Among the scattered tales and folklore of the Kin there is one that stands out amongst the rest. At first glance, it would seem a tale more fitting of human fantasy, with a lone hero who outshines all others and a villain so dastardly as to be farcical to serious storytellers among the Kin.
However, it is abundantly clear that the ‘hero’ of the story did indeed exist; though none to this day are sure of the accuracy of his fabled deeds. Many stories and accounts of the hero’s deeds exist and are proven to be true from multiple sources, but this particular tale exists only in the form of a child’s tale, a rare poem I had the opportunity to enjoy along with some cadmerian pipeweed in my time among the delightful Kneeslapper Clan. The story is as follows, with no attempt to sophisticate the simplistic writing in order to preserve your dignity.
~ Most Kind Panlibrarian Meelo Poomley
In a time wrought with peril
where monsters roamed the land
There were few safe holes for any kin
and heroes were in demand
The Kind Folk wandered plains,
forests, hills and mounts
Looking for that proper place,
where a monster they might renounce
Among the plains of a grander land,
they found their paradise
They settled here for many years,
certain the grass would suffice.
But the evils of the land,
had something else in mind,
They wanted to take everything,
and leave nothing else behind
By then the kin had several towns,
scattered in the grass,
Terror first found the farthest towns,
a memory of the past
A being devoid of life,
swept across the plains
It sucked all color out of all it touched;
it held chaos as its reins.
But before it could reach the town the of first the Kin had made,
A sly young thief stood up proud and said, ‘I could kill it if I were paid.’
He was quickly silenced, and off his head did bounce
for thinking their common plight, was the time to make an ounce.
Then a strong soldier rose up amongst them, yelling for all the hear,
“I could kill it with my sword if I only had, a hundred to help me get near.”
He was quickly silenced, but they only bonked him on the head,
if they followed the warrior’s plan, they would all be dead.
Then the village wiseman spoke, a wise Cleric who was respected by the kin he now eyed,
“We must flee our town, is it not worse to be without life over our pride.
He was quickly silenced, and cast out of town with stones,
for the brave folk of this town knew, freedom a slave bemoans.
Then came a sorcerer, rising high above his home,
’I’ve got a plan of my own, and I’ll enact it on my own.
The town gathered ’round the mage as he flew into the night,
smiles of hope dotted every face, begging for an end to their plight.
The sorcerer marched off, to the pallid wood of gray.
Every boy and girl praying for the death of the fell beast that day.
When the hero met the beast, he spoke calmy, determination in his eyes,
“Today, horrid beast, you will meet with your demise!”
It’s horrid touch laid waste to the world, and it kill our hero, it might,
if not for a magic shield formed from a word whose defenses had held tight.
His cunning his grinned as the hero summoned all his power,
and formed a cage that held its captive firm on that crucial hour.
It’s magic light danced through the night, constricting like a snake
And if it could, the beast’d howl in pain for no death would follow in its wake.
Those foreful bands did trap it, sealing it away.
Never could it break free, even to this day.
The beast was banished, to terrorize no more
and the golden plains of yesteryear, could prosper evermore.
The hero returned to the town, victory in tow
Beginning the legend how the colour from beyond was laid low.
Art by travistaad