Holm the Orator/Lore

This article is a work of fiction related to Istaria. It is part of the background Istarian story.

Holm's Tales

The Saris Ferryman

Holm tells you, Ah, good choice, my friend. I heard this story many years ago from a good friend of mine. It is old, that is for sure and I do not know who told it first. Shall I begin?

Holm tells you, Many years ago, Saris and Humans met to trade at a small outpost near the place where Dryart stands now. There was no bridge or portal connecting Kion to the outpost so the only way to travel between them was by Ferry.

Holm tells you, One night, a great storm came down from the north, with winds that whipped the waters of the channel into towering, foam-covered waves. The rain cut like a thousand knives and lightning set the sky ablaze with its fury. It was no night to be sailing, but a trader's daughter came to the outpost docks, wrapped in a silk shawl that was trimmed in gemstone beads and wolf's teeth. Only one ferry was docked there, and she implored the old Saris at the rudder to take her to Kion. She had no money to pay, but her parents were expecting her and would be sick with worry at how late she was already.

Holm tells you, The old ferryman nodded and helped her aboard. "One fare I can afford, young miss," he said. "For your parent's sake, I'll take you across." He swiftly cast off and took the ferry into the storm. Waves broke over the bow, seeking to swamp the small craft, but the old ferryman was wise to the ways of wind and sea. He kept the craft upright and held his course true, until the ferry was safely tied down at the Kion docks.

Holm tells you, The trader's daughter removed her silk shawl and handed it to the ferryman. The gemstone beads and wolf's teeth it was trimmed with were worth enough to buy three brand new ferry boats. "Keep this as my pledge; I will return tomorrow with thrice the normal fare, for you have aided me and brought my parent relief from their fears. You have my thanks, and theirs." With that, she hugged him and kissed him on each cheek, then turned and hurried home.

Holm tells you, The next morning was bright and clear, and the sea calm, as the first ferry of the day launched from the Kion docks. A wealthy merchant sat next to the pilot and jovially asked, "So, my friend, was last night's storm strong enough to send the ghost walking? It certainly seemed dark and miserable enough."

Holm tells you, The pilot shook his head, "I do not know, my lord. Neight I nor any of the other ferryman will work on such a night, so we do not see him when he does walk." The trader's daughter turned around and stared at the ferryman, eyes wide and pale. "A ghost haunts this ferry?" she asked, her voice choked with fear.

Holm tells you, "Yes, miss. Ten years past, a ferry went down during a fierce storm and all were lost. Look, you can see the graves on the bluff above the outpost." The trader's daughter turned to look, and screamed once before collapsing in terror. The last grave belonged to the dead ferryman, and on it, neatly folded, was a silk shawl trimmed with gemstone beads and wolf's teeth.

The Abandoned Isle

Holm tells you, Oh yes, this one is scary indeed! I heard this one in a tavern in Tazoon not that long ago. A wee dryad had the entire room in an uproar over it. Shall I begin?

Holm tells you, In these trouble times, it's not a rare feat to see a ghost. I just never thought I'd see one in a carrot patch. It was a late night, but a friend was in need of some soup, so I cheerily flew off to my favorite garden. I always loved gathering my foods on the Abandoned Island. The farm is easy to get to, and I have always been one to craft efficiently. This particular night, the moon was shining so brightly it lit up the field, and my gathering went fast.

Holm tells you, I was just finishing when I saw her. She was just standing there, in the carrot patch, not a few meters beside me. She glowed softly, her cloak billowing in the gentle breeze, her basket of vegetables held still at her side. She was staring off over the shoreline. Oddly, I felt no fear and no mindless wrath emanating from her as I have felt from others of her kind. So I flew up beside her cautiously.

Holm tells you, "Hello there Ma'am, are you okay?" I whispered. Her gaze rolled slowly over to where I was hovering, until her eyes fixed upon me... and there I saw an indescribable depth of sadness. I was lost for words, lost in her depsair. The breeze stilled, and an owl stirred in the distance.

Holm tells you, Suddenly, her eyes flashed open wide, and in a heartbeat she gathered her cloak up around her and dashed out of the patch and up the lighthouse, where she faded. And as she rushed by me I heard her whisper, "they come!" After a few moments, that overpowering ache of sadness seemed to fade from my heart. Still shaken, I gathered my carrots and flew to the portal. Just before leaving, I turned to the gatekeeper.

Holm tells you, "Pardon me Sir, did you see that ghost run by and up the lighthouse? You might want to be careful out here." The Gatekeeper, usually so stoic in his duties, spun around unexpectedly. "What?! You saw her? You saw my Irabella? How? How is that possible..."

Holm tells you, Surprised, I described the woman I saw, her eyes so lost for hope. "My sweet, sweet Irabella..." he mumbled. He sighed softly and seemed to gather his strength before continuing. "We had just moved here not a few months before it happened. I accepted the Gatekeeper outpost here because I thought the countryside would do her good. She was... troubled in the city. And at first, things seemed fine here. She... loved her garden." He glanced longingly at the carrots I still held in my hands.

Holm tells you, "But then the nightmares started. She would wake up screaming. Irabella said something was after her, that they were coming... I didnt' take it too seriously." he admitted guiltily. "I didn't know how to help her. I thought maybe it was just the stress of the move and the new lifestyle." I reached out and touched his shoulder, consoling him as best I could. "So what happened to her?"

Holm tells you, He looked up. "It was Halloween Night, two years ago. The moon was shining, why... just like it is now. Irabella was preparing a late supper and came out to gather some vegetables. I... I don't know exactly what happened, but suddenly she rushed in, and up to the lighthouse. I followed her, calling out to her, but I couldn't catch up. I reached the top and.. she was gone." His gaze sank again. "I haven't seen her since. I looked for days, everywhere... but I never found her."

Holm tells you, He reached his hand into his pocket and pulled out a silver ring, which flashed in the moonlight. Clutching it tightly, he turned back to face me. "I lost her. I failed her. I don't know what did this to her, but I still feel her here. Somehow, someday... I have to help her." After a few moments, I turned to go. I told the Gatekeeper I would try to find a way to help him, but in truth, I didn't know what I could do. As I got to the portal, I turned back. He slouched where he stood, a man broken. And as I stepped in, I heard him mutter.

"Now you know why they call this the Abandoned Isle."

The Impaler

Holm tells you, Listen well, <player>, for I will tell you a tale of misery and sorrow. A tale of the terrible evil that is at the heart of the Withered Aegis. A tale to freeze your bones and wither your spirit. This is not for the faint of heart! Leave now if ye have not the stomach.

Holm tells you, Many years ago, there was a revered member of the Paladin Order by the name of Valkor. He distinguished himself during the early years of The Lament as the Withered Aegis and their Undead Hordes poured into Western Aradoth. So it was with great surprise when the Leaders of his Order learned of his disappearance. Or rather, his capture.

Holm tells you, It was as they had feared. The Withered Aegis had ambushed Valkor and his wife while they were traveling to the small town of Harro from Feladan. They were taken, as the story goes, far to the east into the depths of Torrin Macalir's fortress on the Eastern Continent. There, Valkor and his wife were tortured mercilessly. Eventually, Valkor's wife succumbed to her torture and died.

Holm tells you, Valkor, upon seeing his beloved wife's death, vowed eternal vengeance upon Torrin and the rest of the Withered Aegis. But he was still firmly imprisoned and continued to suffer gruesome torture daily. Despite Torrin's best efforts, Valkor remained strong and refused to give in.

Holm tells you, Finally, after a year and more of unending torture, Torrin switched tactics. Break him with magic, he decided. And so he set upon Valkor with powerful necromantic magics... These magics warped and twisted Valkor's body, nearly destroying him, and turning him into a specter of death with a terrible thirst for the life force of others. The magics, though, had an even greater impact upon Valkor, one that physical torture could never have achieved... it broke his mind!

Holm tells you, Valkor went mad beneath the evil magics plied to him. His hatred of the Withered Aegis for his wife's death and anger at the gods for abandoning them both to this fate, turned to unending rage, the source of a terrible, twisted power.

Holm tells you, Torrin soon discovered that further tortures could no longer touch Valkor, so he simply locked him away, for decades, in a cell deep in his dungeons. Years passed. Rachival fell. Feladan fell. The Battle of Tazoon was fought. Torrin Macalir was destroyed, and the tide turned. Feladan was recaptured by the Gifted. It was at this point, with the power of the Withered Aegis waning upon the Prime, that Valkor finally escaped his captors!

Holm tells you, Breaking free of his cell, he cut a swath of destruction through the Aegis minions who had remained behind to guard him. Leaving the fortress with a trail of pursuers, he ran aimlessly through the destroyed lands, obliterating all he encountered in his mindless rage, until becoming cornered in a portal complex. With scarcely a thought, he leapt through an open portal following a regiment of Aegis troops, returning to the unblighted lands of Istaria in the west.

Holm tells you, In Istaria, he found that his tortures had turned him into a terrible creature, one that would be hunted in these lands. He found a ruined fortress high upon a mountain-top in the northern regions of Istaria and there, with an army of undead minions he found he was now able to command, he had locked himself away, his hatred festering for all these long years. His rage has given him power, but twisted his form. Valkor's form is the visage of death and his power can warp the world around him, as well as bend the beasts of darkness to his will.

Holm tells you, He remains to this day, <player>! Brooding, biding his time high atop the mountains in his fortress. One day he may come down and feast on us all! And that is the end of the tale...

The Starving Artist

Holm tells you, Ah, yes, good choice, my friend. I heard this story many years ago in a tavern as I was passing through Mahagra. It is old, that is for sure and I do not know who told it first. Shall I begin?

Holm tells you, Long ago, in the snow-covered mountains of Mahagra, lived an unpopular young half-giant named Arlan. He was small and frail, and often mistaken for a child, even though he had seen twenty-four winters. He was not unloved as a child, but as he grew to manhood he became more and more withdrawn. His words became terse and bitter, even to those who loved him best. Hearts hardened against him, and when he moved out of the village few were sad to see him go.

Holm tells you, Among those few was Oksana, the butcher's daughter. Arlan was skilled at making scrimshaw, and Oksana frequently brought him bone and ivory for use in his art. She was tall, strong, beautiful, and truly loved Arlan. She resolved one night to tell him of her love, hoping he would open his heart to her. Instead, he pulled away, cold and silent. In truth, he did love her, and desired that she would be his bride; but when she spoke of love, a voice inside him shouted that it was a trick, that she was lying and trying to mock him. He rebuked her with words as strong and sharp as steel, and she fled into the night.

Holm tells you, Arlan regretted his words immediately, and resolved to pay no heed to the nagging voice inside him. He set out for the village at once, resolved to go to Oksana and beg her forgiveness. The deep snow hindered him far more than it did Oksana, and he soon foundered and feared himself lost. He pressed on, hoping to find shelter or a familiar landmark, but neither appeared.

Holm tells you, The voice inside him returned, whispering that Oksana had planned this, that the villagers wished him dead and gone, that they would laugh at him and say he died a fool. Arlan tried to ignore it at first, but he was exhausted and half-frozen, and he soon succumbed. He listened to the voice, and as he did, his heart became colder and colder, until it ceased beating and turned to solid ice. Ice covered his skin and bloated his flesh until he towered above the tallest half-giant and was filled with a raging hunger.

Holm tells you, Soon, Arlan met Oksana's three brothers on the road - drunk, angry, and intent on punishing him for rejecting Oksana. Arlan attacked with a savage roar, struck them down, and began to feed. Once he was sated, he took their heads and disappeared into the trackless north. When the savaged remains were found, everyone thought Oksana's brothers had been attacked by wolves, and that Arlan had died with them.

Holm tells you, Years later Oksana married, and friends far and near sent gifts and good wishes. One gift bore no name and was wrapped in a bundle of deer fur. Oksana opened it and found three goblets, made from the skulls of her brothers and covered in fine scrimshaw.

So travel carefully in the snowy wastes, friends, for Arlan seeks not only food, but raw supplies for his art...

Child in the Woods

Holm tells you, Oh yes, this one is very good indeed! I heard this from a traveler passing through Tazoon just this past year. An odd man, if he was a man at all. He never took his hood off, and stood hunched so that he was no taller than a Dwarf. There was a chill in the air after he finished his tale and walked away. Shall I begin?

Holm tells you, Long ago, a group of dwarves went hunting deer in the mountains east of Aughendell. The hunting was good, and they had many deer to clean and dress when they made camp in the evening. Over venison and ale, the weary hunters relaxed and talked of how the day had gone. Although they laughed and joked, they also watched for scavengers who might grow too bold. The dwarves were happy to leave the offal to the local wildlife, but were not so generous with their venison. Watches were posted, and all slept with weapons ready.

Holm tells you, Gorzhad had the last watch, and as the skies lightened with the coming dawn, he heard a movement near the buried offal. He turned and began to raise his crossbow, but halted when he saw a human boy hunched over the pit, gnawing on a leg bone. The boy tried to stand, but failed, and Gorzhad saw that his leg was broken. Gorzhad called out for Ammon the healer and rushed to the boy's side. He set down his crossbow and spoke softly, coaxing the boy to him. Finally, the boy relented and Gorzhad carried him to the camp.

Holm tells you, Ammon healed the boy's leg and wrapped him in warm blankets, for he had no clothes. His hands and mouth were smeared with deer blood and bits of raw venison, but his stomach rumbled loudly. Durold brought the boy tea and bread, but he refused both. Gorzhad saw him looking at the hanging deer carcasses, so he cut some thin strips of venison, which the boy devoured eagerly. After the boy had eaten, Ammon knelt next to him and asked "Who are you? Where are your parents?" The boy shook his head, and said nothing.

Holm tells you, The dwarves took him with them that day, and found he was a great hunter. He moved swiftly and silently, flushing many deer into the sights of the dwarven crossbows. That evening, the dwarves had as many deer to dress as they normally took in three days of hunting. Spirits were high and the ale flowed freely that night, for the hunters could return home in the morning, two days early. The guard was doubled, for the smell of blood was heavy on the air.

Holm tells you, The moon was high and a light fog lay on the ground when a wolf began howling in the forest. The sentries sounded the alarm and all the dwarves lept to their feet, ready to protect the venison. Suddenly, there were howls everywhere in the night, more than the dwarves could count. It was a large pack, and they were surrounded.

Holm tells you, The boy jumped up and let out a howl himself, then brushed past Gorzhad to race into the forest. Gorzahd began to go after him, but halted as a towering female werewolf emerged from the brush. The boy leapt into her arms and nuzzled her eagerly as more werewolves emerged from the night. The largest male stroked the boy's hair, then pointed at Gorzahd.

"You...help...my son. I give...all...life. Go. When sun come. When moon come, you are meat!" He raised his head and howled once. The boy waved to the dwarves, then his mommy and daddy took him home.

The Stuffy Man

Holm tells you, An excellent choice! A dragon brought this tale to me one night in Bristugo, written on scraps of paper recovered from the robes of a wraith lord on Elnath. It was difficult to read, stained, fragmented, and written in an unsteady hand, but I was able at last to read and understand it. Would you like to hear it now?

Holm tells you, When the leaves are falling and the sharp point moon is high
Then Stuffy Man goes walking, for those tides be Harvest Time
And if ye hear him knocking while ye snuggle in thy bed
Then pull thy blanket closer, else ye'll wind up worse than dead

Holm tells you, The Stuffy Man be stuffy with the farmer's dried up stalk
His head be old sack scruffy with a mouth and eyes of chalk
The rags he wears be ragged from a year spent on the land
But the moonlight dances new-bright on the sickle in his hand.

Holm tells you, The Stuffy Man hath stuffy hands that knock upon each door
But none will sleep the pounding from those hands made all of straw
And if a woken answer with a door cast open wide
Then sickle hand will fall and rend, for this is Harvest Tide

Holm tells you, The Stuffy has no hunger, for it has no need to eat
But straw is dried and thirsty cries the one that seeks no meat
The liquor for the Stuffy runs hot red in ye that wake
And it will open any that it finds for its thirst to slake

Holm tells you, So when the leaves are falling and the sharp point moon is high
And if ye hear a knocking when the stars are in the sky
Set head beneath thy pillow, do not answer to thy door
Else next year ye'll be knocking, with a sack head made of straw.

Greed

Holm tells you, Oooh, many call the oldies the goodies, but I've a taste for something fresh ever so often! A wandering Saris told me this tale as they came through, and I've logged it down to retell! It's quite long, so be ready! Let us begin...

(Fall Festival 2020 - Bonus - Azramael Akharosh)

Holm tells you, The night was quiet and cold, the departed all sleeping peacefully within their beds of stone.

Some were small and had simple designs, while others were adorned with intricate engravings and expensive pigments, but all of the graveyard's inhabitants were equally quiet.

However, this serene sight would soon be disturbed by the arrival of a still-breathing Saris with dirty white fur and a face so young that he must have barely been an adult.

Carrying a faintly glowing lantern in one hand and a shovel in the other, he made his way past the more humble resting places and towards the furthest corner of the burial ground, where laid a lone but magnificently ornate headstone.

Holm tells you, "That has to be the one," he whispered. "Mother told me he would have wanted to keep to himself, even in death."

He set down the lantern at his feet, held on tight to his shovel, and took to digging away the sand in front of him. The labor was intense and exhausting, but hours later, he'd managed to excavate what he was looking for - a large sandstone casket, engraved with ostentatious runes and patterns. But what really interested him was what lay inside. With one last tremendous effort, he held onto the coffin lid, lifted it up, and pushed it ajar, revealing inside the remains of a long-departed Saris. More interesting however, were the golden coins surrounding the body and the jewelry it was wearing; a diamond-encrusted circlet, a necklace adorned with rubies and sapphires, and so many gilded rings covering the fingers that it seemed almost vulgar. The robber stared in awe at this buried treasure - a treasure truly worthy of a dragon's hoard - for what felt like hours, mesmerized as if by a stunning painting or a beautiful woman.

Holm tells you, Eventually, his attention turned to the corpse guarding those riches. It seemed oddly well preserved as, although the flesh had withered, the skin and bones remained intact. Even tufts of white fur, not unlike his own, were still present.

"So it is true; he really did keep everything to himself."

A frown crept up across the young man's face, for while a mere corpse was slumbering covered in immense wealth, he and his family were struggling to afford even the bare necessities. His father was a gambler, and an unlucky one at that, who brought home nothing but debt and ruin, forcing his family into a life of poverty.

Holm tells you, One of his only escapes was hearing his mother tell stories of her own father; he was a magician of sorts, a skilled wielder of magic, although the precise nature of his abilities were not remembered. He used his power to become an adventurer and had spent most of his life exploring distant lands, plundering dungeons, and fighting fearsome foes, before retiring and joining the merchant trade in his older years.

When the young boy would ask what had become of his grandfather's accumulated wealth, his mother would answer that he had chosen to be buried with it so that no one could take away what he had earned. When he would ask why he had not shared his wealth with his family, she would simply shrug.

Holm tells you, Although he himself had never known this man, the young Saris felt that his selfishness had robbed him of a better life, for what lay inside the casket was worth more than enough to pay off all of his father's debt and to afford happier lives.

Determined to claim what he believed should have been his birthright, he first reached out to grab the jeweled necklace, but froze in fear when he saw his departed ancestor's body move. His instinct was to scream in fear, but he could not, for a hand was squeezing his throat.

Holm tells you, (Holm pauses.)

A Saris woman sat down at her table with a sigh. Her eyes were red and baggy from weeping, and her body had grown frail as she could seldom bring herself to eat, her throat too swollen with sadness. She was unsure of how many days had passed since she had last seen her son, but she knew for sure he had been gone for more than a month now. Even more painful than not seeing him, was not knowing what had happened to him. Had he been stolen by Half-Giant raiders, taken by beasts, or had he gotten mixed up in the wrong crowd? Or perhaps, he simply had run away, trying to find a better life for himself. The uncertainty was killing her inside and out.

Holm tells you, She rarely left the house now, only doing so when she needed to go to the market. A few days after seeing her child for the last time, she had gone out to buy food and, in an attempt to distract her distressed mind, went to visit a new merchant she heard had come to town. She was surprised when she, looking at him from a distance, saw that he possessed white fur, just like hers, and for a moment, she believed that it was in fact her son, coming back from some untold travel to sell the spoils of his adventure. When upon closer inspection she saw that it was not so, she ran home crying.

Holm tells you, On later occasions when she came back to the market, she would always try to ignore the white-furred merchant, but every time she would fail and would catch glimpses of his face. He eventually noticed her back and would always smile and wave at her, although she never reciprocated. This stranger certainly was not her son and yet looked so familiar. After she pondered what about him stood out to her, she realized that he bore a strong resemblance to her father, whose face she had not seen in decades, to an almost uncanny degree.

Holm tells you, Stricken by grief over the disappearance of her only child and disturbed by what looked like a ghost of her father, she thought to visit his grave, something she had not done for some time. She stood before his headstone for a while, thinking.

When she turned back, she could have sworn she heard a noise coming from underneath but chalked it up to her imagination.