Bedtime Stories (D3, LE)

[Togashi Saruko]

Saruko listened to the conversation going around about the story, but it wasn't anything she would intrude upon. The power of stories was that everyone could take something different from its telling.

One of them looked fairly odd to her, even to her eyes, but she stopped herself from staring. As an Ayakashi she was used to quite odd features, though horns were an unusual feature she hadn't seen among her kin before. Probably from something less noble and pure than what her tribe had often mingled with. There were plenty of stories of those who would bed ogres and trolls...

"Being completely true to oneself is a task many can't accomplish. Especially since it requires knowing oneself truly first."

[Jiyo Sora]

"And if you find that your true self is a total bastard, being someone else has an appeal."

It appeared to be a joke.

[Taochusu]

"I mean... I guess it could be harder when you are around people? The only person I've ever really gotten to know is myself. I have no real understanding of most other people. Been learning more about them over the past days, but it's strange."

[Togashi Saruko]

Saruko at least laughed at Sora's joke.

Smiling, as she stopped laughing, she looked at Taochusu. "Then you have a rare gift of knowing yourself well, friend. Many people don't."

[Ko]

Ko listened raptly to the story, which she had never heard before. It had things in common with some of the stories she knew, though--a curse, a maiden, a shape-changer, things that came in threes--even if she wasn't quite sure what sort of knife a scissors was.

The conversation afterward made less sense to her. "Of course he couldn't have told her about the curse. What kind of witch would make a curse like that and forget to lay a geas?" she scoffed.

[Jiyo Ayumu]

"Good stories often leave room for personal interpretation. For example, it is never told how and why Shiroi was cursed by the Troll-hag in the first place. From that simple omission, you can broach theories, that will in turn give births to other stories."

[Ongaku no Ryoko]

Ryoko listened to that, expression troubled.

But if you knew the answer, why not say?

It seemed there was strange clan wisdom at play here.

She pondered, quietly.

[Taochusu]

"Well. A bear bought a princess with a gold wreath and then he took her kids away when they had them. So he likes taking people's children, even his own. The princess is greedy and wants her gold wreath, then accepts magic items from strangers without giving anything in return. The hag might have had a good reason to curse the bear guy, but she was definitely not a nice person since she kept poisoning him, stabbing him with needles, and was making him marry her even though he didn't want to. The human king was willing to trade two different children for his other one, kind of a jerk thing to do. Only the kids that gave stuff away to help someone else were really any kind of nice. It's a shame that they end up getting raised by a greedy woman and a violent guy that takes children. They seemed to be doing fine with the old women. They got raised to be nice people by them. So the greedy woman and the violent king got a happy ending while everyone else got a bad deal. That's what I take away from how the people were acting."

"But magic scissors and a magic flask and a magic food cloth all were fun. And the fights against a giant bear were fun, and the traps that people used to win were clever. So I liked it."

[Nanzi]

Nanzi, Jigutsuji, and Jongwun had listened and now watched the conversation while the daimyo gently fanned himself.

[Miyako]

Miyako set aside her cup after the story was over to clap on its completion, both for a good story and for a good storyteller. She did not add anything to the conversation, however, instead choosing to watch and listen as the others around the campfire discussed the various merits of the characters, the different lessons and takeaways that each person seemed to have, and so on. And while she would occasionally nod, she did not do so at any one person in particular, instead almost absentmindedly staring at the fire while she sipped down the berry-wine from her cup. After some time of this, however, she shook her head as if to awaken herself, and she looked around the campfire at the others.

"I think I might have another good story to share," Miyako proclaimed before she lifted her cup and knocked back the rest of her berry-wine before setting it to her side. She stood up and lightly dusted herself off as she looked around the campfire, taking a couple breaths to collect herself before she continued.

"This is a tale about a poor farmhand that one day found himself on the wrong side of a shaman of the Air, and thus found himself carried away by the wind..." she started, then making a low whistling noise as she lifted her hand and wiggled her fingers in the air before her as if mimicking the wind, and then she dove into the tale...

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One day a cruel and malevolent wandering shaman of the Air, being angry with a young farmhand in a village far, far away from here, came to the hut where he lived and stuck a new and sharp knife into it, repeating an incantation as he did so, accompanied by this wish: “May this farmhand be seized and carried away by the wind into the air, there to remain for seven whole turns of the seasons!”

The farmhand that day went into the fields to make straw, when all of a sudden a great Wind arose. It scattered the straw over the field and in short order seized upon the farmhand himself! In vain he struggled to try and bring himself back down to the Earth, and soon he began to drift out of the field; in vain he tried and failed to catch hold with his strong arms the hedges and branches of nearby trees as he was carried over the edge of the field to a nearby forest. Above the treetops he was lifted; the power of the Air that had got hold of him lifted him up and carried him away.

Borne, as if on the wings of the Wind, among the clouds, he flew like a wild bird. The Sun began already to disappear, the day soon about to turn into night and give way to the Moon, and the hungry farmhand could see the smoke rising up from the other huts in his village, the Fires for cooking the evening meal well underway. At one time he could almost touch the rooftops with his feet, though he would come oh-so-close only to be lifted away before he could touch down upon them, and he screamed aloud for help as loud as he could muster. But he screamed and wept in vain; no one heard his cries, or saw his bitter tears of anguish, and away into the night the Air did lift him, far above the village.

He was thus carried about in the Air in this manner for nearly an entire season, and by that time, from hunger and thirst, he had become dried up and thin like a bundle of sticks. He Air brought him over a large part of the land, but by cruel Fate the Wind carried him chiefly over the village where he had lived - so close to home, yet always so far and away. With tears in his eyes he would look upon the hut where his betrothed lived, the daughter of the farmer whose fields he had worked. He would see her coming out of the hut with dinner prepared for the rest of the farmer's family. He would spread his thin, cold, bony arms towards her, and call her by her name, again as loud as he could muster. With his thirst, however, his voice was too weak and would die in his throat, and the girl, his beloved, would not ever look up, and soon the Winds would take him away once more.

Away and away, again and again, the farmhand was borne by the Wind. One day, however, as he was whirled about in the Air, he was blown in the direction of his own hut where he saw the cruel shaman standing before it. The shaman looked up and shouted to him, cackling with evil glee: “Ah, I am not done with you yet! You shall be thus carried by the Wind over your own village for seven long turns of the seasons! You shall suffer constantly, and wish you were dead - but you shall not be able to die!”

“My little father, my master, dear shaman of the Air, forgive me if I have offended you in some way! I know not what I have done!” cried the poor farmhand as he swirled in the Air from above. “Look at me! See that my mouth is dry! Look at my face and hands — the flesh is gone from them and ragged skin and bone are all I have left! Have mercy upon me!”

The shaman whispered a few words and the farmhand stopped in his circular motion and remained still in the Air. “It is all well and good to ask my forgiveness and pardon - but what will you promise to give me if I let you down?”

“All that you ask for!” cried the poor farmhand as he put his hands together in prayer, and knelt down in the air.

“Will you give me your sweetheart? Your beloved? Your betrothed?” demanded the shaman. “I want her for my wife! If you will promise to give her to me, I will let you come down once more to the Earth.”

The farmhand was silent for a moment. He thought to himself: “When I am once more one with the Earth... I will see what can be done.” He called back out to the magician, “Oh, master! You ask a great sacrifice from me - but if it cannot be otherwise... let it be as you will.” And he sunk his head into his chest.

It was on these words that the shaman blew upon him, and he came down to the Earth. Oh, how happy he was when he felt that he could walk, and that the Wind had no more power over him!

He hastened home as fast as he could, though incredibly weak and tired he was from the hunger and the thirst. Before the entrance to the farmer's hut he met his betrothed. At the sight of her long lost lover, over whose fate she had often wept, the astonished girl cried out with surprise. The farmhand pushed her gently aside, and went into the hut. There he saw the farmer who employed him, and said to him, with tears in his eyes, “I cannot serve you any longer, nor can I marry your daughter. I love her as dearly as my sight, but she can never be mine.”

The farmer looked at him in wonder, and seeing how tearful and sorrowful was his thin, pale face, formerly so fat and rosy, he asked the reason why he refused to marry his daughter. The farmhand told him all that had happened: his journey in the Air, the torment he had suffered, and the promise he had made the cruel shaman. The farmer, having heard him out in full, bade the poor fellow be of good cheer, for he knew what might be done! He then took a purse full of precious metals and gems and went to the village seer for advice. When he returned in the evening, he was smiling and happy, and said to the farmhand, “Go tomorrow, before daylight while the Moon still walks above, to the village seer, and all will be made right.”

The farmhand, weary as he was, went to bed, and soon fell fast asleep. He got up, however, before daylight as instructed, and went to the village seer's hut. He found the old, wrinkly woman already awake and well at work in her craft, crouching before a roaring fire burning herbs, the smoke from it changing into all sorts of vibrant colors and whirling and swirling in her hut into the vivid shape of many an animal as she did so. The seer told him to stand quietly by. That morning was calm and beautiful, but suddenly a strong Wind arose, and made the hut tremble as if it would blow over! And yet, the hut held strong, and soon enough the strong Wind would dissapear as suddenly as it had come.

Then the seer took the farmhand by the hand and led him into the yard, and told him to look up at the sky. He raised his eyes to the sky, putting his hand over them, and through the light of the Sun what did he see? Why, he saw the wicked shaman of Air, with nothing on but a long shirt, whirling round and round in the Air, crying out for help as he was tormented in a taste of his own cruel and bitter medicine as he had done to the farmhand.

“There is your enemy - he will hurt you no more," said the wise old seer to the farmhand. "If you wish him to see your wedding, do as I will tell you and he will be there. For the rest, he will suffer the same punishment as he had designed for you.”

The delighted farmhand thanked the village seer many times over and ran back home. In a month’s time he was married to his beloved, and all of the villagers in the village and the surrounding farmlands coming together for a big celebration and feast. While the guests were busy dancing and singing in the village center at his wedding, the farmhand went into the a field below the village, looked up, and saw up above the cruel shaman spinning round and round in the Air, just as the seer said he would be. He took a new knife, and aiming at the shaman, threw it with all his might.

The shaman was struck and fell down to the Earth, and when he landed the knife nailed him down by the foot to the Earth; try as he might, however, the shaman could not pull the knife out of his foot and himself from his rooted spot in the Earth. It was thus he was forced to stand rooted in that field, a miserable witness to the happiness of the farmhand and his friends and villagers as merriment went on throughout the day and night, so loudly and raucously that none could hear his cries - like the farmhand's before him, weak from the hunger and thirst of being trapped in the Air for so long.

On the following morning the shaman of Air had disappeared from the field below the village. Some of the villagers said they saw him flying through the Air over the Water some distance away, well on the other side of the forest from the village; before and behind him were large flocks of crows, which, by their croaking, told of his continued flight. To this day, on a day in which the winds are strong near that same village, some among the villagers claim that through the bluster and the gusts, if one listens really hard, one might struggle to hear the faint, small, weak, voice of a tired old man letting out a cry for help.

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Perform: Storytelling w/ 1 Raise: 35
(OOC: "Carried Away by the Wind," a Polish folktale documented by Slavic folklorist John Theophilus Naaké, edited for setting and your entertainment~)

[Togashi Saruko]

Saruko gladly settled down to listen to a story. Yes! Seeing others step up to share stories was great and it meant her intentions were working!

She listened with rapt attention, to the point that she was fully living in the moment of the story. A surprised gasp at the twists and turns, such as when she heard what the shaman demanded, or the shaman's fate near the end. And a wistful sigh when the lovers were finally reunited.

"A wonderful tale," she complimented the storyteller and lifted her cup in a toast of praise.

[Nanzi]

Nanzi listened and gave a more reserved offering, as his thoughts seemed elsewhere for now. Jigutsuji smiled his praise and Jongwun mirrored her sensei.

[Ko]

"Well. A bear bought a princess with a gold wreath and then he took her kids away when they had them. So he likes taking people's children, even his own. The princess is greedy and wants her gold wreath, then accepts magic items from strangers without giving anything in return. The hag might have had a good reason to curse the bear guy, but she was definitely not a nice person since she kept poisoning him, stabbing him with needles, and was making him marry her even though he didn't want to. The human king was willing to trade two different children for his other one, kind of a jerk thing to do. Only the kids that gave stuff away to help someone else were really any kind of nice. It's a shame that they end up getting raised by a greedy woman and a violent guy that takes children. They seemed to be doing fine with the old women. They got raised to be nice people by them. So the greedy woman and the violent king got a happy ending while everyone else got a bad deal. That's what I take away from how the people were acting."

"But magic scissors and a magic flask and a magic food cloth all were fun. And the fights against a giant bear were fun, and the traps that people used to win were clever. So I liked it."

"Haven't you ever heard any stories before?" Ko shot the huge fellow a skeptical look. Stories had a logic of their own, like languages or any other human craft. If you tried to work them against their logic, you might as well be trying to swim on land or weave clay like hemp threads.

Tact, of course, also had a logic of its own, and not one Ko had entirely mastered.

<snip>

Then someone else told a story, and Ko fell quiet again with her chin propped on her fists. This one didn't thrill her quite as much as the last, but a story was still a story, and she thumped the ground appreciatively when it was over.

[Miyako]

Miyako nodded her head low in appreciation as the Togashi complimented the story that she told. She sat back down near the fire now that she was done telling the story and refilled her cup with berry-wine, again offering the skin to anyone that wished to have a little bit of it.

"My thanks, storyteller! My own village seer shared that story on many moons around a campfire when a particularly windy day had been upon us. I was reminded of it by... Ayumu's pointing out of your story on things left omitted, as one omission right at the start stuck this story in my mind," she explained to Saruko and believing she had correctly put name to face for Ayumu.

"We used to ask the seer: what was it that farmhand did that made the shaman of Air so angry that he would curse him so? And my cousins and I had quite a spell over the course of a particular fortnight when I was younger, coming up with all sorts of reasons as to what could have occurred. An insult thrown when they bumped one another in the market, a deed requested and paid for but never performed... one of my cousins even had quite the wild story about how the farmhand would eventually discover his own power as a shaman of Earth and the shaman of Air's action was to prevent the rise of what might one day be a lifelong rivalry between them as wiseman of opposing elements," she recalled as she took a short sip of berry-wine from her cup, almost daintily as she could as she had accidentally filled it to the brim and did her best not to spill any upon herself.

"And the seer left us to our arguing among ourselves for many a night until finally we had to ask her: what was it that the farmer did? And at this she laughed for quite some time, leaving us very confused, but she did so explaining to us that she never heard from any of us in our arguments the possibility she hoped she would hear. She looked to all of us and asked quietly: 'had you considered that he'd done nothing at all?' And our cousins and I looked around at one another, and realized that no, we had not. We looked to put forth a deeper reason for his actions when, perhaps all along, there was none: the shaman did what he did not only because he could, but because he wanted to - that, I remember, was a lesson we all learned well from village seer. Whether that was the truth, however, dear seer also would not say: she just laughed, and we children were left to ponder." Miyako took another sip of berry-wine as she looked around, leaving it at that.

[Togashi Saruko]

Saruko listened with great interest as Miyako elaborated and she nodded enthusiasticly to some of it.

"I can imagine it was quite the discussion. I often did the same when I was younger!" She laughed warmly. "But my father told me that for a storyteller it's often just as important to remember the details as it is to obfuscate the right parts."

She cast a glance to the audience. "Stories are more than just a retelling of an event."

[Jiyo Sora]

"Stories are more than just a retelling of an event."

"Which is why I don't tell any."

[Nanzi]

"Nanzi must have dreamed that tale about the knife then, Jiyo-san," Nanzi finally said from behind his fan.

"Owned by a rather auspicious member of the Hikaru."

[Jiyo Sora]

"Ah, but didn't you hear Togashi-sama? All I offered was a retelling of an event."

He tipped the Crane daimyo a wink, of all things.

[Togashi Saruko]

Saruko smiled as she looked at the two men, though her eyes narrowed slightly.

"I don't think I know this story...?"

[Taochusu]

"Haven't you ever heard any stories before?" Ko shot the huge fellow a skeptical look. Stories had a logic of their own, like languages or any other human craft. If you tried to work them against their logic, you might as well be trying to swim on land or weave clay like hemp threads.

Tact, of course, also had a logic of its own, and not one Ko had entirely mastered.

"My dad told hunting stories when I was younger. But after my tribe died? No, I haven't heard any stories since then. So I guess it's been since before I was 12 years?" He shrugs it off like that's normal.

"Moving around in the air sounds neat too. I wonder how you can convince the air to move you like that?"