academy documents, part two | General Pavarum letter | Walk in the Sun | Haitiane Letters | Master of War's Journal | Miscellaneous Master of War documents | Claudius and Ianthe Letters
Kethra's Stories

Kethra is a slana'ar storyteller who came to the Deepfrost Bazaar of 404.  These are her stories.

The Legend of the Burning Sands

Once the world was young and green. Trees and grasslands flourished
everywhere, food and game were plentiful, and the mortal races lived an
easy life in luxury. It was so for many years until the Burning One awoke
from his ancient slumber. He looked upon the green places of the Earth,
and his heart grew heavy with a terrible joy, for it was his delight to
set the forests ablaze and burn the grasslands to cinders.

The Burning One rose up from his bed of molten rock and strode across the
world. Where his feet touched the land, waters hissed and vanished, trees
burst into flames, and grasslands crisped and burned to ash. Deserts
poured from his mouth when he breathed, covered the burning lands with
sand and rock, and ash covered the sun when he shook his head.

It was seen then that the Burning One would not rest until the world was
ash and cinders.  And so the Slanar'ar were brought forth, we who can
enter into the wastelands of the world and endure - oh so briefly - the
touch of the EverBurning Death. We were greater in those times than in
these. Our footsteps shook the desert sands as we went into battle, and
our war-cries echoed from the roof of the world to the depths of the sea.

A war was there in those times. Its battles raged across the skies,
beneath the darkest ocean, and atop the highest mountain.  The foundations
of the world shook as Great One fought Great One. We were but foot
soldiers in one small part of that war, and it nearly destroyed us all.

In the end, the Burning One was bound in chains of ever-flowing water and
killed in the War. The Slanar'ar were changed forever by those who saw
that they could one day become a threat and banished to the wastes and
deserts that they had seen created by the Burning Ones. But we remember.
Though storm and ice, fire and flood, darkness and rebirth, our memory is
long.

 


It is said that the Slana'ar will never give away anything, and it is
true. Every deed must be repaid; each transaction carefully weighed, and
each bargain sealed to satisfaction.

Many years ago, before the Sun had faded to yellow, when the snake could
still fly, the Slana'ar were a great people. Our footsteps could shake the
mountains, fire sprang up at our command, and our voices would thunder
through the deep places of the world.

In that time, a voice spoke to the tribe of Slana'ar, offering them
precious rewards for nothing. A gift, it said. And so the Slana'ar
accepted the gift. For a while, the Slana'ar were delighted with their new
gift, but then they noticed that they were less and less pleased. So they
asked the voice for another gift -- one better than the last. And the
voice agreed.

This went on for some time until one day the voice came to the Slana'ar
and said, "I have given you all that you have asked for and you have taken
it.  Now the time has come for you to repay my gifts." And the Slana'ar
protested, saying that they should not be required to pay for that which
was given freely.  The voice laughed, and said that nothing was ever given
for free.  So the Slana'ar were taken captive by the voice and forced into
servitude.

Ever since that time, the Slana'ar have known that nothing is given for
nothing.

 

 


The Deaths of the World

The world has ended thrice before. Each time it has been reborn, rebuilt,
renewed.  There are three more times the world may die and be reborn
before the final death when all will be still and cold once again.

The first death was the death of metal, the death of war and blood.

The second death was the death of water, of ice and cold, that which
opposes fire.

The third death was the death of stone, of earth that sunk beneath the
waves, of soil that failed, of mountains crumbled.

It is said that the next death will be the death of wood, but none can say
when or how such death will come.

It is known that the final death will be the death of spirit.

 

 

Before the Shattering, the world was rich and beautiful. Many marvels
graced the sky, shone in the sun, and danced in the waves. Things that we
can not even imagine now were commonplace, and the mortal races were
content in their lives.

The Slana'ar knew of the beauties of the world because we were the ones
who bought and sold them. Traveling from place to place with our wonders,
we crossed the world bringing news, riches, and perhaps a bit of gossip as
well. While our home has always been the warm places of the land, we
braved snow and ice to retrive the ice-orchids so prized by Trahern,
suffered through the misery of rain and jungle to offer blood-stones to
the men of Arkat (and life-stones to their women), and ventured into the
depths to bring the rose-gold to the Dueregar for forging.

And then the Shattering came upon us, and a piece of the sun fell to the
earth and scorched the land turning vast acres to barren wasteland. We saw
the sun fall, felt the heat of its passing, and to this day we sometimes
see the flickering light of the fallen piece as it reaches out to the sky.

It is said that no one can be close to the sun and walk away unchanged. It
is why the Phoenix always brings a change to those who receive its
blessing. It is why the nothing placed inside a fire emerges unscathed. It
is why the sun changes night to day and the fire changes darkness to
light. It brings change.

That which lived in the lands where the sun's shard fell to earth were
changed by it. The very land was changed. Now, it is harsh and desolate --
hostile to those mortal races who were not touched by the shard.

For there are things that live in the waste -- terrible things driven mad
by the changes made to them and by the constant light of the sun-shard.
Some were once Slana'ar. Some were human, elven, even trow. No one would
recognize them now, for they have changed.  They ride beasts that tower
over everything, and carry weapons made of living things.

In some years, they send warriors against us, and we fight them. They raid
us for our herds and the water that we have found in the desert.  We fight
them, driving back the mad warriors. In some years, they come not at all,
and we are free to tend our herds and live our lives in peace.

Once, a Slana'ar went into the waste, seeking treasures and wealth beyond
counting. She returned, blinded by the sun-shard and speaking prophecy.
But when her tounge was idle, she said that she had seen marvels out of a
child's imagination. Rocks that spoke, water that ran upstream,
butterflies larger than a goat, and wonders beyond compare. Other Slana'ar
have since tired the same journey, but none have returned.

 

Enter supporting content here