Legends and Lore – Fantasy World Resources

Originally posted at http://ccwf.cc.utexas.edu/~aleph/prophecies.html by Colin Turner

the sea dragon
an actively-circulated bit of legend: the massive lake Nyr Dyv is knows for its sea-monsters. a hunt is conducted every third year, but the one they all seek is never caught. they call this ancient beast “Sea-dragon”, “Crafty One”, “Shipcrusher” and “Walter”. mysterious mishaps on the interminably deep lake are usually attributed to this creature. it would be just another legend if great heroes of old had not themselves sought the beast, reportedly for its wisdom: the halfling warrior Arsenault sought it out in his struggles to help rid Celene of its scourge, the vampire general Kaz, and slightly more recently, a Perrenlander hero, Canter Mer, did the same prior to his own disappearance.

the sinking island
another sailor’s ghost-story if of the uncharted island, sometimes there, sometimes not, but supposedly in the Isles of the Sea Barons, as far across the worls as is possible to go. Among sea-farers, to dream of it rising is an omen of death and destruction.

the nine swords of unmaking
this story is immortalized in epic song, and only bards of rank can be expected to know more than fragments, let alone perform it, but it is possible that someone among the party heard a thrice-removed or otherwise diluted version. in the tale, the hero, roland, is corrupted by a glass sword he finds in catacombs below his castle. in his spiraling insanity, kills the lady who loves him, and gathers a terrible reputation despite the false version of her death presented to the gentry. finally, unable to bear the pressure in his soul any longer, he abandons his castle and rides aimlessly, hard. he gathers first one companion, then another: silent, cloaked men who join him at full gallop, never resting, riding alongside him from country to country; each bears the brother of his own blade. and as their numbers swell, he rides ever the harder, for he knows that he is doomed when the ninth man comes.

old iuz
legend has it that merely a century ago, a demon-general united the lands which bear his name and built a road of skulls from Dorakaa to the Howling Hills. Granted, it is a nasty territory north of the dark Vesve Forest, but all seems to be turmoil in the surrounding countries, constant small-scale warfare a way of life. Still sighted now and then, though, are standards and shields bearing the mark of Iuz – a snake encircling a triangle containing a star, on a field of red.

the hungering hills
the wasteland now called the Albor-Alz is said to be the site of a clash between two armies of wizards, thousands of years ago; they say that the blinding desert hills hold the magic still, shifting to confuse those who quest for ancient battlefields or dwarven barrows. the explorers and surveyors who enter seldom find it worth the trouble; the demons of the sand are merciless, and their descendents twisted berserkers, but somehow the local nomads of the place survive. better to leave it to them who know its secret.

sites of visitation and madness
ancient druids conducted abominable rites around obelisks which used to exist in every country. the common local story has it that on a particular night, they return to hold their vile worship – and they carry away with them to whatever nameless place from whence they came all unsanctioned witnesses. locals disagree on which night it is, so the more supersitious stay home on both midummer’s night and the winter solstice. equally common is the knowledge that most standing stones are now standing stumps – their towering height hacked down by determined folk long ago.

murlynd’s talisman
the famed adventurer murlynd for a time possessed an object – a small cube. he said it had been a gift from Fharlagn in return for his devotion, but none who thought to accuse him of blasphemy did, when they had seen it. he carried it openly, weighing it in his hand when deep in thought; sages speculate that it allowed him to commune with the great god, or perhaps to see into the past or future, for even the most heroic are seldom renowned for wisdom or restraint, and Murlynd was ever exceptional in both.

esmerin
there has long been legend among the Flan and demi-human residents of the Ulek area that there is a hidden place in the Lortmils, a broad valley where halflings and giants dwell together in peace and prosperity. supposedly, objects from the place were recovered as evidence of its existence some years ago, but none have ever located the valley, even searching from the air.

fegrim’s stand
the auxiliary volunteer contingent of hill dwarves guarding the eastern pass through the Lortmils against counter-invasion from the Suss Forest during the Hateful Wars, led by Fegrim of Lead Hollow, came under unexpected, heavy attack; they held the pass against an overwhelming force of orcs and trolls for six days, and the survivors swore to a man that they fought alongside their long-dead brothers and fathers, who said not a single word but repelled every onslaught, never flagging or failing. Fegrim and his officers entered various priesthoods thereafter, changed men.

zagig ygraene, the mad mayor of greyhawk
the Jewel of the Flanaess enjoyed its longest period of prosperity during the 150-year reign of its most famous mayor. eccentric, withdrawn, generous – Zagig was unpredictable and extravagant. the enormous, three-towered castle he built lies in ruins beyond the city gates, and since his disappearance, every mayor has been titled “acting mayor”, against the possibility of his return. servants of Boccob the Uncaring, great god of magic and knowledge, include within their dogma a servant of their god, named Zagyg.

the jungle of ships
in the southern seas, there is said to be a drifting continent of hulks bound by weeds and inhabited by creatures of the deep; there’s no telling how many lost ships might be bound together in such a tangle, or what cargo they carried, but surely the place – if it exists – is cursed. sailors seldom mention their fears aloud, believing that to give voice to evil brings it one step closer (and you’d do well to heed their wisdom), but each sacrifices to Procan or Osprem or Xerbo before sailing to guard against such fates.

the lost city of the Suloise
in the Suss Forest, populated by all manner of horrors, there is said the be a stronghold built by the fleeing Suel people after the annihiliation of their ancient empire in what is now the Sea of Dust. expeditions searching its trackless, black-trunked depths for relics of the long-gone advanced civilization generally return empty handed – if indeed they still have both the hands they went in with. no such expeditions have departed for some years, given the increasing danger of the forest itself; even barges travelling through it on the Jewel river have been assaulted, stifling trade through Gradsul.

nimmion kingslayer, whose bones cannot rest
during the siege of Westkeep, one of the many conflicts between that waning empire of Keoughland and its piratical neighbor to the south, the Hold of the Sea Princes, King Tavish III was slain in single combat by a newly-ordained priest of Tritherion, Nimmion Rivalyn. a wave of fear swept through the Keoish host; they were quickly routed and sold into slavery throughout the hold, but the hero who won the day was not to be found. the high priest of Tritherion, Tharnnd Justiceseeker, proclaimed that their hero had been swept up to the heavens by Tritherion himself, and so it seemed. but disturbing visions came to Tharnnd at all hours – that Nimmion was not at rest, or at peace – that he had been swept from the battlefield by vengeful powers. now a saint in the religion, Nimmion Kingslayer’s remains are still quested for by young priests of the god of Justice and Vengeance, and one can be sure that they would pay a king’s ransom to any who recovered them.

the fleet of doomed rowers
a common sailors’ legend is that one who drowns and whose soul is unclaimed by their own god – or he who has no god – will bend his back for eternity at the oars of the ships of the demon lord of the deep.

the glove of benario
benario, the master thief, his birthplace and nationality unknown, was the most-blamed scourge of riches in six kingdoms, when Keoughland was at its peak, and those who travelled with him whispered of a glove he wore, of alien aspect and design – a glove he would not suffer to remove. historians are vultures, amplifying surviving details to construct themes, but some thieves pray to the spirit of benario for guidance even today, and many dream of finding the glove.

Prophecies & Riddles

translated from the dwarven
an ruler bright of Rauxes might be forged
silver eyes and trolls devise the balance fire-crowned
hells belie and brass defy the iron of his brow

a gnomish prophecy
Our ends will come
when the maker made has lost the way
and cannot makers make
madness arrive, dragons revive
so little left to take

an elven prophecy, oddly enough:
a goblin crown will rise to claim his people; his ways will be ancient, and they shall regain the honor that was theirs; so was decreed by the mystic Aaleion in the seventh reign of Evela. for this, he lost his place in elven scholarship. later, the ridiculous prediction gained small credence when ancient documents in a written form of goblin-tongue similar to the ancient troll-tongue were unearthed. these “high goblin” writings lamented the degradation of their race, heaping blame on stone men of the mountains.

a halfling prophecy
Avoreen protect us
Arsenault by his side
Yondalla warm and feed us
Brandobaris help us hide
a hero of generations
inherits immortal might
to stauch the blood of innocents
returning them to light

handed-down riddle, existing in many languages
a handless man had a letter to write,
and he who read it had lost his sight;
the dumb repeated it word for word,
and deaf was the man who listened and heard.

a rhyme, as it is commonly sung by copper-bards, then as it is recited by scholars:
knock the door of ever’et
the silken ladies learn
mind the lock at ever’et
to win yourself a turn
hear the clock at ever’et
your heart forever burn
oh, the girls of ever’et

knocking once at Evenant
maids line up to greet
knocking twice at Evenant
masters dance from heat
knocking thrice at Evenant
empties anger’s seat
none knock then at Evenant