Fables and Tales from Kostuvastan


(OOC: This story isn’t based in reality or anything, it’s just a short Kotvarianist story that I’ve been wanting to write for a bit now. It’s not the best thing I’ve written, but I needed to start somewhere to get this thread up and running.)

Long ago, long before the creation of Urth, lived a being known as Abda. For eons Abda sat alone in the universe, longing for a companion to play with. Abda spent countless millennia searching for another being in the universe, but after a long enough time Abda came across a doorway adorned in intricate sculptures and paintings of an era much long passed. Within the doorway sat a tiger-like http://78.media.tumblr.com/e84c9d82be27ed256ac121375d205bab/tumblr_o1ew9krtjW1tj9g2vo1_1280.jpg
with four tails, of which resembled a lion’s, and three horns that conformed to the creature’s head. The creature spoke to Abda. “I am Tawazun, and I will be your guide.”

“My guide?”

“Yes, I am your guide through the Kablova. Follow me, for your Destiny awaits.”

Tawazun entered the doorway, Abda following close behind. Through the threshold was a world inconceivable to human imagination. A land of endless suffering and pleasure, of infinite wealth and poverty, of countless progress and stagnation. Colors and sounds never heard by any in our universe. Emotions never felt by any alive today. Abda grew wiser the more time spent in the Kablova. But his Destiny awaited, and thus Tawazun guided Abda deep into the Kablova. Countless obstacles and tests of courage, strength, willpower, and knowledge were presented to Abda, and one by one Abda conquered each one. Soon enough, Tawazun and Abda approached a seemingly unscalable mountain.

“This is where I depart, Abda. I have guided you as far as I am able. You must scale the Unscalable Mountain to reach your Destiny.”

“And if I fail?”

“You cannot fail.”

Abda took another look at the mountain, and upon returning gaze towards Tawazun, the creature had disappeared. The only thing left to do was scale the unscalable, and so Abda began scaling the mountain, and failed. Abda began again, and failed. Again Abda began scaling, and again Abda failed. Over and over Abda would begin and fail. For millennia Abda would scale and fail, and that is when Abda came to a realization: This was not the Unscalable Mountain. It was simply a moutain. Its name was the only thing keeping Abda from scaling this mountain. Abda began scaling the mountain again, and climbed little by little, step by step, grip by grip, slowly but surely scaling the mountain. Reaching the top, Abda met Masirova.

“I am your Destiny, Abda. I will help you become ruler of your Universe, and you will be a great ruler indeed.”

And so Abda and Masirova departed the Kablova back to the Universe to rule over it. Soon the two beings would produce Urth and its Sol, along with the other planets.

The Ascension Day Massacre

(OOC: As a frame of reference, New Chita is modern-day Lsamua, Kostuv Gondwana being Lapimuhyo. This thread I felt would be the best place to start RPs with Lapimuhyo)

New Chita, Kostuv Gondwana, June 14th, 1748. Ascension Day…

“Today, we celebrate the great liberation of a people in need of guidance! Thanks to our King’s intuition and cunning, we have saved these savages from themselves. With our guidance and mentorship, we may soon teach them the ways of civilized society! Reason and order have prevailed over chaos and…”

The man performing this speech was the newly-appointed Viceroy of Kostuv Gondwana Yurolov Korovich, a nasty, wart-covered toad of a man who had used sleaze and other unsavory practices to reach the position he was given.

“I can’t believe such a duhopi of a man was given so much power… Such a lack of dignity and honor…” remarked an elderly lutryne fisherman in his native tongue, mostly to himself. His son looked up to him, and asked, “Zozu, why does he have so many bumps on his face?”

“You remember that story I told you when you were little about the lutryne child gaining a whisker for every good deed? This man gains a bump for every bad deed he commits. He has kept our people under his ugly rule for twelve terrible Iuajh. Mothers and sons have been whipped, killed under his command!” less talking to his son and more to the viceroy, he continued, “I swear, something must be done about this vexquj before our way of life is destroyed!” ‘For now, what I do here today might just wake people up…’

Soon enough, a chunk of the crowd looked over to the fisherman and his son with a look of scorn, a history of segregation and persecution against lutrynes having existed for quite a while now. The elderly man, in a spontaneous act, looked down at his son and kneeled in front of him, putting his paw on his shoulder. The fisherman’s face suggested that this was the last time he would see his son.

"Young didi, you must promise me you will protect what is right! Please promise me that. Yi pafu aie, didi…[note]This is “I love you, dear one” in Yazhmuh[note]

At this, the elderly man directed his son away from him, pointing towards another lutryne.

“Gsu Tjuoq Lapimuhyo dyp jyu!” [note]Translates into “The Great Motherland will rise again!”[note]

The man pounded his chest in the traditional Lapimuhyo wartime fashion, and the sound of glass breaking could be heard under his coat. Soon a massive cloud developed and enveloped the lutryne, his body collapsing to the ground. The crowd surrounding him also fell to the ground, coughing and hacking, unable to breathe. In the distance, the Viceroy could be seen cowering and quivering in fear behind one of his bodyguards, looking over their shoulder.

A few days later, New Chita officials discovered that the elderly lutryne belonged to the Vyzykuji rebel group. His child was, after five months, adopted by a human family.

The Red Roses of Lady Annabella

Kanisov Church, central Chita, 1537

A noble’s wife and her lutryne maiden had decided to spend the day strolling through the Kanisov compound, and after a while ended up in the courtyards outside of the church.

“Ah, I absolutely love the courtyards of this place. It is said that, in these halls, you can sometimes smell the scent of those roses Lady Annabella meticulously tended to. Rather spooky, wouldn’t you say?”

“Lady Annabella, ma’am?”

"Lady Annabella? The Rose Phantom? You must be familiar.” After a moment, she came to a realization.

“Oh, of course! You’re a foreigner! Here, sit down and I’ll tell you. It is a rather fascinating story." Upon clearing her throat, she began,

"Lady Annabella, the royal curator of the Queen’s gardens, loved fashioning beautiful landscapes out of plants for the royals to admire. She especially loved her red roses. No matter what she was trimming, growing, or weeding, red roses were always involved somehow. Red rose topiaries, hedges dotted with red roses, red rose arbors, even the sidewalks and patios were designed to look like red roses. Tending to the garden had become her obsession, the only thing for which she would wake up every morning. Perfection was her only goal, and every day she would change entire chunks of the garden as it has become unsatisfactory in her eyes.

Her workers, who did the dirty work of changing the garden to her new designs, slowly but surely grew resentful towards Annabella, who had increasingly been overworking those under her. One day, one of the workers grew so fed up with her tyranny, that he devised a scheme to kill her. He, along with three other workers, took turns, in the cover of darkness I might add, plucking the red roses from the hedges and topiaries. Bit by bit, the entire garden became bare and void of those beautiful roses. On their few breaks, the workers would use the time towards fashioning a poison out of the roses. Days, weeks, months passed, but soon enough the four accomplices had finally produced the poison after using up countless breaks.

Upon the day of Annabella’s birth, the four would make a traditional beverage laced with the poison. They offered it to Annabella, who accepted. Hours later, the royal guard found a dying Annabella lying in her chambers. One of the guards say that her last words were ‘Those dratted workers, they’ll pay for what they’ve done!’ Sure enough, each of the four workers who had helped murder her died under peculiar circumstances, all of which pertaining to red roses. One slipped from the second floor of their abode, falling into a rose bush. They bled to death from the numerous thorn cuts. The second suffocated to death after tripping onto a rose bush after getting tangled up into the stems. The third was murdered by an unknown assailant, who left a single red rose on his chest. The fourth and final worker was poisoned by the very concoction that he had created, accidentally spilling it into a pastry he was making. To this day, it is said her ghost haunts the courtyards, trying in vain to make the garden in her eyes again.”

(OOC: Yeah, the story’s crap)