SooperSmurph
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Throughout my life i've had the good fortune of being allowed to participate in more than one shamanistic ritual. These have without exception been experiences of emotional growth and comfort that have taught me to better relate to the people and world around me. During one such ritual, a powerful spirit of story came upon me, and I / we took charge of the circle for quite some time as this story told itself. I make no claims as to any kind of historical accuracy represented within this tale, it is a collection of memories of the story, both the ones I recall, and the ones told to me by others who remembered parts that were too intense for me to fully comprehend at the time, any resemblance to any peoples real or fictional is purely coincidental and you should feel clever if you make such connections.
There is a song in my heart, a song of people who traveled the world, whose deeds are mighty and gone. People were spreading throughout the world, and men were beginning to control each other in attempts at creating something good, people who agreed with this flocked to the cities, those who wanted safety and order, they began to form civilization. People who wanted to remain free continued to wander as their ancestors had before them, and though many of these groups of people exist around the world, the strongest of them left first, and set off for lands where no man dwelled to chain them. They traveled east, for generations, their people lived and died knowing nothing but the journey, a never ending test of their resolve.
They came to a great ocean, and the men leading them at the time, three brothers, sat and contemplated where next to go. The oldest, who cherished knowledge, wished to explore the coast, study the tides, and prepare to continue their journey by crossing this ocean. The youngest, who cherished bravery, wished to go back to the tamed lands, and fight the people who had grown soft in the bellies of cities. The middle brother sat still as his two siblings eventually grew angry and began to argue with one another, finally they turned to their brother, "decide for us, who is right?" This brother, who valued not cunning, nor valor, but honor over all things, said "We are but three small men, and our choices can be as small as we are, we must seek the guidance of our ancestors so that our choice can bear the wisdom of time instead of the arrogance of our strengths." His brothers hung their heads, shamed by his humble words, and the three began to purify themselves for their journey to meet with their ancestors.
Many trials lay between them and the knowledge of the spirits, tests which each brother conquered in his own way, showing himself to be wiser, stronger, or more honorable by virtue of his choices. A great swamp confronted them at one point, seemingly endless, attempting to drain and bog down the brothers. The Youngest rushed headlong into the dark, trusting his speed to carry him over the muck, and though he made it to the other side, the clinging muck slowed him and caused him to be troubled by the slow and hungry things dwelling beneath the surface, leaving him with several fine battle scars. The Eldest dove into the murk of the swamp, exploring and finding secret depths, he emerged on the other side with new knowledge and sadness in his eyes. The middle brother cast down his weapons, and waded into the swamp, accepting its pull of him and the choices of its creatures. As he rose on the other side, the muck itself seemingly crawled off of his body out of sheer respect.
Continued as I organize this collection of notes into something more readable.
There is a song in my heart, a song of people who traveled the world, whose deeds are mighty and gone. People were spreading throughout the world, and men were beginning to control each other in attempts at creating something good, people who agreed with this flocked to the cities, those who wanted safety and order, they began to form civilization. People who wanted to remain free continued to wander as their ancestors had before them, and though many of these groups of people exist around the world, the strongest of them left first, and set off for lands where no man dwelled to chain them. They traveled east, for generations, their people lived and died knowing nothing but the journey, a never ending test of their resolve.
They came to a great ocean, and the men leading them at the time, three brothers, sat and contemplated where next to go. The oldest, who cherished knowledge, wished to explore the coast, study the tides, and prepare to continue their journey by crossing this ocean. The youngest, who cherished bravery, wished to go back to the tamed lands, and fight the people who had grown soft in the bellies of cities. The middle brother sat still as his two siblings eventually grew angry and began to argue with one another, finally they turned to their brother, "decide for us, who is right?" This brother, who valued not cunning, nor valor, but honor over all things, said "We are but three small men, and our choices can be as small as we are, we must seek the guidance of our ancestors so that our choice can bear the wisdom of time instead of the arrogance of our strengths." His brothers hung their heads, shamed by his humble words, and the three began to purify themselves for their journey to meet with their ancestors.
Many trials lay between them and the knowledge of the spirits, tests which each brother conquered in his own way, showing himself to be wiser, stronger, or more honorable by virtue of his choices. A great swamp confronted them at one point, seemingly endless, attempting to drain and bog down the brothers. The Youngest rushed headlong into the dark, trusting his speed to carry him over the muck, and though he made it to the other side, the clinging muck slowed him and caused him to be troubled by the slow and hungry things dwelling beneath the surface, leaving him with several fine battle scars. The Eldest dove into the murk of the swamp, exploring and finding secret depths, he emerged on the other side with new knowledge and sadness in his eyes. The middle brother cast down his weapons, and waded into the swamp, accepting its pull of him and the choices of its creatures. As he rose on the other side, the muck itself seemingly crawled off of his body out of sheer respect.
Continued as I organize this collection of notes into something more readable.