It's not so much about him caring as it is about us "covering our own" asses about the honor of listening to the tales of an Ogre.
Glory of the Emerald Empire (Legend of the 5 Rings Quest)
- Thread starter Winged Knight
- Start date
- Fantasy
GilliamYaeger
M'crazy.
I'm not sure that Muharanok would care if we use any knowledge gained from him to kill his insane bretheren. I'm sure he does it all the time, and the Crab themselves certainly have no issue with killing Tainted humans.
3.9
Winged Knight
Still just a crazy man with a wolf on his head
- Location
- Texas
I deliberated for days on how I would write this update. The Dawn of the Ogres has already been written in a great story by a man named Lucas Twyman, and I found myself wondering just how I would present what he has already written so well. In the end, I decided I could not retread and butcher what he has already portrayed with such skill.
The history of the ogres is almost word for word his own, copied with minor edits by me and attributed with full honors and credit to him. May we all be thankful to Lucas Twyman for fleshing out the history of these people, and bringing more depth to the fantastic world that is the Legend of the 5 Rings.
[x] Agree to listen.
You think for a few moments. It is very likely what Muharanok is about to tell you isn't something that would be well received by the rest of Rokugan. For all you know, all your interactions with the ogre have been part of a long deception meant to put you off your guard. What is happening now could just be one step toward a greater plan for your own ruin.
But then you think back to the vehemence in Muharanok's voice when he screamed his rage at the Oni… That hadn't been faked. He honestly desired the destruction of that foul being, and took great pains toward to end the demon. You feel that the creature is being sincere with you, as much as he is capable of such a thing, at any rate.
Besides, if he wished your destruction he could have killed you while you were bedridden. It would be much easier than some long, convoluted plan.
"Fine," you respond. "Tell me your story, ogre. I will listen."
Muharanok nods, and then clears his throat. When he speaks, his voice is much deeper. It is like the earth beneath your feet, building slowly but gathering incredible power. It resembles more a force of nature than mere speech, his words pouring out with the rumbling strength of an earthquake for all that he pitched his voice low.
"Know, oh Crab, that you have been found worthy to hear the sacred history of the Mikata. You must keep in mind that all in this mortal world is cyclical, and all that comes is but a distorted reflection of what has already occurred. I am but one of the few who remembers the proud history of my people, most of us having long fallen to madness. Listen now to the verses of the Kjornid, even knowing that its true splendor is lost being spoken in your base tongue. Listen to the ancient tale of Muhonarak, sire of the Mikata, the first and true name of the ogres, and his son Muhomono, Prince of the World, The Prince of Tears, forever weeping in death for his lost children."
The First Verse
Muhonarak came from the North, clad in leather and wolf-skin, strong as the earth itself and burning with an intellect beyond mortal ken. Behind him, his tribe, the Mikata followed, hungry and lean, thousands strong, an army exceeded perhaps in size but never in strength. Muhonarak was a leader. He would become a king.
Muhonarak was the first of us. Born in the foam where the flaming river of the Burning Peak met the sea, far in the distant, frozen north, Muhonarak's mother was the sea itself, and his father was the flame, brought to bear in the form of the dire earth-giant Kjald. Kjald, wounded mortally by the Moon for attempting to court the Sun, lay bleeding at the edge of the shelf of land, and it is his body that makes up the Burning Peak, and it is said by visiting northmen that, even today, the giant will stir in pain and his burning blood will once again violently rush forth from the wound.
Even at birth, Muhonarak knew no fear: it is said that he never cried out, even as the earth shuddered and the sea roared red. Instead, he stole his first breath from a passing hawk, and caught it as it fell limply to the earth. The essence of flame burned the water into crimson blood, but Muhonarak was kin with death itself, and was not worried. Suckled on the brine of the sea and the flesh of the hawk, Muhonarak grew strong in days.
Muhonarak's first act was murder, but the murder was just, for they allowed the Mikata to live, and the Mikata were the agent of all the elements, and thus were the greatest of all mortal creatures. Man had not yet arisen in those days, and the world was ruled by five races, four born of one element each and the final born of wisdom.
Just murder is the purpose of the Mikata: it is why we were created; as we were born to be Ningen-Do's warriors, its defenders. Muhonarak was created to defeat the champions of other realms, so that mortals could live in peace, free of the jealous influence of the realms of the dead. In order to do so, he would need an army, and the gods provided one: Muhonarak's first hundred steps each birthed an ogre, the progenitors of our race.
Muhonarak fought many battles against the other godlings of the north, from the Great Wolf Yugoth, sire of all hounds, to the earliest children of the wyrms and the daughters of giants. The Mikata tribe grew beyond the bounds of the harsh north, and Muhonarak led his people to the south, to the land of the Five Races, to claim their riches and carve his kingdom.
Before, Muharanok's words had been like the tremors proceeding an earthquake. Now, though, you feel he force of them in truth. The passion of the ogre's tale… It has a heat to it, like fire scorching your skin. You can almost see the great sire of the ogres looming above the corpse of a monstrous hawk, devouring its flesh to grow strong. You can hear the great battles of the ogres as their people flourished, standing strong against all foes. The experience transcends the mundane, approaching a level akin to mystical as you stand there transfixed.
Once again you are taken aback by the power stories can hold. So strong is the passion in the ogre's words that you barely keep your jaw from dropping. How can a monster such as this, so brutal and bestial, speak this tale with such elegance? You are so overwhelmed you have to keep yourself from stepping back was Muharanok continues.
The Second Verse
Muhonarak was a leader. He would be a king.
The Five Races saw the Mikata arrive, and watched the tribe with fear and trepidation. The races knew that they could not match the might of the ogres, but their leaders, the clever lionmen and the trickster crows, crafted a plan to avoid a military conflict. They approached the ogres, and asked why they had arrived in the lands of the Five. Muhonarak, speaking with the tongue of the heavens, replied that he had arrived to lead the races in the upcoming time of strife. Despite their vaunted magics and prophecy, the sorcerers of the Five were unaware of any time of turmoil, but the wise Muhonarak knew his purpose, and he knew the dark times to follow.
The Five Races, fearful of the ogres, challenged the Mikata to a pair of contests: the strongest of the ogres would face their champion in single combat, and the wisest of the ogres would face the wisest member of the Five Races in a contest of riddles. Muhonarak, the chieftain of chiefs, whose body contained the strength of the earth and whose mind was as quick and adaptable as the wind, agreed to face both challengers.
The first challenger was the king of trolls, the mightiest warrior of the Five Races.
In those days, the trolls were nothing like the slovenly and obese creatures they are now; they were stout and heavily-built, with keen intellects forged in the heat of their volcanic homes. Muhonarak, however, could shatter the veil of the sky itself, and dwarfed even the mighty troll king. However, when he locked hands with the troll, something strange and terrible happened: rather than bending before the ogre monarch's assault, the troll grew in strength and size. The more effort Muhonarak exerted in his attempt to bring the troll to its knees, the larger and more powerful the troll became, until he began bending the Ogre lord towards the ground.
However, Muhonarak was more than a mighty warrior: his mind was clever and his eyes were keen, and he peered into the depths of the troll's essence and saw the truth. The creature he fought was not merely a troll, but powered by the troll's patron Flame. The more effort Muhonarak expended, the brighter and larger the troll's fire would burn. Muhonarak immediately broke the clinch and moved swiftly away from the troll king, who then stood as large as the Kaiu Wall.
The troll king attempted many times to catch Muhonarak, but the ogre lord was too nimble, and he danced out of the troll's reach while the troll found himself burning away. The troll expended his energy and began shrinking, first to twice Muhonarak's height, then to the tip of Muhonarak's hair-knot, then to Muhonarak's neck, then, finally, the troll stood only as tall as Muhonarak's knees. Muhonarak ran to the edge of the ring and grabbed a massive stone ax. Hurling the blade through the air, Muhonarak struck, cleaving the weakened troll king's skull in half.
"You were too clever for our warrior champion," the Five Races told Muhonarak, "but are you clever enough to defeat our wisest ancient?"
Muhonarak only grunted in assent, and the races sent out an ancient kitsu sage to face the ogre lord. The contest was simple: the participants would take turns asking each-other riddles, until one was answered incorrectly. The wrinkled kitsu peered up at Muhonarak, and asked his name. Muhonarak told him, and asked the same question in return. However, before the old beast could answer, Muhonarak clasped the kitsu around the neck and choked the life from him. Turning to the remaining lords of the Five Races, Muhonarak raised the lifeless body of the kitsu into the air and took his place in the annals of prophecy and history, saying:
"I have killed the strongest among you, and your wisest is unable to answer the simple question I have asked. Your champions are defeated, and my right to rule is undisputed. Fear not! I come not to rule you, but to save you. As long as you find a homeland for my people, you will retain your homes and kingdoms. Dark days approach, but Thunder lives in my soul, and I am to be your defense against the Champion of Evil!"
You frown as Muharanok completes this latest portion of his story. What he says makes no sense. Was the ogre truly claiming that his people had fought Fu Leng before the advent of humanity? But that is impossible. The Kami had fallen to earth and united the disparate tribes of human kind into a single Empire. It was only after that did the Dark Kami assault the world.
So how, then, could something as ridiculous as the ogres, who have always served the pawns of Jigoku, possibly have fought against him? And these Five Races he mentions? You've never even heard of anything like that before. You shake your head as Muharanok continues, so caught up in the telling of his tale that he does not notice your disbelief.
The Third Verse
The Five Races saw the undisputed wisdom of Muhonarak's words, and gave to him the lands of the rat-men, barbaric savages who lived in the far south. While initially difficult, the rat-men eventually learned the wisdom of the Mikata's ways, becoming our servants. The Mikata trained daily for the upcoming war against Evil's Champion, while the rat-men were given the easier duties of toiling in the fields, raising cattle, and cleaning the halls of the Ogre lords. We were fools to trust the rat-men, to give them so much!
After two hundred years, the time of destiny finally arrived. The attacks came suddenly: hordes of gibbering beasts pouring from the western jungles, creatures driven mad with the touch of the realm of the dead. The Five Races called out to the realm of heavenly spirits to protect them, but the Mikata knew better: the dead have little use for the living, be they in the glorious Halls of Eternal Battle or the hellish Realm of the Wailing Dead. The Five Races were shattered, their homes torn out from under them, and many fled into the many realms of ghosts and stories.
The Mikata rose as one and held the line against the horrors that threatened to overrun the southlands: terrible demons with insectoid forms, the dead torn from hell to fight the living, terrifying dire-giants, their noble heritage twisted and lost, and corrupted and debased members of each of the world's races. Finally, on the day of destiny, Muhonarak himself strode out onto the battlefield, swinging a club carved from the trunk of thousand-year-old-tree, and roared a challenge to the leader of the darkling beasts: "Come tonight, demon! Come to the fight! We will battle now, so that our tales may live forever more!"
His challenge was met, as hell's champion rose from behind the lines and rode forth onto the battlefield on the back of a terrible wyrm. Rakshasa was their champion, a creature seldom seen in the world: a shape-changing demon with the smile of a tiger and unfathomable sorcerous power, lord of a race of shape-shifting tyrants from the lands of Ivory and Spices. Rakshasa's evil mind was twisted even further towards debasement and horror; he was as loyal a servant of the Realm of the Wailing Dead as the Dark Father himself is now.
A thousand horrible forms the beast took, each with flailing claws and gouging teeth. For three days, Muhonarak and the Dark One traded blows, Muhonarak hammering the foul creature with his club until it finally splintered to shards and then pummeling the creature with fists stronger than iron; the Rakshasa, for its part, scorched Muhonarak with dark magic and cut deep wounds into the Ogre king's tough skin.
Finally, at dawn of the third day, Muhonarak sensed an opening, and reached into the whirling form of the dark sorcerer and plucked the Dark One's third eye from his shifting face. The creature screamed, and in one final blow of defiance, reared back and stung Muhonarak with the tail of a scorpion. At the moment of death, the Dark One injected his dying heart's blood into the chest of the ogre king, and Muhonarak fell to his knees.
The army of hell shattered with the Dark One's death, and Muhonarak's loyal soldiers rushed to his side. The ogre lord was wounded, but his flesh was stone and his blood was flame, and so he would not be killed so easily. The triumphant Muhonarak was returned to his great hall, where the finest sages still living among the Five Races sought cures for his illness.
Your eyes go wide with surprise as this latest verse comes to a close. The Champion of Evil the ogre king fought wasn't Fu Leng? But how could that be? The Dark Kami is the only lord of Jigoku. None has existed before him, for Jigoku could not have touched the world before the evil god fell from the Heavens and tore a hole through the world.
A demon named Rakshasa? you think in amazement. Leading the forces of hell against Ningen-do? But how would they have arrived here without a way to pass through? There wasn't even a Festering Pit for them to crawl out of yet!
You have no answers for these questions, and no time to think further before Muharanok continues.
The Fourth Verse
The Day of Triumph was not without its price: the traitorous rat-men chafed under our benevolent rule, and their foul leader hatched a plot. Allying himself with the forces of darkness, he infiltrated Muhonarak's ancestral home, disguised as one of the ogre lord's faithful servants. Using a cruel curved blade, carved from the talons of the father of Wyrms, the rat-man struck at the ogre lord as he convalesced on the bed. Muhonarak did not die right there: ignoring the Dark Lord's poison running through his veins and the blade in his throat, the ogre king still wrung the neck of the rat-traitor, finally dying after his last, lethally mortal foe was defeated.
Unfortunately, in the chaos that followed, the rat-men saw their opportunity, and turned on their rightful masters, casting us from our homes and forcing us to wander anew, but this time without our patron. The single tribe of the Mikata shattered as ogre lord turned on ogre lord, and a new empire rose to take our place: the empire of rat-men, an empire of squalor and barbarism.
The rat-men, fearful of our strength, used their terrible name-magic to twist our noble bodies and drive us into pens. Only one hero remained free: Muhomono, eldest son of Muhonarak, heir to the Mikata throne. With jaw set and steady eyes, he fought an endless war to free his brothers and sisters from savage rat-men rule.
Then, after several hundred years of darkness, it seemed our prayers had been answered: the fire came from the heavens, and the terrible apocalypse the rat-men call "Tomorrow" arrived in the form of a massive explosion at the heart of the rat-men's empire, the ruins of the settlement that the ogre king once called home. A million rat-men died that glorious day, alongside a thousand of our hapless brothers and sisters who had yet to be liberated from their unjust shackles. It is our greatest sadness that this seemingly-glorious turn of events was merely the herald of the Mikata's final days.
Your eyes narrow at the ogre's descriptions of the Nezumi. He claims they were treated justly… But you've seen how rough in manner and temperament Muharanok is. The ogre appreciates only strength, and was disdainful of you before you proved yourself in battle. You cannot imagine the ogres would have been gentle rulers to those beneath them. To your mind, slavery seems more likely.
As well, you think back to Muharanok's own words not an hour ago. The ogres, those capable of thought, might acknowledge honor. But their understanding of it is very different from your own. That being the case, what would such brutal creatures consider just treatment of servants?
The Nezumi no doubt remember this time very differently from you, ogre, you think to yourself as Muharanok opens his mouth to continue. Yes, very differently indeed.
The Fifth Verse
After the Day of Fire, Muhomono travelled the former lands of the Mikata empire, gathering the last remnants of our once-proud race. He was terrified when he returned to the capital city: once, the greatest art and artifacts of ogre culture were stored in a massive meet-hall, and hundreds of ogres built their homes around the king's tower. Now, there was only a deep pit, yawning at the night sky, and terrible screams could be heard whipping through the wind.
It was mere months before the Dark Father approached Muhomono, offering him power and wealth. The Ogres were the mightiest of the mortals, guardians of Ningen-Do, the sum of all the elements. It was no surprise that the Dark Father would want the Mikata at his side.
Muhomono, however, knew the ancient ways his father had put forth for the ogres, and he did not trust the Dark Father. He required that the fallen god prove his identity and his intentions before the ogres would bend knee. The king of the trolls, his people long-before decimated by Rakshasa, was eager to regain some of his lost glory, and bent knee to the Dark Father, who gifted his people with domain over the seas. Then, the Dark Father offered Muhomono a place at his side, yet again.
Muhomono asked again for the Dark Father's intent, for he knew the ogre's noble heritage and suspected the Dark Father's true nature: an ally of the Realm of the Wailing Dead. The Dark Father then offered his gifts to the goblins, a cowardly and shrewd race that were surely kin to the rat-men, and the goblin chieftain accepted, gaining dominion over the wastes. Then, the Dark Father asked Muhomono to bend knee one last time, but Muhomono asked again why the ogres would benefit from allying with a servant of their old foe.
The Dark Father was enraged to see his nature revealed so easily. The fallen god lashed out at Muhomono with his sorcerous skill, cursing our race, and driving the ogre lord mad. We have been mad ever since.
Remember, oh Crab! The Dark Father is the one you call the Dark Kami! He was the one who twisted us into this form, we, the Mikata, the true defenders of the realm of mortals! He was made hell's champion after we slew the previous Dark Lord. Now his children twist us further, capturing our fallen brothers and remaking them into savage beasts! Remember how our triumph was transformed to dust!
Remember this, if you remember nothing else: the realm you call Jigoku has little mercy for failure, and we were destroyed because of this. We did not believe that it would find another champion after Rakshasa was slain, and for our arrogance, we paid the ultimate price. Remember, oh Crab, victory is never final! Remember!
Muharanok falls silent then, hunching over as his tale comes to an end. The ogre's eyes are closed, and his arms are crossed against his chest as if huddling against the cold. Leaning over like this, he seems almost… smaller. It is as if the energy and passion of the story has drained the creature's vitality, making him lesser in the sharing of it. He shudders and leans over further, and you lose sight of the ogre's face.
For yourself, you're not sure how to process what you've been told. What Muharanok described to you flies in the face of everything your Clan has ever heard about the ogres. As far back as you can remember they've been nothing but crazed beasts, and even the intelligent ones have only ever fought your people.
But this huddling, shaking creature before you spoke of a society with culture and a strange, foreign sense of honor. Odd and alien it may be, it is not the description of the insane monsters you have struggled against so often before. It is the depiction of a mighty civilization, one lost and ruined to war throughout the passage of time.
You stand there before the ogre who has fought with you against the expression of truest evil, and you are uncertain what to think. It is as if the world is holding its breath, waiting for one of you to speak.
But you have nothing to give but silence.
[] Write in.
The history of the ogres is almost word for word his own, copied with minor edits by me and attributed with full honors and credit to him. May we all be thankful to Lucas Twyman for fleshing out the history of these people, and bringing more depth to the fantastic world that is the Legend of the 5 Rings.
[x] Agree to listen.
You think for a few moments. It is very likely what Muharanok is about to tell you isn't something that would be well received by the rest of Rokugan. For all you know, all your interactions with the ogre have been part of a long deception meant to put you off your guard. What is happening now could just be one step toward a greater plan for your own ruin.
But then you think back to the vehemence in Muharanok's voice when he screamed his rage at the Oni… That hadn't been faked. He honestly desired the destruction of that foul being, and took great pains toward to end the demon. You feel that the creature is being sincere with you, as much as he is capable of such a thing, at any rate.
Besides, if he wished your destruction he could have killed you while you were bedridden. It would be much easier than some long, convoluted plan.
"Fine," you respond. "Tell me your story, ogre. I will listen."
Muharanok nods, and then clears his throat. When he speaks, his voice is much deeper. It is like the earth beneath your feet, building slowly but gathering incredible power. It resembles more a force of nature than mere speech, his words pouring out with the rumbling strength of an earthquake for all that he pitched his voice low.
"Know, oh Crab, that you have been found worthy to hear the sacred history of the Mikata. You must keep in mind that all in this mortal world is cyclical, and all that comes is but a distorted reflection of what has already occurred. I am but one of the few who remembers the proud history of my people, most of us having long fallen to madness. Listen now to the verses of the Kjornid, even knowing that its true splendor is lost being spoken in your base tongue. Listen to the ancient tale of Muhonarak, sire of the Mikata, the first and true name of the ogres, and his son Muhomono, Prince of the World, The Prince of Tears, forever weeping in death for his lost children."
The First Verse
Muhonarak came from the North, clad in leather and wolf-skin, strong as the earth itself and burning with an intellect beyond mortal ken. Behind him, his tribe, the Mikata followed, hungry and lean, thousands strong, an army exceeded perhaps in size but never in strength. Muhonarak was a leader. He would become a king.
Muhonarak was the first of us. Born in the foam where the flaming river of the Burning Peak met the sea, far in the distant, frozen north, Muhonarak's mother was the sea itself, and his father was the flame, brought to bear in the form of the dire earth-giant Kjald. Kjald, wounded mortally by the Moon for attempting to court the Sun, lay bleeding at the edge of the shelf of land, and it is his body that makes up the Burning Peak, and it is said by visiting northmen that, even today, the giant will stir in pain and his burning blood will once again violently rush forth from the wound.
Even at birth, Muhonarak knew no fear: it is said that he never cried out, even as the earth shuddered and the sea roared red. Instead, he stole his first breath from a passing hawk, and caught it as it fell limply to the earth. The essence of flame burned the water into crimson blood, but Muhonarak was kin with death itself, and was not worried. Suckled on the brine of the sea and the flesh of the hawk, Muhonarak grew strong in days.
Muhonarak's first act was murder, but the murder was just, for they allowed the Mikata to live, and the Mikata were the agent of all the elements, and thus were the greatest of all mortal creatures. Man had not yet arisen in those days, and the world was ruled by five races, four born of one element each and the final born of wisdom.
Just murder is the purpose of the Mikata: it is why we were created; as we were born to be Ningen-Do's warriors, its defenders. Muhonarak was created to defeat the champions of other realms, so that mortals could live in peace, free of the jealous influence of the realms of the dead. In order to do so, he would need an army, and the gods provided one: Muhonarak's first hundred steps each birthed an ogre, the progenitors of our race.
Muhonarak fought many battles against the other godlings of the north, from the Great Wolf Yugoth, sire of all hounds, to the earliest children of the wyrms and the daughters of giants. The Mikata tribe grew beyond the bounds of the harsh north, and Muhonarak led his people to the south, to the land of the Five Races, to claim their riches and carve his kingdom.
Before, Muharanok's words had been like the tremors proceeding an earthquake. Now, though, you feel he force of them in truth. The passion of the ogre's tale… It has a heat to it, like fire scorching your skin. You can almost see the great sire of the ogres looming above the corpse of a monstrous hawk, devouring its flesh to grow strong. You can hear the great battles of the ogres as their people flourished, standing strong against all foes. The experience transcends the mundane, approaching a level akin to mystical as you stand there transfixed.
Once again you are taken aback by the power stories can hold. So strong is the passion in the ogre's words that you barely keep your jaw from dropping. How can a monster such as this, so brutal and bestial, speak this tale with such elegance? You are so overwhelmed you have to keep yourself from stepping back was Muharanok continues.
The Second Verse
Muhonarak was a leader. He would be a king.
The Five Races saw the Mikata arrive, and watched the tribe with fear and trepidation. The races knew that they could not match the might of the ogres, but their leaders, the clever lionmen and the trickster crows, crafted a plan to avoid a military conflict. They approached the ogres, and asked why they had arrived in the lands of the Five. Muhonarak, speaking with the tongue of the heavens, replied that he had arrived to lead the races in the upcoming time of strife. Despite their vaunted magics and prophecy, the sorcerers of the Five were unaware of any time of turmoil, but the wise Muhonarak knew his purpose, and he knew the dark times to follow.
The Five Races, fearful of the ogres, challenged the Mikata to a pair of contests: the strongest of the ogres would face their champion in single combat, and the wisest of the ogres would face the wisest member of the Five Races in a contest of riddles. Muhonarak, the chieftain of chiefs, whose body contained the strength of the earth and whose mind was as quick and adaptable as the wind, agreed to face both challengers.
The first challenger was the king of trolls, the mightiest warrior of the Five Races.
In those days, the trolls were nothing like the slovenly and obese creatures they are now; they were stout and heavily-built, with keen intellects forged in the heat of their volcanic homes. Muhonarak, however, could shatter the veil of the sky itself, and dwarfed even the mighty troll king. However, when he locked hands with the troll, something strange and terrible happened: rather than bending before the ogre monarch's assault, the troll grew in strength and size. The more effort Muhonarak exerted in his attempt to bring the troll to its knees, the larger and more powerful the troll became, until he began bending the Ogre lord towards the ground.
However, Muhonarak was more than a mighty warrior: his mind was clever and his eyes were keen, and he peered into the depths of the troll's essence and saw the truth. The creature he fought was not merely a troll, but powered by the troll's patron Flame. The more effort Muhonarak expended, the brighter and larger the troll's fire would burn. Muhonarak immediately broke the clinch and moved swiftly away from the troll king, who then stood as large as the Kaiu Wall.
The troll king attempted many times to catch Muhonarak, but the ogre lord was too nimble, and he danced out of the troll's reach while the troll found himself burning away. The troll expended his energy and began shrinking, first to twice Muhonarak's height, then to the tip of Muhonarak's hair-knot, then to Muhonarak's neck, then, finally, the troll stood only as tall as Muhonarak's knees. Muhonarak ran to the edge of the ring and grabbed a massive stone ax. Hurling the blade through the air, Muhonarak struck, cleaving the weakened troll king's skull in half.
"You were too clever for our warrior champion," the Five Races told Muhonarak, "but are you clever enough to defeat our wisest ancient?"
Muhonarak only grunted in assent, and the races sent out an ancient kitsu sage to face the ogre lord. The contest was simple: the participants would take turns asking each-other riddles, until one was answered incorrectly. The wrinkled kitsu peered up at Muhonarak, and asked his name. Muhonarak told him, and asked the same question in return. However, before the old beast could answer, Muhonarak clasped the kitsu around the neck and choked the life from him. Turning to the remaining lords of the Five Races, Muhonarak raised the lifeless body of the kitsu into the air and took his place in the annals of prophecy and history, saying:
"I have killed the strongest among you, and your wisest is unable to answer the simple question I have asked. Your champions are defeated, and my right to rule is undisputed. Fear not! I come not to rule you, but to save you. As long as you find a homeland for my people, you will retain your homes and kingdoms. Dark days approach, but Thunder lives in my soul, and I am to be your defense against the Champion of Evil!"
You frown as Muharanok completes this latest portion of his story. What he says makes no sense. Was the ogre truly claiming that his people had fought Fu Leng before the advent of humanity? But that is impossible. The Kami had fallen to earth and united the disparate tribes of human kind into a single Empire. It was only after that did the Dark Kami assault the world.
So how, then, could something as ridiculous as the ogres, who have always served the pawns of Jigoku, possibly have fought against him? And these Five Races he mentions? You've never even heard of anything like that before. You shake your head as Muharanok continues, so caught up in the telling of his tale that he does not notice your disbelief.
The Third Verse
The Five Races saw the undisputed wisdom of Muhonarak's words, and gave to him the lands of the rat-men, barbaric savages who lived in the far south. While initially difficult, the rat-men eventually learned the wisdom of the Mikata's ways, becoming our servants. The Mikata trained daily for the upcoming war against Evil's Champion, while the rat-men were given the easier duties of toiling in the fields, raising cattle, and cleaning the halls of the Ogre lords. We were fools to trust the rat-men, to give them so much!
After two hundred years, the time of destiny finally arrived. The attacks came suddenly: hordes of gibbering beasts pouring from the western jungles, creatures driven mad with the touch of the realm of the dead. The Five Races called out to the realm of heavenly spirits to protect them, but the Mikata knew better: the dead have little use for the living, be they in the glorious Halls of Eternal Battle or the hellish Realm of the Wailing Dead. The Five Races were shattered, their homes torn out from under them, and many fled into the many realms of ghosts and stories.
The Mikata rose as one and held the line against the horrors that threatened to overrun the southlands: terrible demons with insectoid forms, the dead torn from hell to fight the living, terrifying dire-giants, their noble heritage twisted and lost, and corrupted and debased members of each of the world's races. Finally, on the day of destiny, Muhonarak himself strode out onto the battlefield, swinging a club carved from the trunk of thousand-year-old-tree, and roared a challenge to the leader of the darkling beasts: "Come tonight, demon! Come to the fight! We will battle now, so that our tales may live forever more!"
His challenge was met, as hell's champion rose from behind the lines and rode forth onto the battlefield on the back of a terrible wyrm. Rakshasa was their champion, a creature seldom seen in the world: a shape-changing demon with the smile of a tiger and unfathomable sorcerous power, lord of a race of shape-shifting tyrants from the lands of Ivory and Spices. Rakshasa's evil mind was twisted even further towards debasement and horror; he was as loyal a servant of the Realm of the Wailing Dead as the Dark Father himself is now.
A thousand horrible forms the beast took, each with flailing claws and gouging teeth. For three days, Muhonarak and the Dark One traded blows, Muhonarak hammering the foul creature with his club until it finally splintered to shards and then pummeling the creature with fists stronger than iron; the Rakshasa, for its part, scorched Muhonarak with dark magic and cut deep wounds into the Ogre king's tough skin.
Finally, at dawn of the third day, Muhonarak sensed an opening, and reached into the whirling form of the dark sorcerer and plucked the Dark One's third eye from his shifting face. The creature screamed, and in one final blow of defiance, reared back and stung Muhonarak with the tail of a scorpion. At the moment of death, the Dark One injected his dying heart's blood into the chest of the ogre king, and Muhonarak fell to his knees.
The army of hell shattered with the Dark One's death, and Muhonarak's loyal soldiers rushed to his side. The ogre lord was wounded, but his flesh was stone and his blood was flame, and so he would not be killed so easily. The triumphant Muhonarak was returned to his great hall, where the finest sages still living among the Five Races sought cures for his illness.
Your eyes go wide with surprise as this latest verse comes to a close. The Champion of Evil the ogre king fought wasn't Fu Leng? But how could that be? The Dark Kami is the only lord of Jigoku. None has existed before him, for Jigoku could not have touched the world before the evil god fell from the Heavens and tore a hole through the world.
A demon named Rakshasa? you think in amazement. Leading the forces of hell against Ningen-do? But how would they have arrived here without a way to pass through? There wasn't even a Festering Pit for them to crawl out of yet!
You have no answers for these questions, and no time to think further before Muharanok continues.
The Fourth Verse
The Day of Triumph was not without its price: the traitorous rat-men chafed under our benevolent rule, and their foul leader hatched a plot. Allying himself with the forces of darkness, he infiltrated Muhonarak's ancestral home, disguised as one of the ogre lord's faithful servants. Using a cruel curved blade, carved from the talons of the father of Wyrms, the rat-man struck at the ogre lord as he convalesced on the bed. Muhonarak did not die right there: ignoring the Dark Lord's poison running through his veins and the blade in his throat, the ogre king still wrung the neck of the rat-traitor, finally dying after his last, lethally mortal foe was defeated.
Unfortunately, in the chaos that followed, the rat-men saw their opportunity, and turned on their rightful masters, casting us from our homes and forcing us to wander anew, but this time without our patron. The single tribe of the Mikata shattered as ogre lord turned on ogre lord, and a new empire rose to take our place: the empire of rat-men, an empire of squalor and barbarism.
The rat-men, fearful of our strength, used their terrible name-magic to twist our noble bodies and drive us into pens. Only one hero remained free: Muhomono, eldest son of Muhonarak, heir to the Mikata throne. With jaw set and steady eyes, he fought an endless war to free his brothers and sisters from savage rat-men rule.
Then, after several hundred years of darkness, it seemed our prayers had been answered: the fire came from the heavens, and the terrible apocalypse the rat-men call "Tomorrow" arrived in the form of a massive explosion at the heart of the rat-men's empire, the ruins of the settlement that the ogre king once called home. A million rat-men died that glorious day, alongside a thousand of our hapless brothers and sisters who had yet to be liberated from their unjust shackles. It is our greatest sadness that this seemingly-glorious turn of events was merely the herald of the Mikata's final days.
Your eyes narrow at the ogre's descriptions of the Nezumi. He claims they were treated justly… But you've seen how rough in manner and temperament Muharanok is. The ogre appreciates only strength, and was disdainful of you before you proved yourself in battle. You cannot imagine the ogres would have been gentle rulers to those beneath them. To your mind, slavery seems more likely.
As well, you think back to Muharanok's own words not an hour ago. The ogres, those capable of thought, might acknowledge honor. But their understanding of it is very different from your own. That being the case, what would such brutal creatures consider just treatment of servants?
The Nezumi no doubt remember this time very differently from you, ogre, you think to yourself as Muharanok opens his mouth to continue. Yes, very differently indeed.
The Fifth Verse
After the Day of Fire, Muhomono travelled the former lands of the Mikata empire, gathering the last remnants of our once-proud race. He was terrified when he returned to the capital city: once, the greatest art and artifacts of ogre culture were stored in a massive meet-hall, and hundreds of ogres built their homes around the king's tower. Now, there was only a deep pit, yawning at the night sky, and terrible screams could be heard whipping through the wind.
It was mere months before the Dark Father approached Muhomono, offering him power and wealth. The Ogres were the mightiest of the mortals, guardians of Ningen-Do, the sum of all the elements. It was no surprise that the Dark Father would want the Mikata at his side.
Muhomono, however, knew the ancient ways his father had put forth for the ogres, and he did not trust the Dark Father. He required that the fallen god prove his identity and his intentions before the ogres would bend knee. The king of the trolls, his people long-before decimated by Rakshasa, was eager to regain some of his lost glory, and bent knee to the Dark Father, who gifted his people with domain over the seas. Then, the Dark Father offered Muhomono a place at his side, yet again.
Muhomono asked again for the Dark Father's intent, for he knew the ogre's noble heritage and suspected the Dark Father's true nature: an ally of the Realm of the Wailing Dead. The Dark Father then offered his gifts to the goblins, a cowardly and shrewd race that were surely kin to the rat-men, and the goblin chieftain accepted, gaining dominion over the wastes. Then, the Dark Father asked Muhomono to bend knee one last time, but Muhomono asked again why the ogres would benefit from allying with a servant of their old foe.
The Dark Father was enraged to see his nature revealed so easily. The fallen god lashed out at Muhomono with his sorcerous skill, cursing our race, and driving the ogre lord mad. We have been mad ever since.
Remember, oh Crab! The Dark Father is the one you call the Dark Kami! He was the one who twisted us into this form, we, the Mikata, the true defenders of the realm of mortals! He was made hell's champion after we slew the previous Dark Lord. Now his children twist us further, capturing our fallen brothers and remaking them into savage beasts! Remember how our triumph was transformed to dust!
Remember this, if you remember nothing else: the realm you call Jigoku has little mercy for failure, and we were destroyed because of this. We did not believe that it would find another champion after Rakshasa was slain, and for our arrogance, we paid the ultimate price. Remember, oh Crab, victory is never final! Remember!
Muharanok falls silent then, hunching over as his tale comes to an end. The ogre's eyes are closed, and his arms are crossed against his chest as if huddling against the cold. Leaning over like this, he seems almost… smaller. It is as if the energy and passion of the story has drained the creature's vitality, making him lesser in the sharing of it. He shudders and leans over further, and you lose sight of the ogre's face.
For yourself, you're not sure how to process what you've been told. What Muharanok described to you flies in the face of everything your Clan has ever heard about the ogres. As far back as you can remember they've been nothing but crazed beasts, and even the intelligent ones have only ever fought your people.
But this huddling, shaking creature before you spoke of a society with culture and a strange, foreign sense of honor. Odd and alien it may be, it is not the description of the insane monsters you have struggled against so often before. It is the depiction of a mighty civilization, one lost and ruined to war throughout the passage of time.
You stand there before the ogre who has fought with you against the expression of truest evil, and you are uncertain what to think. It is as if the world is holding its breath, waiting for one of you to speak.
But you have nothing to give but silence.
[] Write in.
Last edited:
[x] Write in:
What he says may be true, it may be. It might not, although his actions suggest he has little need for trickery, one must remember that after all he is not human and his words stand against the one race that never turned on humans. Still in his story, a lesson is to be learned, one that all Crab will need to keep, and even the Empire itself.
The price of peace is eternal vigilance. It is something known already, true. But in the times of peace like this where they slack on their watch? The lesson must be taught anew.
For that at least, thank him.
"Thank you for sharing that. I will keep it's lesson close."
Then make polite goodbyes and go eat some food.
What he says may be true, it may be. It might not, although his actions suggest he has little need for trickery, one must remember that after all he is not human and his words stand against the one race that never turned on humans. Still in his story, a lesson is to be learned, one that all Crab will need to keep, and even the Empire itself.
The price of peace is eternal vigilance. It is something known already, true. But in the times of peace like this where they slack on their watch? The lesson must be taught anew.
For that at least, thank him.
"Thank you for sharing that. I will keep it's lesson close."
Then make polite goodbyes and go eat some food.
[x] The story you weave Ogre is... unbelievable. I doubt not your sincerity. I could feel it in my bones. But whatever happened to the rest of these 5 races? You say they fled to the realms of ghosts and tales. What does that mean? You say that the Dark one is not the leader but the lead servant of hell, just the latest of a line. Who is the one who spawns all those creatures that plague our lands? I will not comment on what you said about the ratmen Ogre. We fought against a horror from hell and for that you have earned my respect. But the Nezumi has stood with the Crab for centuries as allies and friends. You would do well to remember that.
Last... You say that this is a secret story of your people. I am but a Samurai when everything is said and done. What do you expect me to do with it? While many would look at me in distdain were I to recount it, there may be those that will be more receptive. Is the story mine to say to whom I see fit or should I keep silent?
Last... You say that this is a secret story of your people. I am but a Samurai when everything is said and done. What do you expect me to do with it? While many would look at me in distdain were I to recount it, there may be those that will be more receptive. Is the story mine to say to whom I see fit or should I keep silent?
Sirrocco
Pedantic
For what we do with this.... That's easy. We're Crab, and we've just been given lore about Jikogu and the Shadowlands. It's strange and heretical, but appear to be largely accurate, and would possibly be of great value in the right hands. "What we do with it" is to wait until we get back home to the crab lands and brief the Kuni. Then we let *them* deal with figuring out what to do with it.
[x] gman391
seems about right.
[x] gman391
seems about right.
Cannongerbil
I came here to nep at you
- Location
- Soviet Lunar Base
[x] The story you weave Ogre is... unbelievable. I doubt not your sincerity. I could feel it in my bones. But whatever happened to the rest of these 5 races? You say they fled to the realms of ghosts and tales. What does that mean? You say that the Dark one is not the leader but the lead servant of hell, just the latest of a line. Who is the one who spawns all those creatures that plague our lands? I will not comment on what you said about the ratmen Ogre. We fought against a horror from hell and for that you have earned my respect. But the Nezumi has stood with the Crab for centuries as allies and friends. You would do well to remember that.
Last... You say that this is a secret story of your people. I am but a Samurai when everything is said and done. What do you expect me to do with it? While many would look at me in distdain were I to recount it, there may be those that will be more receptive. Is the story mine to say to whom I see fit or should I keep silent?
Last... You say that this is a secret story of your people. I am but a Samurai when everything is said and done. What do you expect me to do with it? While many would look at me in distdain were I to recount it, there may be those that will be more receptive. Is the story mine to say to whom I see fit or should I keep silent?
EtchedSteel
*mumble mumble*
- Location
- Lima. Peru
[x] gman391
Welcome back, Sirrocco. It's been a while.
Welcome back, Sirrocco. It's been a while.
Not really seeing a need to be confrontational about this just because we doubt specific details. It was a well told tale that he seems to believe sincerely. If he's ignorant about certain details or his perspective changes the light in which certain details would be told, then that's for Kuni to deal with.
[x] gman391
[x] gman391
The Sandman
So Zetta Slowpoke
- Location
- Wherever I am, which isn't where I'm not
[X] gman391
Should we repay him with a story of our own? I'm thinking he might be interested in the vision we once had of the creation of the Festering Pit, and it might give him some perspective on the Nezumi to know that the bulk of their race fought and died so that some portion of them might survive. It might also behoove him to hear of the Nezumi from our Gempukku, particularly Gazat'ken.
Should we repay him with a story of our own? I'm thinking he might be interested in the vision we once had of the creation of the Festering Pit, and it might give him some perspective on the Nezumi to know that the bulk of their race fought and died so that some portion of them might survive. It might also behoove him to hear of the Nezumi from our Gempukku, particularly Gazat'ken.
3.10
Winged Knight
Still just a crazy man with a wolf on his head
- Location
- Texas
[x] Gman
The silence only grows, and your lips draw into a line as you consider the ogre's words. Your head feels like its been stuffed full to bursting, sending your thoughts into a frenzy. But then again, that would make this but the latest in a day full of such things. By this point you are well enough used to it to push through and keep yourself balanced.
What Muharanok says may be true. Then again, it might not. His actions suggest he has little need for trickery, but you must remember that he is not human and his words stand against the one race that never turned on humans. Still, in his story there is a lesson to be learned, one that all Crab will need to keep, and even the Empire itself.
The price of peace is eternal vigilance. It is something known already, true, but in the times of peace like this where they slack on their watch? The lesson must be taught anew. It must continue to be learned as the years go by and the blood of heroes flows across the ground. To live is to sacrifice. There can be no other path.
For this, at least, Muharanok has your gratitude.
"Thank you for sharing that," you say, giving the ogre a very shallow bow. It's almost more a nod of your head, really, but it's as much respect as you feel appropriate to show an ogre. "I will keep its lesson close."
"Good," Muharanok says softly before rising to his feet. His previous moment of weakness has vanished, and he looms over you like the wall of muscle he is. "With that I hope there can be the beginning of insight between us. I am not expecting miracles, but perhaps if we understand each other better some benefit might come." He shrugs and places his sword in his belt. "Or perhaps not. I will see what the future brings."
"You'll be leaving, then?" you ask, motioning a hand toward his sword.
"Yes," Muharanok answers. "I have stayed as long as I have to see you awake and to share the Kjornid. I've no desire to linger until ten of your fellow Samurai come along and attempt to see me dead, however."
"That is probably wise," you say. "Though, in truth, I am… uncertain about letting you go." Your brow furrows, and you take a deep breath before continuing. "Most precedent I have with ogres is in killing them."
"And much of my experience with Samurai has been hitting them with clubs," Muharanok responds, smiling and showing his teeth. "But that is why I told you my people's history, to hopefully break such longstanding traditions."
"I trust you're not going to make a menace of yourself, then?" you ask.
"I'll be avoiding people, if that's what you're asking," Muharanok says over his shoulder as he turns around to leave. "I'll not start any conflict if I'm able, Samurai. But rest assured, I'll end it if I have to."
You don't respond as Muharanok walks away. There's no good reply to his words, and frankly you're at a loss for anything to say with how new this situation is to you. You fought side by side with an ogre against an Oni, and now that ogre is walking away without further complaint or consequence from you. Considering your history, and the history of your Clan, it almost beggars belief.
But you know full well there's very little you could have done to stop him from leaving. You are still too weak as you are now, and not wearing your armor or weapons. To force a confrontation would be pointless, a meaningless death. Your life is not purely your own, and you must ensure it is used to its full potential.
Sacrifice needs to mean something. If it doesn't, then the death would be in vain. That is something you cannot stomach the thought of. Your life is shaped by what you do with it, and eventually how it ends. You must do your best to ensure that end is a worthy one.
"Well," you say. "That was certainly an experience."
"Yes indeed," Shirou answers. You almost jump in surprise at the monk's voice. You'd forgotten he was there. "So, tea?"
"Tea sounds good," you say with a nod. "Yes, I could do with a drink."
[] Drink tea and talk with Shirou.
[] Timeskip to Kyuden Tonbo.
[] Write in.
The silence only grows, and your lips draw into a line as you consider the ogre's words. Your head feels like its been stuffed full to bursting, sending your thoughts into a frenzy. But then again, that would make this but the latest in a day full of such things. By this point you are well enough used to it to push through and keep yourself balanced.
What Muharanok says may be true. Then again, it might not. His actions suggest he has little need for trickery, but you must remember that he is not human and his words stand against the one race that never turned on humans. Still, in his story there is a lesson to be learned, one that all Crab will need to keep, and even the Empire itself.
The price of peace is eternal vigilance. It is something known already, true, but in the times of peace like this where they slack on their watch? The lesson must be taught anew. It must continue to be learned as the years go by and the blood of heroes flows across the ground. To live is to sacrifice. There can be no other path.
For this, at least, Muharanok has your gratitude.
"Thank you for sharing that," you say, giving the ogre a very shallow bow. It's almost more a nod of your head, really, but it's as much respect as you feel appropriate to show an ogre. "I will keep its lesson close."
"Good," Muharanok says softly before rising to his feet. His previous moment of weakness has vanished, and he looms over you like the wall of muscle he is. "With that I hope there can be the beginning of insight between us. I am not expecting miracles, but perhaps if we understand each other better some benefit might come." He shrugs and places his sword in his belt. "Or perhaps not. I will see what the future brings."
"You'll be leaving, then?" you ask, motioning a hand toward his sword.
"Yes," Muharanok answers. "I have stayed as long as I have to see you awake and to share the Kjornid. I've no desire to linger until ten of your fellow Samurai come along and attempt to see me dead, however."
"That is probably wise," you say. "Though, in truth, I am… uncertain about letting you go." Your brow furrows, and you take a deep breath before continuing. "Most precedent I have with ogres is in killing them."
"And much of my experience with Samurai has been hitting them with clubs," Muharanok responds, smiling and showing his teeth. "But that is why I told you my people's history, to hopefully break such longstanding traditions."
"I trust you're not going to make a menace of yourself, then?" you ask.
"I'll be avoiding people, if that's what you're asking," Muharanok says over his shoulder as he turns around to leave. "I'll not start any conflict if I'm able, Samurai. But rest assured, I'll end it if I have to."
You don't respond as Muharanok walks away. There's no good reply to his words, and frankly you're at a loss for anything to say with how new this situation is to you. You fought side by side with an ogre against an Oni, and now that ogre is walking away without further complaint or consequence from you. Considering your history, and the history of your Clan, it almost beggars belief.
But you know full well there's very little you could have done to stop him from leaving. You are still too weak as you are now, and not wearing your armor or weapons. To force a confrontation would be pointless, a meaningless death. Your life is not purely your own, and you must ensure it is used to its full potential.
Sacrifice needs to mean something. If it doesn't, then the death would be in vain. That is something you cannot stomach the thought of. Your life is shaped by what you do with it, and eventually how it ends. You must do your best to ensure that end is a worthy one.
"Well," you say. "That was certainly an experience."
"Yes indeed," Shirou answers. You almost jump in surprise at the monk's voice. You'd forgotten he was there. "So, tea?"
"Tea sounds good," you say with a nod. "Yes, I could do with a drink."
[] Drink tea and talk with Shirou.
[] Timeskip to Kyuden Tonbo.
[] Write in.
Last edited:
GilliamYaeger
M'crazy.
[x] Drink tea and talk with Shirou.
Ridiculously Average Guy
I'm you, but stronger
- Location
-
[x] Drink tea and talk with Shirou.
EtchedSteel
*mumble mumble*
- Location
- Lima. Peru
[x] Drink tea and talk with Shirou.
Sirrocco
Pedantic
[x] Drink tea and talk with Shirou
[x] Try to fix the story in your mind. You'll want to be able to brief the Kuni on its contents and implications later. Best to remember it as well as you can, as they may notice aspects of it that are important that you would not have. Depriving your clan of insight into the shadowlands because you couldn't be bothered to remember it would be shameful.
[x] If Shirou heard the story, perhaps discuss it with him (so long as you can do so reasonably discreetly). It might help you both to remember it for later and to come to grips with the implications for right now.
[x] Try to fix the story in your mind. You'll want to be able to brief the Kuni on its contents and implications later. Best to remember it as well as you can, as they may notice aspects of it that are important that you would not have. Depriving your clan of insight into the shadowlands because you couldn't be bothered to remember it would be shameful.
[x] If Shirou heard the story, perhaps discuss it with him (so long as you can do so reasonably discreetly). It might help you both to remember it for later and to come to grips with the implications for right now.
EtchedSteel
*mumble mumble*
- Location
- Lima. Peru
[x] Sirrocco