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Zoranian Folklore: Terrors of the mind and spirit


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Gather around young and old as I tell you tales best left untold.

Many moons ago, before Advanvdo blessed the land with his presence, there was a man named Yeminose. Yeminose was a renowned hunter across Zoran, it was said he once killed twenty Jaguars all on his own in less than an hour. He was the ideal man, strong, humble, wise, athletic, pure of heart, and charitable. But as his fame and renown grew he lost his way and grew prideful, greedy, pompous, and arrogant. It was though he was a whole different person.

One day, Yeminose was making his rounds through his village when he encountered a shaman who had heard of the great hunter who had lost his way. The shaman wore rags and old tattered clothes made of elk skin. Yeminose looked down upon the old shaman with disgust and said,

“How can a man who speaks to the spirits present himself in such an indecent and filthy way.”

Little did he know that this shaman was an aparition of the Great Spirit who had come to teach a lesson to the prideful young hunter. The shaman spoke with a stern voice,

“Young hunter, you may be strong and you may be fit but your heart is as black as the deepest depths of the sea. How can you speak of the spirits when your own soul is as vile as the mouth of bottom feeders like the crab?”

Yeminose was enraged at these words and said,

“How dare you, you old fool! Do you not know who I am!? I am Yeminose! Slayer of Jaguars! Bane of sharks! Master of the jungle! I demand you get on your knees and beg my forgiveness!”

The Great Spirit did no such thing and instead challenged the prideful Yeminose,

“How about this, there is a monster in the deepest part of the jungle. It is known as Toranas, an Urakti that has taken the form of a muscular hairy creature that stands at 8 feet (2.44 meters) tall that bears great strength and invokes fear in any being or creature that encounters it. If you can slay this beast then you shall earn my apology and be known as the greatest hunter in the world.”

Yeminose, who was one to never turn down a challenge, accepted the challenge. But his pride and arrogance will get the better of him.

He ventured into the darkest depths of the jungle. All sunlight was blocked by the canopy of the great and ancient trees. The jungle was unnaturally quiet, no creature made a sound, not even the platypuses in the rivers. But there was a parrot, who stood on a branch, that spoke,

“Turn back *squack* death and doom ahead *squack*.”

Yeminose ignored this parrot, only laughing at its mimicry of some cowardly fool.

No creature or beast can best me! I am the greatest hunter in Zoran!

He thought to himself as he crossed a riverbed, going into the deepest part of the jungle. He has never traveled this deep into the jungle before. His previous confidence faded from him and was replaced with uncertainty. The trees were twisted and covered in thorns. The roots were black and were visible above the ground and a thick fog covered the floor of the jungle. The silence along with the reduced visibility put Yeminose on edge

Suddenly, the earth shook under his feet as he heard stomping in the distance. His legs began to tremble and he found himself unable to move. From the fog he saw a silhouette of a giant hairy creature with glowing red eyes. It stood on two legs and had arms that were the size of Yeminose’s body. He could hear its heavy breathing as it drew closer and he saw the face of the humanoid-like creature. The creature had huge feet and it walked in a strange manner. The proud hunter struggled to raise his bow up in time before he let out a blood curdling scream that echoed throughout the jungle as the creature picked him up, threw him onto the ground, and mercilessly stomped on him. That day many Zoranians heard the strange roar of the creature and when people went to investigate all they saw were the remains of a human corpse and giant humanoid footprints.

It is said that Toranas still roams the jungle till this day, and some say that there are more of his kind out there. But when you hear its thundering roar you know your end draws near. Let this be a lesson about pride, no matter how great of something you may be there will always be something or someone greater than you that will crush you.

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Back again for another tale from the land of Zor? Well for this tale you better hope you don’t lose your head.

There are many spirits that reside in Zoran, some as malevolent as the Urakti and others as peaceful as a visiting soul of a family member. But there is one spirit that is feared above all, the Crimson Rider. Every blood moon it is said that the Crimson Rider, on his wicked horse Cyprus, rides down from the moon to make his ride across the Zoranian isles to round up any stray spirits that remained in the mortal realm for too long. However, the Crimson Rider shows no mercy to any poor traveler it counters on its midnight ride. For you see, the rider does not see the mortal flesh of man, he only sees their souls and thus believes them to be lost spirits and he drags them with him on his midnight ride down to the underworld. Yet during the night, mortals will hear his eerie yet captivating call for the dead to return to their respective afterlives. This call causes many poor fools to cross paths with the Rider. One such fellow was Lagida Tle’-Maya’.

Lagida was a beautiful woman who had suitors traveling from all thirty tribes of Zoran asking for her hand. But all these suitors were turned away for she believed that she needed no man to be happy. She sometimes saw her beauty as a curse as that was all men would see, they wouldn’t see her for her intelligence or for her singing voice. Unfortunately for poor Lagida, the people of her demanded that she either marry or become a seer, a mystic like position that existed before Adanvdo graced the land with his presence. She did not wish to live the life of a seer so she relented and decided to marry. But at this point no man was willing to marry her because she broke their hearts before. Unable to find a husband on her own she had to wait until her mother could arrange a marriage for her. But she made one request to her mother, she wanted a man who could sing. While her request was an unusual one her mother granted her daughter this.

However, that night there was a blood moon and all Zoranians closed their windows and their doors for they knew it was time for the Crimson Rider to make his rounds. Lagida was never the superstitious type and always thought the stories of the elders were nothing more than stories to keep them from misbehaving. But that night her doubts will lead to her demise. While Lagida slept through the night, she heard an enchanting voice sing in the distance which caused her to wake,(Note: the words of the Rider has a similar meter to The Alan Parson's Project's song The Cask of Amontillado(yes it is based on Edgar Allan Poe's short story) listen to it a bit and then read it if you want to. It doesn't work perfectly with some of the lines but it is the best I can do to describe the way I imagined it)

Hear me all spirits,
Return to your halls;
The master requires,
Your return to your sires,

Adhere to my call,
And you might just find,
The crimson rider
Upon his night ride

Lagida thought this was some man playing a prank upon the village people by pretending to be the Crimson Rider. Yet she found the voice of this nonexistent man to be enchanting and thought him to be the man she wanted to marry. She rushed down the steps and unlocked the door before rushing out into the streets to find this mystery man. Lagida ran out of the village in the direction she was hearing the enchanting voice,

Seven hours till dawn,
But the night will drag on;
As the Great Spirit’s Liaison,
Will ride on and on,

Adhere to my call,
And you might just find,
The crimson rider,
Upon his night ride,

But as she drew closer, the enchanting voice grew eerier and eerier and the air around her grew cold. Despite the cold air, Lagida walked on determined to see the man she may wed. After a few more minutes of walking she soon noticed that frost soon formed on the plants around her as they died of the cold. She knew something was wrong but she did not want to admit the truth behind it all. It wasn’t long till the thundering of hooves filled her ears and she saw the approaching shadow which she hoped to be her mystery man. But as the shadow became clearer she came only to find the crimson rider upon his night ride. The rider rode a translucent black horse with glowing white eyes that showed all men feared to see. But the rider himself was a sight to behold. He wore a red cloak with gold trim and underneath he wore a black doublet that looked as though it were made of leather with a red undershirt. He wore black trousers and black leather gloves. But that wasn’t the frightening part about him, his face was what sent fear down Lagida’s spine. His head was charred, melted, and as black as coal and his eyes were like red tongues of fire. The rider stopped when he saw Lagida on the road, his red eyes staring deeply into her soul. Without saying a word, the rider extended his left hand towards Lagida and thin red wires spew forth from his arm. The wires wrapped around Lagida until she couldn’t move a single part of her body. She screamed in vain as the wires dug into her and burned her flesh before she fell to the ground tied up and helpless. The Crimson rider then signaled for his horse to continue on its way and it began to zoom through the night while dragging poor Lagida as he rode. She screamed and cried as was dragged through mud, dirt, gravel, and water but it was too late for her as the rider took her life and dragged her into the Underworld.

When you hear my song,
Know you do not have long,
Till I come along
To take what does not belong

When the moon bleeds red
Know that the dead will be led
By the Crimson Rider
Whose tale has no end

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  • 1 month later...

So you have returned for more bone chilling tales from the mystical land of Zoran? Well this time it is nothing terrifying, but instead a tale that many people in Zoran are familiar with, the tale of Amadahy. 

Back in the days when Saint Mark ruled the land, there was a young woman named Amadahy. Amadahy was an orphan whose mother died in childbirth and whose father died in an attack of her village from Saint Mark colonists. She was raised by her tribe, just as tribal law dictated at the time. The woman taught her household skills and the men taught her how to hunt and use a bow. From the shamans she learned religious beliefs that her parents were supposed to teach her, but when the shaman of the village first saw her he said,

“This girl has the spark inside her. Truly the Spirit has something planned for her.”

Indeed, she did have a spark inside her and the Great Spirit had something grand planned for her. When she came of age, which at the time was sixteen years old, she did not know what she wanted to do with her life. It is tradition that a woman would choose her life path whether that be religious or secular whether as a mother or a member of the tribe’s workforce or sometimes both. Yet she did not know what she wanted to do. When she came to face her father and the red chief, she said that she did not know what life path she wanted to follow. Her father and the red chief were displeased and told her to leave the tribe until she decided what life path she wanted to follow. She was ashamed and walked out of the tribal village in tears going into the wild Zoranian jungle.

She walked deep into the jungle, crying the entire way, until she reached the edge of a waterfall. When she reached the edge she looked down off the edge of the waterfall, debating what she wanted to do with her life. However, shame at her inability to decide took hold over her mind and she decided to jump off the edge of the waterfall to her death. Just as she was about to jump off, she was stopped by a divine light that shone brightly in front of her. A Voraltar named Tanehewe floated in front of her, sent by the Great Spirit to stop her from ending her life.

“Ganesosgv, Amadahy. I am Tanehewe, a voraltar of the Great Spirit, Do not cast your life away to the pits of despair. You have a spark within you, a spark gifted to you by the Spirit Himself.”

Amadahy was in shock and awe at the Voraltar and fell to her knees at the edge of the waterfall before saying,

“A spark? What could I have done to deserve such a gift from the Great Spirit? I am but a simple orphan.”

“The Spirit works in ways that not even I understand. But fear not, I have come to grant you guidance.” they said, “Go to the grave where your father was laid, there you shall find the light to your spark that will help you find the path you will follow.”

Amadahy thanked Tanehewe before getting up and going to the burial ground where her father was laid to rest. Upon her arrival at the burial site, she found a large group of children gathered together with tears rolling down their cheeks. They were thin to the bone and some sat nude but all of them owned anything. They didn’t have money, food, toys, or even a family. Conflict with Saint Markian colonists have been leaving a massive number of orphans and tribes have been struggling to support all of them. These children were among those that were cast out from their tribes because of there being too many mouths to feed and not enough people to work to produce or procure food.

Amadahy was moved by the sight of these children and the spark within her was finally lit. The spark within her is known as the Spark of Giving, and at the sight of these children she felt the need to give them along with other children gifts to raise their spirits, encourage good behavior, or to help them survive. She ran to her village with haste and when she arrived people thought she had chosen her life path. While this is true, it wasn’t a traditional one. She entered the foster home that she was housed in and got to work making a large woven basket out of river cane. The Great Spirit was pleased with her dedication that he blessed the basket so that she can pull out any gift she needs. After she finished weaving her blessed basket, she ran out of the village back to the children at the burial ground and gave them food, clothing, some Zorallas, and some toys for them to play with. The children smiled and thanked her for her kindness and since then she has been giving gifts to children across Zoran for years with the help of the Great Spirit. But she only gives gifts to good boys and girls or orphaned children who are in desperate need to help and she goes from house to house or alleyway to alleyway every night to give out gifts to all children in Zoran.

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  • 7 months later...

Once again you return to hear another tale from Zoranian myth? Hehehe, can’t let the spirits of the dead rest can you? Very well, this tale is one whose origin is more recent compared to the others. Years ago, when the towers of smoke were first erected in Zoran to release the fumes created from use of coal to mass produce goods. There was a young man of the age of eighteen named Utsidihi who was the son of a wealthy steel mill manager, they got everything they asked for without question. He was rude towards his peers and believed himself better than others because of his wealth. But one day his demands and entitlement would be his doom.

It was a normal day for the boy, he got out of bed, went down stairs, and sat down for breakfast. No one was at the table when he took his seat, and he waited for his meal to be served. Five minutes passed and no food was brought out, he grew impatient.

“Where is my breakfast!” He cried aloud in the empty room. A maid came into the room holding a tray holding eggs, toast, bacon, and a glass of orange juice,

“I am sorry, young master, I just got your food from the kitchen.” She said meekly as she walked over to him, setting the tray down in front of him. He didn’t acknowledge the servant as he took his fork and took a bite of the eggs, they were cold. He was furious,

“These are too cold!” He said flipping the tray of food in front of him, sending the food flying everywhere and his silverware clattering across the table. The glass of orange juice crashed on the floor along with the plate. The servant recoiled in fear, waiting for the fury to turn on her as it had many times before. Utsidihi rose from his seat and turned towards the servant, doing exactly what she expected him to do. He took the tray and proceeded to beat her over the head with it.

“I.Want.My.Breakfast.Warm!” he said between strikes. She cowered on the ground, desperately trying to protect herself from the strikes of the man. But her attempts were futile, blow after blow the tray got covered in more and more blood until the poor woman went limp. Blood now coated the face of Utsidihi, now standing above a beaten corpse of a woman with a bent serving tray in hand. His grandfather entered the room and was horrified with what he saw. He knew his grandson had a temper and was spoiled but he didn’t think it would have ever gone to this level of entitlement. His grandson turned his head towards him, a pleased grin on his blood covered face,

“Good morning, grandpa.” His grandfather frowned, displeased with what his grandson had done.

“Utsidihi, you are no descendant of mine for no one of my blood would commit such a despicable act. In the name of the Spirit who Wove the universe into existence, I hereby curse you in His name as punishment for your deeds. But now you must endure your physical punishment.” He marched over and grabbed his son by the ear, dragging him away to his punishment. The son was tied to a palm tree outside of their property, the grandfather holding a whip in his hand. He then proceeded to lash Utsidihi repeatedly with the whip, cuts opening on his back with each lash. This proceeded until his back was completely broken, unable to stand because of the lashings. He was then forced to stand tied to the tree for three days, howler monkeys coming by each day throwing stones and their feces at him, opening his wounds again and infecting them. On the third day, the grandfather came holding a large burlap bag and he cut his grandson from the tree and tossed the bag over to him. As it landed, its contents poured onto the ground revealing human bones.

“These are the bones of the servant you murdered, you are to carry these bones for all eternity, in life and in death, becoming the monster that you truly are deep inside.” He was forced to stand with his broken back, carrying the bones of the woman he murdered in the sack and limping away, howling as he went along.

To this day he wanders the land, a shadow of his former self. It is said that the teeth on his top and bottom jaw have since melded together and his lips have rotted away to reveal the solid wall of teeth in his mouth. He has grown thin to the bone, his skin clinging to his ribcage, and his limbs have grown abnormally long and lanky. He believes his punishment was cruel and unjust and has made use of his eternal suffering to punish those who were similar to him in life. He kills those children who are spoiled and bratty, those who are abusive, and those who are murderers. If you hear a raspy howling in the distance, you are in danger, but if you hear it nearby then you are safe. He murders his victims by beating them with his sack and when he is done he adds their bones to his sack. The souls of those whose bones are put in his sack are forced to join in his eternal suffering, trapped in the sack as they are forced to be carried along in his torment.

So beware all ye who are wicked and all children who are bratty and spoiled, for you might just doom yourself to a fate worse than death should you attract the attention of The Howler.

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