#MENDOLINE

[deepsixo]

[grubbion]

Mankiove’s Backstory: The Twice Called Champion

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As a new born, he was seemingly abandon at a monastery. Wrapped in a torn cloak with a hastily scribbled note in a language that even the scribes have been unable to translate, declared and orphan, the monks put him to use. Although religion was not for him, fighting was most definitely not his calling. His race, half orc, pride themselves on showing off their scars and wounds from battle. All the scars and wounds he has are from his perpetual and unending clumsiness while completing his daily tasks, or from being punished for some thing he refused to do; repairs around the monastery, reach for things on the high shelf, not fighting back when ambushed by his teachers. Those were the kind of things Mankiove would get scars from; not from war.

The monks who raised him knew that he wasn't simply abandoned, they knew the note would never be simply translated, and they knew that he would never find out about any of it if they all stuck to the plan. So they chose to forget. To pretend that he was an orphan. They attempted to destroy the cloak he was swaddled in. The cloak that contained the key to translating the note, the cloak that has his mothers blood lining the slashes and rips from an all to familiar foe, the cloak with his family crest reveling his true linage birthright and one and only connection to his life past this point. They protected themselves and their plan, and got a new member to their maintenance crew. A half-orc that grew into a loyal companion to anyone he felt safe around. Not knowing his true origins. Never questioning his abandonment and supposed orphaning. And forever unable to translate the note.

With a proclivity to be uncoordinated, an ongoing struggle to hit things, and an ever growing appetite the monastery made a unanimous decision to abandon the abandoned. They deemed the authority they took to erase his past and protect themselves against harm to have run its full course and to part ways, rather abruptly. An early morning, some might even say late evening, at the stroke of midnight and one minute(the monks have always been one minute late) the monks packed everything they could fit into a single rucksack, all his belongings, handed him a net, slipped a note into his pocket, and without even fully waking him up chased him out the back door only few know about.

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~Lineage: Divine Betrothal on the Battlefield~

In the light of a fiery orange setting sun, a boy was born. Son of the mighty Aroarik Hordonis, a 7’0” gray skinned male orc, and the formidable Mendolin Hordonis, a 5’7” black haired female human, this first generation half-orc was meant to bring a new chapter to the war against the Carassius Auratus. Sadly, the joy of welcoming a new member into their new family was short lived once they realized the light from the sun had ended hours ago, and the fiery orange casting their shadows was from their fields and farms and neighbors being burned to the ground. The Carassius Auratus had found them. Renouncing their former lives and family’s to survive with these new vows and child, the Hordonis family had truly just begun. With a thread of shared issue, the fight that raged outside was not from an unknown foe but a very new qualm spurred from the single action of a birth. The birth of a boy yet to open his eyes to a bright and loud world now at war over his existence.

To give some perspective and to clarify the fight, we need to go back to the start of the discontent shared by the parentage of this new life.

~~Father~~

Aroarik was an intelligent fighter. He was welcomed into the Krusk Klan reluctantly. Being the only member not born into the klan or grandfathered in by a known lineage, he struggled to find his place until the calling of Gruumsh filled his veins with fire and drove his every violent action. Aroarik threw himself into the heat of battle and relishing the rush of rage and righteousness he would get from his patron god. Driven by the calls of Gruumsh, he hoped that battle would take one of his eyes so he could reflect the image of the deity in the flesh. Since he had no true ties to the klan and devoted every waking moment to Gruumsh’s will and wrath, Gruumsh would guide and groom him with a feeling or a forced movement and on occasion a deep and raspy whisper of direction. Gods rarely involve themselves in the affairs of mortals and rarely find themselves repeatedly interacting with anyone so meek. Aroarik’s true and total devotion to his god and nothing else, not even the Krusk Klan that still questioned his presence, Gruumsh took notice and an active, be it minor, involvement in his existence.

Intelligent tends to be an overstatement when describing an orc. Aroarik had a keen sense of the battle when it came to his god given talent. He had the uncanny ability to completely ignore the lesser fighters and go straight for the strongest and influential opponents; the leaders if you will. Swiftly and efficiently crippling the other side by taking out the organizational force backing their fight; the only thing holding him back was how fast he could trample over the weak and slash through the ill-taught. If Aroarik was on the field the other side would never change tactic, stopped getting commands, and at their weakest be unable to call for a retreat. He was infallible and a true Gruumsh devotee.

His scars were large, gruesome, and plentiful. They showed his age and his experience with foes of all kinds. His weapon of choice was an incredible bloody battle axe almost as tall as him, and a shield of his own making. The Krusk Klan allowed him to keep the battle axe of his first kill, but he had to create his own defense if he wanted it. Orc’s rarely have shields, but Gruumsh gave him a vivid and emotional dream of a crafted plate to protect even the strongest warrior. Aroarik was never one for pageantry but knew that this expression of worship was needed. Through battle after battle, night after night, and whittle after whittle he carved symbols and shapes and what appeared to be totems shown to him by Gruumsh on the face, side, and back of his shield. He never truly understood the meaning of everything he was shown but knew that he did his best in recreating everything he saw. Whether it was because of his extreme prowess or the etchings in the surface of the metal and wood he used to fortify the structure, since starting to make the shield his uncanny ability to leave a battle field with no grievous wounds was unparalleled.

~~Mother~~

Mendolin was a thread maker by choice. Born into the Family Weydec(most likely pronounced way-deck but a play on the last three letters of Dewey and the first three letters of decimal), she learned first hand the power of collection, categorization, and purposeful dissemination. Confidentially guiding some of the most powerful armies and in return gaining exclusive access to their storages of text that would have otherwise been forgotten or destroyed, the Family Weydec at some point was the single largest cache unknown to anyone outside of their bloodline. The Family Weydec collection could be described as the standard setter for any and all hoardsperson in the industry. Not only was their whole operation kept with-in the Family, so was their custom entrance points and access drop-off items. The Family had created their own form of storage, their own items that were customized and attuned to their own individual, that gave each family member their own key to the hoard.

Mendolin was at the age where her skill and craftsmanship of thread, fabric, and intricate designs was able to be fully expressed and expertly done by here still nimble and petite hands. Her hands had not yet been fully worked, or had become too callused and dry so they didn’t catch threads, and were still limber and still had feeling to notice the needle moving through layers of fabric and threads being pulled through different materials. She had a way with her work and each piece she made was a conversation between her hands and her medium. All new family members got their artifact that accessed the hoard made by her. Once the image of the final object entered her mind she would work restlessly until completion making each one so unique and individualized to the user. Not all of them were fabric based. She had made necklaces, a pair of shoes, and even a knife that could be easily hidden in the palm of her nephews hand.

Between parturitions she would make blankets, throws, and prayer cloths. Telling stories through a series of large delicately designed sheets. Her prized collection was that of the gods. Attempting to encapsulate each higher deity’s essence in a cloth the size of a wall was not the easiest task. Humans have a tendency to jump from deity to deity, to fit their most want and need of the time. Humans rarely fully devote themselves to a singular god unless a chance miracle or divine intervention sways their beliefs. For Mendolin this ability to channel different devotions while manufacturing these massive prayer tapestries was truly a gift. But gifts of devotion, as is so often the case, can curse the barer. Mendolin had only ever devoted to a singular chaos god, and in that action learned the true terror of her gift. Gruumsh took over her corporeal form, and it was only after 3 days of her trying to enter the hoard the family even knew she was possessed. She ran and It took the family 3 weeks to track her down and 3 hours of incantation, prayer, and spell binding to get her free of possession. No one truly knows what happened during those 3 weeks, not even Mendolin herself remembers. She has never devoted to another chaos god since then, making her tapestry collection incomplete.

~~~A Happenstance of Concurrences~~~

On occasion the Family Weydec would observe battles to gain first person accounts. They would accurately record the outcome and everything leading to that point from a distance. Without the politics or emotions or qualms hueing their interpretation and ultimately the integrity of their information, each family member at one time would go on field research. Mendolin had been following this orc tribe for a couple battles and recorded the intricacies of the technique and barbarian like strategy. One fighter always stood out. An orc that would sprint through the lines and incapacitate the head of the opposing foe. At the time Mendolin was following the Krusk Klan she was devoted to Avandra, the goddess of luck and adventure, and was almost complete with her tapestry of devotion.

Aroarik was none the wiser to the impending foe on the horizon. Having just finished his final mark on his shield of devotion, he pulled his weapons near and snuggled close to the fire and shut his eyes. From deep down the ground began to rumble, his blood started to boil, and his eyes shot open with a growl that was unlike any he had heard before, “RUN”. Aroarik stood up and wielded his battle axe with both hands in-front of him. Not a soul moved, not a blade of grass was shaking, and the snores from the others around the fire masked the ruckus of him jumping to arms. It was exactly 4am, and Aroarik ran as fast as he could in the only direction his legs would allow him to face, AWAY.

It was early morning, one minute past 4am the first arrow loosed its quiver. The Krusk Klan usually made the initiating attack, but the Carassius Auratus was a mysterious and freightening foe. If you knew they were coming the fates might lean toward some of you surviving, but The Carassius Auratus always had the element of surprise on their side. Even the Family Weydec was unable to gain substantial information on them, all they knew was the destruction they left behind. Mendolin had woken up early to watch the starry sky turn from dark Prussian blue into an early morning sky blue with edges of orange and white. She sat next to her rucksack on the hillside overlooking the orc clan and worked on the tapestry. The moment she thought the shooting star in her sight was oddly red, she knew a battle had begun. The flaming arrow darted across the sky as a blast of wind started to surge from all directions. The moment the arrow landed seeming undisturbed by the gail force of wind, the battle horns sounded. The sky lit up with hundreds of flaming arrows bringing with them a wind that knocked Mendolin to the ground, but all that was inconsequential when she looked back at the battle field to see the one warrior who might have a chance to gain the advantage running as fast as he could right for her.

Aroarik was 200 meters away when he saw a woman in his path running as fast as she could away from him. He was clearly gaining on her and his stride was true to her course. When she turned he turned, when she weaved he weaved, and when she finally stopped and turned to fight his body involuntarily hurled his shield toward her chest. She had been working on parts of the tapestry that she clutched in her hand before she started running for her life, and now it shot from her hand and met the shield mid-air between the two. The swirling maelstrom between the two objects pulled Mendolin and Aroarik in. They both collided with their objects and then fell to the ground beneath. Above their heads the fabric and wood enveloped one another. Dark flashes of red and bright flashes of whitish gold emanated in every direction as sparks ascended and drops of black tar dripped. Aroarik and Mendolin were only able to share a glance at one another before they were lifted off the ground toward the cyclone above them. Aroarik heard a soft and feminine voice tell him to “hold on”, as Mendolin heard a low raspy voice tell her “Grapple”. They grabbed each other’s hands as they flew into the air and spun out of control. Ripples started to appear in the ground below; alternating rings showed sharp jagged black stones and soft white sand. As the storm reached its peak a jet of swirling red and gold shot into the sky straight up in a column of light that could be seen for leagues. The tapestry, the shield, Aroarik and Mendolin all caught in the column of light flashed out of existence with the sudden return of the mornings darkness; only leaving the ripples of rock and sand in the ground behind.

~~~~A dream or a scheme~~~~

Floating above the battle field, flying between the projectiles, not quite sure if they are themselves anymore, Mendolin and Aroarik were unable to let go of one another. They were still, upright, staring into each other’s eyes as an indescribable voice broke the eerie silence. As if it was coming from the person they were looking at, without their mouth moving, it started:

“With hand-in-hand heart and mind, we must combine.

You come bearing everything from before, and need to resign.

We desire one and one to make us three, through a design.

From you we take an egg and you the seed, and make divine.”

As the last words echoed through the air, the sudden cacophony of everything below hit them like a wall of sound. Flashes of gold and red light filled their minds with people casting spells and fighting an uneven fight. Faces seemed to pass in-front of them. Leaders that were devious and evil. Chants, hooded figures, totems, etchings carved into massive walls melted to the ground as gigantic figures emerged only to be met by a barrage of attacks. The attacks weakened the figure but didn’t kill it. One of the hooded figures approached the gigantic figure and absorbed it with a loud and piercing screech, or that may have been a projectile flying past them. The hooded figure floated before them, a silhouette of the gigantic figure was cast by his shadow across the battle field. “I am your God now.”

Aroarik and Mendolin fall from the sky in a ball of fire and land in the center of the battle field. They know that the images they saw have yet to transpire, there still is time to prevent this. Standing still in the middle of the battle, a cloak lands between them. A mash of Mendolin’s Avandra tapestry and the ruins and etching from Aroarik’s Gruumsh shield have patterned the fabric that lay between them. Everyone around them has stopped fighting in a moment of astonishment. Aroarik immediately recognizes his fellow clan, and Mendolin immediately recognizes the Carassius Auratus. They are still holding each other, one of the orcs screams “Betrayer”, they grab the cloak and run for the hillside where this all started. As they run Aroarik knows the klan will not take him back, Mendolin knows she’s pregnant, and both of them know the Carassius Auratus, in their cloaks and hoods, are trying to become (Human Gods) OR (Gods amongst Humans). (Either works for me but could change some things)

~~~~~A shared concern~~~~~

For Aroarik, the drive came from a very simple place. The Carassius Auratus slaughtered his entire clan as he ran in fear. Something he will never forgive himself for until they have been destroyed. And that now, here, on the surface of his realm he saw Gruumsh in this wild woman’s eyes.

Mendolin was a little more complicated. See, she had only heard of The Carassius Auratus in the recent months. She had also heard wind of an army after the power of the gods. Only now did it click in her mind that they were one and the same. And that the worst possible thing that could happen is she being unable to contact the Family and the Carassius Auratus gaining access to the Family’s hoard. And that in the moments of her being swept around through the air and realizing her pregnancy, that her grip on her rucksack, the very rucksack that holds her access point to the Family, all her tools trinkets and bobs. That very rucksack that she had dropped in order to flee. Flee for her life. For his life. For their life. That rucksack was dropped in the middle of the battlefield. And there was no going back.

~~~~~~Worlds first touch~~~~~~

It was only nine months until Mendolin’s water broke. They had survived nine months in hiding. Nine months and the baby was coming. They had almost made it, but an emergency during the birth called for an incantation to be sung out. A particular incantation that is only used during half orc births. One that can be traced if you are looking. So triggered the beacons. The war that had been fought with flame and left nothing but destruction had found the one thing that could stop it all. The one creature that could be the lynch pin to their master plan. The being that could grow to empower two deities.

Now, I guess, is as good a time to talk about this cloak and all that it entails. There is a portion coming up that is all about fabric and what they wear so pay attention. It’s important what they wear, and what they refuse to share. They are an organization build on strict hierarchy and information is power. And your only loyalty is to those who share your oath. Which is why almost everything they have at their fingertips would regularly fall free with ease. Including the cloak made by the marriage of two deities, intertwined through a child. That has recently entered this world, only to be wrapped in the cloak. The cloak his mother clutched as she was torn to shreds. As Mendolin drew her last breath she whispered, “With this cloak, I crown thee Mankiove.” And with those words all the players were set into motion. With the last cloak you will ever need handed off to its true barer, the power of two has become one.

With the parents gone, it was as simple as putting the fires out, erasing the memories of the town folk, and abandoning the baby at the local monastery to grow old enough, till at last they can take the power of two gods at once, from a simple half orc named Mankiove.

“””The last cloak: wondrous/Godly Item

Proficiency bonus modifier: + level of character

When the cloak is worn by the true barer, the cloak imbues an after-image of wherever they have been with a 5 second delay. As if their shadow is struggling to keep up with their actions.

While wearing the cloak, at the beginning of your turn as an extra bonus action you role a d20, and

If it roles odds: It gives a + to your current proficiency modifier of your current level. And every creature within 30 feet of you gets advantage on attack rolls until the start of your next turn. This goes for friend and foe.

If it roles evens: it gives you a + to your proficiency modifier of your current level, the proficiency modifier is added to your armer class, and all proficiency effected stats get rolled with advantage.

If warn by the true barer, proficiency can be added to all rolls it could be used with. The traits of the true barer is a creature that was swaddled in the cloak as its first touch from the world.

If someone attempts to destroy the cloak it will retain all the scars and simply entrap the wearer instead of assist in any way. They must make a DC 10 strength check to escape the clutches of the modified cloak. All attacks at the creature while they are stuck in the cloak are done with advantage.

The cloak cannot be fully destroyed but can show signs of past damage and attempted distraction but always stays together. The cloak will return to its original form if it entraps the true barer.”””

=Bilk Monks=

(Potential #1) Situated in the center of a circle of mountains, almost crater-like, the hamlet of Alistair was nicknamed the fishbowl. Not only because its surroundings made you feel like you were contained by the very earth that reached high around you, but because the topography made it susceptible to flooding at the whisper of precipitation. Luckily the rain-shadow caused by the lofty peaks kept the village mostly above water, in the unlikely event that a storm made it over the edge the monastery was the tallest point in the center of the village and was commonly used as a refuge. The monastery was abandoned for years and was used as a community center and gathering place free of religion and government. A peaceful community that thrived on sustainability and social development, everyone was happy and content with staying hidden away from the world beyond.

Alistair, now, is a significantly different environment. It was as if the memories of everyone were changed, or altered, or just blanked and the monks had always resided in the monastery. No one questioned their existence, no one believed the monastery was ever vacant, no one knew they had been invaded. Doors closed, gates shut, and the single path that was used to get in and out of the bowl became guarded, and the Alistairians had been convinced it had always been that way, "for their protection from the world beyond". Although no one interacted with the monks on a regular basis, they did occasionally send out a scout from the monastery to get different supplies and equipment available in the local village. His name was Mankiove, and although he did not dress like a monk the villagers treated him like one. They avoided long interactions, got him what he needed, and never asked what went on inside the walls of the monastery. All be it a small and isolated village, the market was always welcoming and had every necessity you may need to survive.

Unknown to anyone outside of the monastery was a tunnel. A secret tunnel leading out of the bowl to the other side of the mountains. This is how the monks first got into the village and how they had suddenly appeared with a whisper. It was used regularly by the monks to get the materials they truly needed in, and out. The walls acted as a barrier from the floods and the monks knew that if the water ever made it to the opening of the tunnel it would fill up and act as a drain until all the water had been voided. Closing off anyone who tried to exit or enter and washing any dwellers out to the other side.

(Potential #2) Amongst buildings, amongst communes, amongst the cacophony of (location of DM’s choosing) was an abandoned monastery. The abandonment and sudden occupancy of the buildings hidden with-in the walls of the monastery went almost unnoticed to its bustling surroundings. The secret back door entrance in a neighboring community allowed the invasion of the monastery. Only known to the monks, it was hidden between two buildings and was assumed to be a gate leading into an alley by the locals. The only sighting of someone entering or exiting the monastery from the front was a half orc named Mankiove. Only to exchange and source the essentials needed by the monks, once a week he would go in search of the desired materials.

=Fabric of a Foe=

Inside the monastery resided the monks and a half orc raised to be afraid of what exists past their walls. He kept to himself and walked swiftly when getting supplies.

The monks would disappear for hours, days, sometimes weeks to chant, make vows and prayers, or long time incantations and rituals. Someone had to be at the monastery doing upkeep and to take care of the buildings and grounds. That was Mankiove. And three monks that took turns abstaining from the call of religion to watch and guide and take care of Mankiove.

Torpentin was the liar. Torpentin wore a black as night robe with a hood that masked every tell tale sign there was a human under that fabric when it was upon his head, and the sleeves were dipped in a radiant blue and silver color that was brightest at the wrists and faded into black by…where an elbow could be. Those were the robes of the liars. It was said that a single lie could bring down the heavens and cast darkness from the sky for all eternity. The sky on the wrist is set as a reminder to not only never lie with your words, but also your every action should be truthful down to your fingertips. In the walls of the monastery what you wore gave evidence and identification to your vow and your religious devotion. Mankiove was in charge of keeping track of all the robes and cloth and laundry and linens of the monastery. He would label each closet for storage and easy retrieval and would fold and divvy fresh sheets and robes when requested. Mankiove knew not to trust anything Torpentin said because his robe told him he was a liar. But Mankiove learned everything he knows about each robe and stool and head dress a monk may wear on their body from Torpentin. Torpentin taught Mankiove everything he knows about dressing and identifying a monk of his order.

Andyson was an ambitious woman. She wore a poncho looking cloak. Underneath was a set of deep sandy brown harem pants, bare feet, a tightly wrapped exactly 42 meters long torso fabric that is as black as the deepest gaze into the night sky. Leaving the arms free it covers and almost makes the entire torso and abdominal area of their body disappear. The poncho is a perfectly square piece of fabric the same color as the closest bedrock stone. With only a hole cut in the middle so a head can fit through, a hood fashioned from a similar piece of fabric that makes it look like a slightly lighter stone sitting on top of the bed rock poncho. The clothing was made to constantly remind the wearer to ground themselves before making any ambitious decisions or even thoughts that would move you faster than the bed rock beneath. Mankiove knew that anything he learned or was taught by Andyson was truth. One day when Mankiove was not feeling well, Andyson immediately started feeding him a pine needle and orange peel tea. She left explicit instruction to Mankiove for which pine to get needles from, and where to find the freshest orange peels from outside of the walls. She knew restaurants would have the most trash to be taken away so probably the most resent oranges peeled. Luckily Mankiove knew of a public park that grew fruit trees so he always got fresh oranges instead of digging through the restaurants garbage. He, however, always asked Andyson if the pines he was picking were of high quality. Andyson taught Mankiove everything he knows about plants, herbs, and using the ground to feed and protect one’s self.

CAD was devoted to a vow of silence. Once the vow of silence is taken you forfeit your name to the discovery of one’s self and dawn a bright orange and white series of layered kimonos. The layered kimono represents the idea of being truly seen means you should never be heard. Bright, flashy garments that emphasis your every move by amplifying it with ripples of fabric and alternating hand and body posture. To remain still is to remain silent. Every movement has meaning and purpose. When CAD watched over Mankiove he always knew he would see very little of them. CAD would hide and stalk and attack Mankiove when he was least expecting it. Mankiove didn’t get a lot of sleep when CAD watched over him. CAD had no discernible features that would imply a gender, land of origin, or even age. CAD was silent and always observing. This made Mankiove afraid of his surroundings at all times. It made him extremely self aware of how vulnerable he was and how, at any moment, someone or something could attack him. Toward the end of each of CAD’s stays Mankiove would just give up on trying to fend off CAD’s charges. That’s when CAD would start scaring Mankiove. Every time Mankiove would get ambushed and did not fight back, CAD would cut Mankiove’s arm making a slash mark. Some slashes got close to being fatal, but they always reminded Mankiove that if he truly wanted to give up in a fight, why is he trying to save his own life? If you give up, you are completely okay with dying, so why are you trying to stop the slash from bleeding? CAD would hold Mankiove’s arm and let it bleed until Mankiove pulled it away to dress the wound, or until he passed out from blood loss and the only reason he would still be alive was because he fell to the ground letting the slash finally close and stop bleeding. CAD thought this made Mankiove stronger in every way, gave him drive and calculated aggression toward anything that put his life in jeopardy; when in reality, it just made him jumpy and full of anxiety toward everything that was not familiar or safe to him. CAD taught Mankiove everything he knows about fighting and self defense, without ever learning his real name or hearing his voice. ((((Taught him how to fight for his life, and why his life was so important or worth fighting for but Mankiove doesn’t see it that way yet.))))

=Hasty Retreat=

‘Beyond this point resides the Carassius Auratus. Run and Hide.’ Was scribbled onto a page of a notebook Mankiove had found. There wasn’t a whole lot to read in the monastery. A couple religious texts. A phonetic celestial alphabet book. And this note book. Mankiove never asked any of the monks whose it was, because he knew. It was on the front page. ‘The Scrolls of Mendolin Weydec: Return if found’. He also assumed everything in the rucksack was hers as well, but had no way of returning any of it, so he just enjoyed its company. Read a page when he had a private moment away from the monks. Never when CAD was watching. But Mankiove was not that perceptive.

As if emerging from a shadow, CAD grabs Mankiove by the neck and lifts him off his feet. Torpentin opens the door Mankiove had been leaning up against while reading. Andyson is close behind Torpentin as they both enter the “bags and sacks” storage room. Andyson blows something directly into Mankiove’s nostrils. The image around him begins to fade. Mankiove struggles until he sees nothing but black.

Fully knocked out CAD drops Mankiove to the floor.

CAD: “He’s gotten heavier.”

Torpentin: “He’s grown since the last time you carried him here.”

Andyson: “Do we think he’s grown enough for the transference to be successful?”

Torpentin: “All the signs show the ripeness of his age.”

Torpentin was the first face Mankiove saw when he opened his eyes. To his right was Andyson standing straight and tall, holding a cup as if the contents was sacred or important. And to his left was CAD holding a bowl. A glass bowl. A glass fish bowl with a goldfish swimming inside.

Mankiove knew a little about goldfish. Torpentin had told him the scientific name for goldfish was Carassius Auratus. Like the name in the note book. Like the words above a door. A door Mankiove was supposed to forget. A door with a warning about goldfish.

Straining to stand up, Torpentin put his hand on Mankiove’s shoulder and shoved him back down into the chair he just woke up in. He was in the courtyard of the monastery. The Fenderorc Tree had just started to bloom. Its blossoms were a beautiful pink with white spiked tips and a deep reddish pink down in the center of the bloom. Mankiove has never seen that color before. The blooms were always solid pink. The moon light was changing them. The midnight moon was almost upon them.

Torpentin: “They say a gold fish has a short term memory of 3 seconds. Some even say as long as 30 seconds. I think they have at least a minute of time in their ever fleeting life. A life that they have no idea how to keep safe, nourished, and clean. Something all pet owners share an experience in. Providing for their captive compatriots. But I like to think keeping a goldfish alive is like keeping a garden. Unlike most other pets, fish are souly dependent on their owners for everything. Even down to going the bathroom. You need to change the water in the tank, filter the rocks or sand you have at the bottom. You as the owner of the pet take an active role in everything this creature needs to survive and thrive."

Torpentin grabs the mug from Andyson’s shaky hands and dumps a little of its liquid contents into the fishtank. The swirls of iridescent pink fill the tank, and sucks itself into the goldfish in a flash.

The fish starts to swim fast around the bowl. It stops. And Torpentin starts to move his hand. To the left. The fish swims to the left. To the right. The fish swims to the right. Down. The fish swims as far into the pebbles on the bottom as it can, shoving and pushing. Up. The fish jumps up out of the water and CAD catches it as it falls.

It stares blankly forward. Dead cold black eyes peering deep into Mankiove’s soul. Mankiove watched as the fish jumped higher and higher. Until CAD just stopped trying to catch it. It jumped, and jumped, until it had no scales. It jumped, and jumped, till it left a spot of pink iridescent blood wherever it landed. It jumped, and jumped, till it was no more. It jumped until the minute ran out. Till the liquid had left its body. Till Torpentin knew he no longer had the poor creature under his control. Till it stopped moving entirely. Till it died.

Mankiove tries to reach over and pick up the fish, hoping to save it’s life by getting it back into the bowl. He falls out of the chair unable to fully use his legs yet.

CAD just drops the bowl to the floor. Smashing all hope of a liquid home for the goldfish to go back to.

Andyson had turned her face away when the cup was taken out of her hands and struggled to look as Mankiove dragged themselves toward the now dead goldfish.

Torpentin: “It won’t matter. It will just jump out again. Because it follows me. It believes in me. It believes that my guidance will save it from harm. Believes my every will and whim. Believe in me and I will guide you. For when you believe in something, you give it the power to guide you. Not always knowing where it might be guiding you. We are the Carassius Auratus. The order of Goldfish. We are the monks sent forth to take care of the fish the gods have neglected and abandoned. This mortal plain is a fishbowl that has become filthy. Muck and shit and scum have seeped into the very soil we walk on. Our air hangs heavy with sin and treachery and false belief directed at truant deities. The Carassius Auratus are a calm and reasonable……..we are not here to harm anyone or destroy. We are here to guide and save. To get you away from those meek unaboding gods you so aimlessly follow. We will make the true god. The only god. The God of all Humans. Soon Humans will have a god like them. The only god like them. The only god they can follow. The only god they will follow. Soon we will be this god that all humans will have to follow.”

Now is the time to talk about the dangers of mistrust. Andyson did not trust her fellow Monks. Not even with the tiniest bit of detail when it came to the compendium of spells she knew. Specifically, the spell that is used to help in the birth of a halforc. The spell that can be tracked through its use of the Fenderorc bloom on the solstice moon. So hopefully this next part makes a little more sense, knowing that Mankiove is alive because of the bloom now being forced down his throat.

Torpentin took the cup and forced the remaining liquid down Mankiove’s throat. Hoping the reaction of the goldfish would be the same for Mankiove.

Upon contact with his lips, Mankiove’s complexion of grayish blue skin and jet black hair pulled up into a Mohawk of ponytails, began to, from within, glow. Nothing flashy, nothing more than an inch from his skin, but emanating the most radiant pink into white glow. As if an aura surrounding him. Mankiove’s pupils filled his eyes, almost completely. He stood up straight as the world around him legged behind. Not by much but noticeable, only noticeable by Mankiove.

As Torpentin starts to speak Mankiove started repeating his words. As if slowly catching up Mankiove starts with a noticeable delay and then matches every word exactly.

Torpentin(Legged by Mankiove): STAND UP. .standup. JUMP..jump. NOW BOWnowbow.

Torpentin(and Mankiove): “You must understand, this is for your own good. I assure you the abomination that you are would have been distorted by the gods whether intervened or let be. What is needed is the cloak for full power. Teach me how to use it and you can run for your life while you still have one.”

Mankiove(Legged by Torpentin): GetthecloakGET THE CLOAK. Justputit.on..JUSTPUT IT ON. That is the secret. .THAT IS THE SECRET.

While Torpentin, with confidence, paced around Mankiove, the glow started to glisten, and spark outward. Spark so small and soft as if little shooting stars in a far off horizon. White beams reaching outward toward Torpentin as he paced, paced around Mankiove, stepping closer and closer, with each pace. Until he was Face to face with Mankiove. And the glow, the pink and white glow, that once was only around Mankiove, had fully covered Torpentin, and surrounded him more than Mankiove. And with a flash sucked into Torpentin.

Mankiove: “Protect me from harm” As if an echo on a whisper of the wind.

Torpentin turned around to find CAD carrying out a rucksack and a rough and torn looking net.

Torpentin: “It’s your turn. Don’t let us down again.”

Torpentin whispers into Andyson’s ear as he passes by her. Andyson was not especially gifted when it came to showmanship. She had tiny finger movements and slight shifts of musculature that always got the spell cast, the outcome achieved, and the others convinced she was loyal. Andyson was a great liar.

Andyson got as close to mankiove as quickly as possible waisting no time.

Andyson: “With heart and soul and mind untwined” *she hits the side of her hand on Mankiove’s sternum and presses her thumb into the center of her heart, she lifts Mankiove’s hand to mirror the pose. Mankiove’s thumb against his heart, and the side of his hand up against Andyson’s sternum*

“Your memory suits you and me just fine” *A thin line from their thumb across the palm appears as if a new crease in their skin is forming*

“Your net is a net there is nothing else to find” *the line turns red and blood starts to ooze out and stream between the two newly formed life lines*

“It swings, traps, and binds, you use it just fine.” *Andyson takes a step back and clasps hands between the two of them as the blood disperses into the air and the new line on her hand now matches the new line across Mankiove’s*

Torpentin grabs the rucksack and net from CAD.

Torpentin: “Where did we get a net from?”

CAD: “Andyson said she has been training him with it. Might give him a fighting chance once we catch up to him.”

Torpentin: “Your desire for torture disgusts me sometimes CAD. And other times it impresses me.”

CAD: “Well which one is it? Are you impressed?”

Torpentin scowls at CAD and turns away carrying the rucksack in one hand and the net in the other. He walks over toward Andyson and watches as she whispers something into Mankiove’s ear.

Torpentin: “How’s the memory spell going? Has he forgotten us yet?”

Andyson: “No. Not yet. He has to cross the threshold of the dwelling to forget ever dwelling here. That’s how the spell works.”

Torpentin: “So let’s chase him out of the dwelling.”

Andyson knew little about memory spells. Don’t usually use plants, and rarely are helpful. But Torpentin’s plan called for a dwelling spell to protect the monastery from foe memories. Any memories of the monks, other than their calm demeanor, quiet nature, and general isolation, would be erased from anyone’s memory once they left the monastery’s doorways. Mankiove had left the doorway of the monastery several times a week. Not a single thought crossed anyone’s mind about Mankiove being a half orc. Not a single realization came to any of them that half orc’s cannot be charmed. Memory spells are charms. Not even Andyson knew that Mankiove had always remembered. Every time he would leave the a tingle would come over him. A sadness would lift. He would turn and stare as the door slowly closing the darkness in behind it. A darkness that seamed endless. Look up at the carving above the door, and be on his way to the market. All of them had always assumed the dwelling spell had always worked on Mankiove. Andyson’s task was to make it stronger. Make it all encompassing. Andyson’s task was to make Mankiove forget the monks ever existed. Forget he was ever at the monastery. Forget his entire life up until the moment he steps out the back door. All they had to do was chase him there. Andyson’s mistake lied in her intentions. Mankiove trusted Andyson. Trusted her with everything in his body. And chose to be charmed. He chose to allow Andyson to enchant his memory and make him believe the net is just a net. But the intention was there to make him forget more. The intention opened the charm to every spell Andyson had cast on Mankiove. Every spell Andyson had cast on the dwelling.

Torpentin: “CAD! You ready for a run?”

Torpentin tossed the rucksack and net at Mankiove’s feet. Andyson steps off to the side. The blood fully dissipated.

Torpentin: “You are no longer welcomed here. We got the secret to the cloak, now we kill you.”

Mankiove grabs the rucksack and net and runs toward the gate. CAD cuts him off and slowly approaches him. Mankiove starts walking backwards and CAD speeds up their pace. He turns and runs past Andyson and Torpentin and one of them trips him. His face rubs up against the hard gravel and tile that line the court yard. CAD jumps a top Mankiove and pulls his left leg back and shoves their knee into his spine.

Mankiove: “I give up. You win. I give in.”

CAD: “I don’t have to hold back anymore.”

Mankiove’s eyes widen. He has never heard CAD speak. He kicks his right leg back as hard as possible smashing CADs nose into their face. CAD falls back releasing Mankiove. He rolls and gets up. His left leg giving him a noticeable limp. Mankiove, using each wall and doorway for support almost skips away toward the back door; rucksack and net in hand. CAD struggles to get upright without having blood gush down their face. Torpentin and Andyson follow Mankiove’s limping retreat through the side hall and down the back kitchen stairs and across the back garden. A towel from the kitchen is the only thing keeping CAD’s face from dripping. Tied tight around their face, they can only see from one eye. CAD is sprinting toward Mankiove as he reaches for the door knob. In one last Attempt at torture, Torpentin raises his hand. Two steps from the door, Mankiove hears a rumble all around him. The bricks begin to separate and a shadow grows from in between the cracks. CAD gets pushed back toward Torpentin and Andyson. Mankiove gets shoved against the door. The dark covers Mankiove in a shroud of shadows. Figures outreached, faces press up against the dark form. CAD swings and punches and hits Mankiove with everything they have. Mankiove stands still and takes one step back, through the door way watching CAD punch and slash a shadowy figure of himself.

As Mankiove passes through the door way, a thin film slices through his every cell. As if the very membranes of each cell was being sifted through. Mankiove steps through the doorway and the door slowly closes behind him. Mankiove on the outside, all the monks inside.

Mankiove stands up straight. Looks around. Sees a door. A fancy looking door. A door that just latched shut. Above the door it reads, “Beyond this point resides the Carassius Auratus. Run and Hide.”

Mankiove lets out a little giggle. “Gold fish? Who’s afraid of goldfish?” He reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a small piece of paper with some writing already filling up one side. Mankiove states, “that looks like a fun puzzle for later.” Flips it over and with a small sharp piece of charcoal, writes down the address and the words “GoldFish?” The dot of the question mark broke the tip of the charcoal and it smudged. Placing it back into his pocket, he turns and walks away. None the wiser that his memory will never be the same.

`Path of Devotion: Inaction is still a choice`

When an action is taken by a deity it is custom to hide it. Especially from the other gods. Some are showy about their interactions, and some stay silent all their existence. But it is always best to keep your true actions to your god damn self.

``Trial of Gruumsh: Choose your Battles Wisely``

Gruumsh never chose his battles wisely. He in fact never gave one thought about backing out of a battle. He would always fight. But pure evil in the land of pure law has an interesting course, because sometimes the hands of justice are work faster than the hands of crime.

‘When law speaks loudest, even the small can be heard.’ Etched in the stone above the 50foot tall arched entry way. In a city that would come to be known only by the name “Flatlands of the Gods”, Amerist was a vision of law and order. Truly the most lawyerly city to ever exist.

A chancellor of the kings court bangs loudly on the door of Mankiove’s chosen sleeping spot. It just so happened to be a corner of the stable his horse was being held at. His head bops up from the pile of hay it had been resting on. Or was it a pile of mud? Wait, mud doesn’t stink like this…oh not again.

The chancellor calls for “Mankiove” to step forth. “Are you Mankiove?” The chancellor asks.

“It is I.” Responded Mankiove.

The chancellor unrolls a piece of parchment and begins to read, “by royal decree I dub thee the foulest bandit of Amerist. You are here-by summoned to be a sacrifice in the gladiator games at sundown today. Your participation is non-negotiable.” The guards grab mankiove and force him to the ground as his neck, wrists, ankles, elbows, and knees are shackled or restrained in some way, with lead chains for the guards to still control him from a distance. It takes 11 guards to get 4 on.

Mankiove’s horse does nothing to help.

Once they finally get a bag over his head they quickly transport him to a holding cell in the coliseum, where he meets his lawyer. The bag flys off Mankiove’s head with little concern. The cell is as dark as under the bag. A single shaft of light shines across the room on the lock of the door, as if to remind Mankiove what he’s locked in. The walls are bare stone and the floor is nothing but gravel but all Mankiove can see is the lock of the door perfectly illuminated by that light. Griffin juts his face into the shaft of light, “I am your lawyer. I’m rather useless in this case, you are a bandit, you are in Amerist, and you are found guilty already. I am just here to sign the legal documents after you die. Understood?”

Mankiove shakes his head, “No. Who are you?”

Griffin explains to Mankiove how law in the city of Amerist works. Law is the only word. Law makes the wheels of government move. Every citizen of Amerist abides by them and will forever follow them.

Mankiove’s eyes have adjusted fully to the room. The light bouncing off the silver lock makes Griffin come into focus. A tall lanky fellow. Maybe an elf. Or just a really tall human. That was uncertain. What was certain was that “I’m not a citizen of Amerist. I’m just passing through.”

Griffin stopped mid vowel. Tongue half out his mouth. “You’re not a citizen of Amerist?”

“No. You said every citizen will abide by them and forever follow them. What if I’m not a citizen of Amerist?”

Griffin disappears from existence. Not a blink, not a change of light, not a sound, just gone.

Mankiove could not help but think “What a useless lawyer.”

From a distance Mankiove could hear something. The cells were only separated by bars. The bars went on for as far as Mankiove could see. The voice seemed to come from further away. “Don’t fight. Whatever you do, don’t fight. Bow down. Bow down.”

“Who’s there? Who is speaking from the darkness?”

A cough rings out from a couple cells down. Still out of sight of Mankiove, but in a much clearer voice, “Sorry about that. Haven’t had a sip of water in a couple days. Dry throat. I was saying don’t fight him. He has one move and it will exhaust him faster than you can take him down.”

“Why can I not see you?”

The voice continues but Mankiove can see nothing resembling someone who would be saying “I’m to far away from you and it’s much to dark to see me. Hey listen. I’ve been down here for months now and I’ve see this guy fight. He has this massive mallet that he swings around, but it is never close enough to the ground to hit someone who is bowing to him. It’s called the bow blow. The crowd goes wild for it. All you need to do is duck down lower than a bow and not get hit.”

“Why are you helping me? This is not a fair way of fighting.”

The voice trying to be more persuasive and a little sly “Who said anything about fair? They gave you a lawyer who is only here to sign your death certificate. They are putting you up against the strongest gladiator they have because of what you did to those guards who tried to shackle you. If anything I’m trying to make this fight actually fair. Just bow, let him get exhausted, and don’t fight him.”

“Why do you keep telling me not to fight someone who is surely going to kill me? You hide in the shadows of these cells and are telling me to hide from a fight I have no choice in. If he swings at me I will defend myself.”

The darkness fell silent. The voice never did return the rest of the afternoon.

The guards tossed half eaten chicken bones near Mankiove’s cell. Mankiove only grabbed the one single bone that flew close enough for him to reach. He had nothing. No armor. No weapons. And no food. But he had one thing. Certainty. Certainty that his death was today. He curled up in the corner of the cell and waited for sundown.

Just as the sun hit the horizon, the guards grabbed the chain leads and walked Mankiove to the final chamber. A chamber that was just a large arch with bars on one side, and a door on the other side that would open upward out into the coliseum. In the blink of an eye all his chains were removed and he was walking toward his doom. On the opposite side of the field, Mankiove could see the makings of a large figure and rows upon rows of filled grandstands. The figure moved closer to him and almost doubled in size. Mankiove looked up. He had entered directly under the king. He could only see a large banner with the insignia of ‘Law and Order and All that will ever be. In a world of chaos, words are the only sanity.’ but could not see the thrown or the people, or Griffin out of breath finally reaching the kings side. At the moment the sun fully dropped below the horizon the torches were set aflame around the coliseum. The light distorted and distracted Mankiove from fully seeing the opponent he was about the face.

Griffin was very short of breath. Very short of breath.

The king stood up and threw the rucksack and net down at Mankiove. It fell with a loud thud on his head and the net landed five feet in front of him. A little dizzy, the figure in Mankiove’s sight started running toward him at incredible speed. “Defend yourself foul smelling bandit.” The king yelled down at Mankiove.

The figure off in the distance grew larger than an elephant, wielding a large mallet, wearing a helmet of broken horns that rest up against one another. Seems to hold one eye closed. The figures shadows have grown to immeasurable size in all directions. The torches flicker and flash different figures and Mankiove can’t focus on which one is closest to him. Mankiove bows down to pick up his net and narrowly evades the first swing of the mallet as the king announces “Let the fight commence.”

Gruumsh was never supposed to fully take over the gladiator until the battle started. Just some little mind pushes and different directions to swing his mallet is all Gruumsh did before the king announced the start. And then the flickering torches shown his true presence. Shadows of his form stretched across the coliseum though the gladiator did not match the size and fearsome figure his shadows shown. Gruumsh cheated. No real way around it. Gruumsh was playing an uneven fight from the beginning and only he knew about it. Until Mankiove came to Amerist. Until the Last Cloak crossed into the city. Amerist was protected. Not just by the law, but by the Lawful God. And when the law of a fight is used for evil, the laws of a fight strong as the gods, the law will try to balance it over anything.

The king had heard of the cloak. Not from anyone specific. And not from anyone he actually knew. But from a voice. One off in the distance. That he couldn’t quite see who it was coming from. It spoke of a cloak that would make him as powerful as a god. And the barer was in his stables. All he need do is send him to the coliseum. “The law is in your favor.” Would confidently say the voice.

The king heard the voice infrequently but always took it as the voice of god. His god. The lawful god. This one however was different. Callous. Uncaring for others. Low and raspy. The king prayed to his god for guidance. The god of law. The one who bestowed the great rules upon his fair city. So the king put Mankiove in the coliseum because the voice told him of a cloak. Only a rucksack and a net did Mankiove have. No promised cloak. The horse was registered to another owner and reported stolen a couple days ago. That’s how they found him. When he checked into ‘the horse hotel’ the desk clerk claimed the reward, and Mankiove got put into a cell. Everything the king had done up until this point was by the law. Or to his best knowledge was. The king was breaking no law, had no cloak, and had no reason to stop the fight to save Mankiove’s life.

In the selection process of the gladiator, the King views the champions and chooses one for the evening battle. Today the king greeted the champions face to face. Usually a finger wave from his high perched thrown decided, but today was special. Today the king chose from the battle field. Walking by each fighter and giving them a good examination, the king watched as one gladiator swung his mallet around so no other fighter can hit him. “The bow blow. Always a crowd pleaser.” The king muttered to himself as the mallet comes smashing down on one of the weaker fighters. “That’s new. Who taught you the new move?”

The gladiator turned their head in an odd way toward the king. “My god.”

“Well good. I want you to use your new god move tonight on the sacrifice.”

“He has to hit me.”

“Why do you want him to hit you. You should want to kill him before he gets close.”

“My god wants him to hit me.”

“Fine. Let him hit you. As long as he dies and I get my things, I don’t care what happens in between.”

Today, the true barer of the cloak would fall. The gladiator did sound weird. A low raspy voice. He’s a fighter. All their voices are low and raspy. And the king needed Mankiove dead so he could claim the cloak for himself, discarded property of the deceased and such. Or so the law stated.

The king saw no use for the rucksack or the net and with no cloak in hand, much like the monks, he disposed of them by simply returning them to the true owner. And with that, their chance of ever becoming a barer falls away.

Griffin has almost stopped hyperventilating as he try’s to say “he’s nooaayat a citeeeezin.”

“Aaa Griffin. The lawyer with the best signature. Here are the papers for you to sign. This one shouldn’t take too long…”

Griffin stands up with lungs full of air “He is not a citizen of Amerist.”

The king turns toward the battle as the Gladiator goes in for a second swing. This time the mallet comes straight down. The voice lied. Mankiove lunges forward between the gladiators legs. “Hold your mallet Gladiator!” The king booms through the coliseum. Mankiove wiggles out from under the Gladiator. “Mankiove, are you a citizen of Amerist?”

“No. Is that Griffin? My lawyer. I thought you disappeared.” Mankiove waves at Griffin with a little smile.

“Yes, Griffin has told me you’re not a citizen. Is that true?”

“Yes, that is true. I am only passing through. If the horse is an issue I have the papers. I won it off that man fair and square.”

“The horse is no longer the issue here. The law states a non-citizen must willingly choose to die by gladiator. Only citizens of Amerist can be forced into battle.

Do you wish to die by gladiator, Mankiove?”

“No.”

“Good choice. Someone knows how to choose their battles. Then it is resolved. Mankiove will be killed by lions.” The kings decree was backed by trumpets and horns and loud drums in every direction, the crowd erupts in cheers as the gladiator begins to twitch.

Gruumsh cheated. Gruumsh needed Mankiove to fight him. Gruumsh needed the true barer to hit him in some way. So he forced Mankiove into a fight. With a gladiator. The largest, strongest, most fearsome gladiator the law could find. But the god of law did not want to be a part of Gruumsh’s little deceitful power grab. The god of law knew what the cloak held. A back door. A trick under the threads. It was created by Gruumsh and Avandra together, but each played their part. Gruumsh added something. Not much, just a simple wisdom check. A wisdom check for the wearer of the cloak. A wisdom check that the barer would only see as a wisdom check unless failed.

The catch was that Gruumsh build into the cloak a way to control the barer. A way to have the barer, for a single round of battle, have all the same actions powers and bonus actions as the god who succeeded the “wisdom check”. The barer makes their check, with all the bonuses and add ons the cloak can give them, and the god would roll a D100. If the number matches the barer looses all control of their body and is fully a double of the god for a round. At the end of the round, the barer falls to 0HP and one failed death roll. The trick is to access the backdoor, the barer has to hit the god with any melee attack. If the god knows of the backdoor they can ask the barer for a wisdom check at the top of the gods turn.

Gruumsh wanted Mankiove to fight.

Gruumsh needed Mankiove to fight.

The law said otherwise.

——————————————————

``Avandra’s Test: A Simple Trick``

Walking through the market always made Mankiove nervous. The loud noises, unpredictable crowds, and worst of all the peddlers. He had a finite amount of money and a handful of objects from his rucksack to barter with. The equivalent of 10gp, a y-ed twig, two strange colored rocks, the fresh bloom from the Fenderorc tree, and an empty flask.

You’re a half orc. You can’t be charmed. I’m not trying to charm you. I never have. Just jump into your net and you’ll understand. Once you get the net on you it will transform …….”

As Mankiove continued to walk away at an ever increasing rate, she continued to ramble and follow at an ever decreasing rate.

``` Avandra and Gruumsh: Louche Agreement```

A: His actions have been unacceptable, crass, and lame.

G: He is simply refusing to heed our trap, to deny us of our game.

A: We have a promise, an understanding, and in agreement we are the same.

G: We simply cannot use our face, or power, or our name.

///

A: The scales have been set, as an uneven field shall be the new location.

G: From this point on we have no choice, but an equal part aberration.

A: He has become the only option, no alternative, our only connection.

G: For that we are tied, deemed accomplice, an unwanted association.

///

A: To remedy this apophenia we must take active semblance, put on facade befitting the verisimilitude.

G: Take action, take arms, take delicate choice and attitude.

A: You take the masculine and I shall be the ingenue in guise and similitude.

G: Our clandestine action between us must be ensconced, no one need know we had to intrude.

```` Path of Devotion: A Momentary Divorce from Reality````

Mankiove sits across a campfire. Two figures sit across staring. One, a woman. Not just any woman. The woman who tried to steal from him and never returned the stolen in kind. The woman who wailed when Mankiove did not accept her as a god when her simple charm made him think his net gave him special powers if only he would jump into it, thus getting ensnared and giver her the chance to take even more from him. Two, an orc. Not just any orc. The orc that tried to kill Mankiove in a false gauntlet made by a flawed bureaucracy. The orc that destroyed a city that dare keep him from the thrill of his impending kill because of some bylaw that was twice edited and once disputed to hex the on-looker every-time they “doth give it a good and sturdy look”.

Avandra speaks, “Does this orc not look like a god?”

Mankiove: “Not at all. Look at his missing eye, his under-bight is gruesome, his ears are to high, and his skin looks blue-some. Gods are perfect, and this orc is anything but.”

Avandra: “Then look upon my fair form. Do I not look perfect in every reference?”

Mankiove: “You are flawed in a different way. Your character makes you ungodly. For your interception with me has shown you have a deeper deception. One of malice and misinfection.”

Avandra: “Yes, but how beautiful am I?”

Mankiove: “Not much more than him.”

Gruumsh: *Let’s out a light chuckle* “he’ll do fine.”

And with a snap at the back of his neck Mankiove was back. Standing at the edge of a lake. In front of him is his net, drenched, dripped, and holding a flailing fish. He looks closely at the fish, and the net, and the knots, and the color, and the threads, and thinks “I can’t be charmed. I can’t be charmed. I can’t be charmed. I can’t be charmed. I can’t be charmed.”

—————

*as a warning to all players, broad and near*

If you find a rucksack in the middle of a field, a note that has no meaning being in your pocket, or a mad woman trying to get you in a net you may be in this story. You may be in another story. You may just be having a bad day. But that is none of my concern. And if wise, it won’t be yours either. There are certain rules to the reality around you, certain creatures you avoid, and certain stories you should be happy you’re only reading. But all that is known by a higher power. A power beyond what you have experienced here today. A power that knows all the Secrets. The secrets that keep us alive. The Secrets of Tiatheria.

—————

<Carassius Auratus Curse>

Never know past their short comings.

Never remember after they’ve forgot.

Cursed forever to exist in a minute.

And bound together to wander and rot.

?Questions yet to answer?

Where did the note come from? Which monk slipped it into Mankiove’s pocket before they kicked him out? Was it always in his pocket?

Why did the Krusk Klan reluctantly accept Aroarik? Is he the only one the Krusk Klan accepted without a lineage or being grandfathered in? Does Aroarik have lineage? Who was Aroarik’s first kill, to get the bloody battle ax?

Where is the Family Weydec’s hoard? How many family members are there? Where is Mendolin’s item to enter the family hoard? Does Mankiove have an item? Did Mendolin make him one while she was pregnant?

Does Aroarik look like Gruumsh?

Does Mendolin look like Avandra?

Who all saw the column of light? Or found the ripples in the ground? Who all watched as the ball of fire fell from the sky with Mendolin and Aroarik in it?

Why did the Klan member scream betrayer? Did any members of the Krusk Klan survive? If not, could gruumsh bring them back?

Is the cloak to powerful, or not powerful enough? Does he also need friendship to save the day?

How did I follow Avandra? Probably lost a game against her.

Where’s the cloak? (It’s the net)

Where’s Mendolin’s rucksack? Did CAD grab the wrong rucksack as they prepared to kill Mankiove?

How did “Beyond this point resides the Carassius Auratus. Run and Hide.” End up in Mendolin’s notebook, inside her rucksack, inside the monastery, for Mankiove to read?

Plot holes for the GM to Plot or leave as holes.

Which monk slipped the note into Mankiove’s pocket before chasing him out?

What happened during those missing 3 weeks of Gruumsh possessing Mendolin?

Where’s Aroarik? Is he dead? Did he escape? Did he get his mind erased like the rest of the town? Has he found Mankiove? Is he following Mankiove? Guiding him? In the background? What happened to Aroarik when the Carassius Auratus attacked?

What’s on the note? Is the note paper or fabric? Does it matter? Is the note important? It was a character trait that D&D beyond had as an option and I added it, but haven’t really wolven it into the story to heavily yet.

What city is the monastery in?

What are the true powers of the outfits the “Monks” wear?

Who is the Krusk Klan? Where do they come from? And any allies? Any enemies? What does the world think of them? Does the world know about them?

Who are the Family Weydec? All the same questions.

Who is the Hordonis Family? Where does this name come from? Why did Aroarik and Mendolin choose that as their new family name?

Who are the Carassuis Auratus?(they are the monks yes, but before they dawned that disguise) How are they so secretive even from the Family Weydec? Is it simply because they kill everyone who is in their way and knows of them, and alters the minds of anyone who remembers? Has anyone survived a Carassius Auratus battle?

Why does the net return to Mankiove? In the game we play it as the net of returning, but don’t know why it returns to the thrower? Or does it always return to Mankiove? No one else has ever thrown it and found out.

Intro to the group: Room was hot, jets of fire and lava, woke up in the room unknown how I got there. figure that out/// or was I there on purpose? Hiding maybe? Or doing a solo adventure?

^Pronunciations^

Mankiove-

Aroarik-

Mendolin-

Hordonis-

Carassuis Auratus-

Krusk Klan-

Family Weydec-

Torpinten-

Andyson-

CAD-

Gruumsh-

Avandra-

Fenderorc-

Alistair-

Amerist-

Griffin-

*Old Backstory*

Backstory, backstory, bla bla bla. Something about the note I have saying something about a main story. Rejected, lost in a monastery, left by all its kind. Will they ever find love, will love find them, tune in next week on The Secrets of Tiatheria.

*Note in the offering plate of a temple to Avandra*

For the change,

For the Foresight,

For the Luck,

I offer my continued devotion.

[jpbjazz]

LÉGENDES DU JAZZ

JOHNNY ST. CYR, LE ROI DU BANJO

Né le 17 avril 1890 à La Nouvelle-Orléans, Johnny St. Cyr a été élevé dans la religion catholique. Son père, qui était également musicien, jouait de la guitare et de la flûte. Un jour, le père de St. Cyr avait fait cadeau d’une de ses guitares à sa mère, et c’est à cette époque qu’il avait commencé à s’intéresser à cet instrument. Il précisait: ‘’When I was growing up we had a guitar in the house, my father’s gift to my mother. The guitar was a very popular instrument in the homes at that time in New Orleans. My mother would not let me play this guitar of hers, so I made my own out of a cigar box with thread and fishing lines for strings. Soon I could make as many chords on my homemade guitar as mother could on her good one. After a while, she let me use her guitar.’’ 

St. Cyr explique comment il avait commencé à jouer de la guitare:

‘’My brother had gone to work in the Cooperage shop, making barrels. It was there he met Jules Baptiste and Jackie Dowden. Jack and Jules would put on little parties on Sunday and always there was a barrel of beer. They would play and sing, the neighbours would come in and dance. Jack played the mendolin and Jules played guitar. They just played the popular songs of the day and a few blues.They had a party at our house one Sunday and they asked me to play with them. I came in when I could on certain numbers in the key of ‘C’ and ‘G’.’ Jules took an interest in me and started giving me lessons. In a few weeks they took me out on jobs with them on Saturday night — fish fries mostly. People put on these parties in their homes to make a little money. The best music got the biggest crowd and we had it. Jack and Jules were great for serenading their friends late at night, on the way home from a little job. They would play a number, the people would get up and set out the whisky bottle. Then they would go on to the next friend’s house and repeat the serenade.’’

C’est à la même époque que St. Cyr avait commencé à travailler comme plâtrier. Il poursuivait:

‘’I was apprenticed to the plastering trade about 1905, working with George Guesnon’s father, who was a journeyman plasterer. We worked for August Bon Hagen, a contractor. When I had served out my apprenticeship, I had saved a little money and was able to get out and go to halls and different functions where the bands were playing. I could study the different guitar players and see if I could pick up some more ideas. I didn’t get too much from most of these guitar players though. These bands would be the Silver Leaf, Imperial and the Eagle Bands, playing at Masonic Halls and at the parks. The balls were on Saturday, Sunday or Monday nights.’’

DÉBUTS DE CARRIÈRE

C’est après avoir rencontré Manuel Gabriel que St. Cyr avait amorcé sa carrière professionnelle. Gabriel, qui habitait dans le même quartier que St. Cyr, l’avait invité à venir pratiquer avec son groupe. Il poursuivait: ‘’Manny played cornet. This was just a little neighbourhood group, but I got a start. Manny had one of his sons playing drums and another fellow, named Wade Waley (Whaley), playing clarinet. I was with them about four months. We just rehearsed and played a few small jobs, including a few weeks in the district.’’

Au début de sa carrière, St. Cyr avait surtout joué dans des événements mondains comme les mariages, les fêtes, les danses, les défilés et les pique-niques. À l’époque, St-Cyr avait joué avec des pionniers du jazz de La Nouvelle-Orléans comme  Bab Frank, Peter Bocage, Jimmy Brown, Manuel Perez, George Baquet, B. Johnson, les frères Lorenzo et Louis ‘’Papa’’ Tio, Billy Marrero, Big Eye Louis Nelson, George Fields et Bouboul Augustin. Il avait aussi joué à Storyville, le quartier des prostituées de La Nouvelle-Orléans, pour environ 1,50$ par soir. À partir de 1905, St. Cyr avait également dirigé ses propres formations et collaboré avec A.J. Piron, les groupes Superior, Olympia et Tuxedo.

Avec le temps, le groupe de Gabriel avait commencé à jouer dans la basse-ville de La Nouvelle-Orléans, ce qui avait permis à St. Cyr de reprendre contact avec A.J. Piron et Paul Dominguez. C’est d’ailleurs grâce à ces derniers, qui étaient tous deux barbiers et violonistes, que St. Cyr avait pu commencer à se produire avec le groupe de Freddie Keppard. St. Cyr expliquait:

‘’Freddie had been playing for ‘Fewclothes’ in the District the Olympia was the hottest band around at this time. Keppard was getting away from playing straight lead. He was the first of the ‘get off’ cornet then — getting away from the melody, more like the clarinet. Bands as a whole still played ensemble style. On certain numbers they would feature the cornet player, and sometimes the trombone, but the clarinet was always featured.’’

St. Cyr avait rencontré Sidney Bechet par l’entremise de son frère Joe, qui était également plâtrier. St. Cyr expliquait: ‘

‘’He told me about his young brother and the clarinet, and that he just couldn’t keep time. I told him to bring Sidney over to my house and I’d see if I could help him. I lived just a few blocks away, so he came over and we worked together for a while. We just played together once in a band, the Eagle Band. The Eagle Band was going to make an excursion trip. A lot of people would go to the station when an excursion left. The band would play a few numbers on the platform just before the train pulled out. Brock Mumford’s girl friend didn’t want him to go on this excursion. She caught him at the station, got hold of his guitar and hit him across his fat belly with it, which busted the guitar all up. I was asked to make the trip in his place, so I hurried and got my guitar, and arrived back at the station just before the train left. After the excursion I played a ball at Masonic Hall with the Eagle Band, then Brock got another guitar and took his job back.’’

Décrivant les débuts de la carrière de Bechet, St. Cyr avait ajouté: ’’Sidney was playing up a storm at a very early age. He was playing with the best of them by the time he was fifteen years old. Of course, he was up against the toughest kind of competition — Big Eye Louis, Lorenzo Tio, Jr., Jimmie Noone, Johnny Dodds, Alphonse Picou. And Emile Barnes and George Lewis were also coming up about this same time. George Baguet was about the top man until he left with Keppard. Then there was Willie Warner, the only man who triple-tongued the clarinet. He was always good for a free drink if you told him, ‘Willie, you’re the greatest clarinet player in New Orleans’. He’d say, ‘Now, there’s a man that knows — what will you have to drink, my boy?’ Then he would say, ‘They all ask me, how do you do it? How do you triple-tongue a clarinet?’ Willie would stick out his tongue, tap it with his fingers and say, ‘That is my secret.’ Then how he would go on!’’

L’ÉPOQUE DES NAVIRES À VAPEUR

De 1918 à 1920, St. Cyr avait joué sur les navires à vapeur avec Fate Marable. St. Cyr explique comment il avait commencé à jouer avec Marable:

‘’About two weeks after, Fate Marable asked me to come on the river boat. I had a friend named Buford, who had a bar room at Gasket (Gasquet) and Villery (Villere), and I used to hang around there. I was living out back of town and Buford played a little, I left the banjo there, as I was in town every night, so I’d not have to go clear back home for the banjo if a job turned up. Buford asked if I minded if he played a little, and I said no. Marable went into Buford’s one Saturday night about midnight, after he left the boat, and Buford was playing the banjo. Marable said, ‘When did you buy the banjo,’ and Buford replied ‘It belongs to Johnny St. Cyr. He’s back there in the other room.’ Marable said to me, ‘Come out here and I’ll buy you a drink.’ He asked me what I was doing, and I told him I was playing out at the lake tomorrow. He asked me, ‘Why don’t you come out on the boat, take a ride with us, bring your banjo.’ He said, ‘The only way you’ll come out there is if I take your banjo.’ I said, ‘Okay.’ Buford and I almost had a fight over the banjo — but I promised to have it back there that Sunday night. I played with the band on the boat and one of the Strekfus Brothers called me into the office and asked me if I wanted to play with the band regularly ‘What are you paying?’ I asked. He said, ‘In New Orleans we are paying $30.00 a week, and when we get to St. Louis we pay $52.50 a week.’ I said ‘I’ll try it.’ He said, ‘You’ll get paid for all you did today’ — and I did get paid. I worked 1918, 1919 and 1920 on that boat.’’

Le groupe de Marable se produisait sur la célèbre Streckfus Line, qui était opérée par les frères Joe et John Streckfus. St. Cyr décrit l’ambiance qui prévalait à bord des vapeurs:

‘’I will try to give a little of the history of the Strekfus line, to the best of my recollection. Originally this was a packet line, hauling freight, on the river. After about 1900 the railroads started giving so much competition to the packets that they were gradually being driven out of business. Mr. John Strekfus got the idea of making one of his packets into a floating dancehall, working out of his headquarters in St. Louis. At first his sons Joe, Roy and Johnnie, were the only musicians. They all had musical training and were good, legitimate musicians. This idea caught on with the public and soon they had more boats and the boys took over the management and hired musicians to play for them. The boys were all very good steamboat men, pilots, engineers, electricians and captains. At first they hired white bands to play for them. Fate Marable was playing piano with one of these bands. He was very light complexioned and a very good musician. Well, they started sending a boat down to New Orleans for the winter season. Fate got around town and liked our music, so he convinced Strekfus to try a band of New Orleans musicians, also he would be a leader in his own right, and he would collect leader’s pay. In 1918 I was asked by Fate to join his band. Of course, they had other boats and other bands all this time, in fact, at one time they had a total of four boats working. There were other people who tried this same idea on the river, but the Strekfus people were very smart politicians and they got all the best landings tied up in every city. These other guys would find themselves out of town when they went to dock, but the Strekfus boat would be right at the foot of the main street of town.’’

Décrivant l’arrivée de Louis Armstrong avec le groupe, St. Cyr avait ajouté: ’’Most of us were not real good readers and Fate agreed to help us with out parts until we caught on. We had William ‘Bebe’ Ridgley on trombone; Joe Howard, cornet; Johnny Dodds, clarinet; Dave Jones, mellophone; Geo. ‘Pops’ Foster, bass; Warren ‘Baby’ Dodds, drums; myself on guitar and banjo; and Fate on piano. Well, we needed another cornet to fill out the band. We all had our eye on Louis Armstrong as the coming man on this instrument in New Orleans. So we were all bucking to get him in the band. At this time Louis was working for Kid Ory. Louis had gone in ‘hock’ to Ory for a new cornet and was paying back so much a week. When the time came for Louis to join us, Ory said he couldn’t take his horn because it wasn’t paid for. Louis came around very sad, said he couldn’t make it as he would have no instrument. We went to Roy Strekfus and explained the situation to him. He said, ‘Is this the man you want? Can he play the music?’ We said, ‘Yes.’ Strekfus replied, ‘Then I’ll give him an order for a new horn and he can pay for it so much a week.’ That was how Louis was able to join the band. Most of this band had been with Fate before I joined it in the early summer of 1918.’’

Le groupe de n’avait aucun joueur de banjo dans ses rangs lorsque St. Cyr s’était joint à la formation. Il expliquait:

‘’They had no banjo before I came into the band. Johnny Dodds had replaced Sam Dutrey, Sr., then Louis came in a little later to fill out the cornet section. This was on the Steamer Sidney. This was their first and smallest boat. We were playing at night, plus Sunday afternoon and evening. We were getting $35.00 a week. Johnny Dodds left the band shortly after I joined and Sam Dutrey came back. As I recollect, Johnny just took Dutrey’s place for a few weeks. I don’t think Johnny ever played on the boats regularly.’’

Commentant le fonctionnement du groupe, St. Cyr avait précisé:

‘’Now, the music we played — how the band sounded — this would be more like a swing band than the New Orleans type jazz band. Strekfus had a standing order with the music publishers and they shipped him all the new arrangements right off the press. He just paid them by the month. We just played the arrangements as they were, we never changed them. We had no staff arranger, no special jazz arrangements.The other bands used the same music we did. We just had that feeling, that rhythm, that swing. We were very popular in New Orleans that summer and fall, so they made arrangements to take us to St. Louis for the next summer season. We rehearsed one morning a week (Tuesdays) for two hours, we played the same programme all week and changed on Sunday night. One of the Strekfus brothers was always at rehearsal to make sure everything was just the way they wanted it. This was strictly a reading band, no hot solos. We played all through the winter in New Orleans, then we went to St. Louis in April, by train, where we joined the St. Louis Musician’s Local, then up to Davenport, Iowa, where the boats were stored. Steamer St. Paul was our boat. Now, if Bix Biederbeke came out to hear us, I couldn’t say, but many musicians did come out to hear us and he may very well have been there. From Davenport we worked our way up to St. Paul, then back to St. Louis by Decoration Day (May 30). We had a very good front line that was used to playing jazz in New Orleans, and they could put that feeling into the arrangements we were using, although they were mostly just ‘stocks’. With men like Louis Armstrong, Dave Jones, Joe Howard, Sam Dutry (Dutrey) and ‘Bebe’ Ridgley — we just couldn’t miss. Also we had a very powerful rhythm section. Fate Marable was a very strong man on the piano, very good rhythm and he played very good chords. I will say now, that he was the equal of any band piano man that I ever played with anywhere. Fate also played the steam calliope on the upper deck and this was something to hear. This calliope could be heard for blocks and was a very good advertisement {...}. Sometimes one of the Strekfus family would hear a band play an arrangement that appealed to them. They would buy it from the leader and we would play it. The Strekfus family always travelled around to other cities and visited the ballrooms so they could keep up with what was going on with the bands.’’

C’est à l’été 1919 que St. Cyr avait acheté la guitare-banjo avec laquelle il avait joué durant la majeure partie de sa carrière. Il expliquait:

‘’It was in the summer of 1919 that I bought the guitar-banjo that I still have today. Some fellow had hocked it with a pool room proprietor. He asked me to look at it for him. I did and asked him what he wanted for it. ‘$20.00’, he said, so I bought it. This is the instrument that I used on all my recording dates with the Hot 5 in Chicago several years later. I still have it and play it now and then, when a banjo is required on the job. Of course, it has been worked over several times, but it is still with me.’’

Avec le temps, Marable en avait eu assez d’aider ses musiciens à déchiffrer ses partitions et avait décidé de ne pas renouveler leur contrat. St. Cyr précisait: ‘’We were all getting dissatisfied with his attitude. So, because of this, we would not sign up for the winter in New Orleans of 1920-21. Well, Joe Strekfus looked into the matter and as a result he gave Fate the winter off, and made Ed Allen who had come into the band as a trumpet player, the leader playing piano in Fate’s place. My last summer on the boats (1921) Pops and I played with the Creath Band. When we returned to New Orleans that fall, I left the band and the boats for good.’’ Il faut dire qu’à l’époque, St. Cyr gagnait bien sa vie comme plâtrier. Il s’était même construit une maison avec l’argent qu’il avait gagné sur les vapeurs tout en continuant de se produire dans les environs de La Nouvelle-Orléans.

L’ÉPOQUE DE CHICAGO

St. Cyr jouait au Pythian Roof Gardens avec Manuel Perez lorsqu’il avait été contacté par King Oliver en septembre 1923. Comme St. Cyr l’avait expliqué lui-même: ‘’He needed a good banjo player for his recording work and he assured me I could find plenty of steady work in Chicago. I was not hired to play with the band, just to record. I was a little doubtful about making this big step, but Manuel Perez encouraged me to go. He said, ‘They’ll be crazy about your work in Chicago’’’. À l’origine, St. Cyr ne devait jouer que deux semaines avec le groupe, mais il était finalement resté six ans. Il précisait: ‘’I was to play with the King Oliver Band for two weeks at Lincoln Gardens to catch their style. I received $75.00 a week which was also to cover my fees for recording.’’ St. Cyr connaissait presque tous les membres du groupe sauf la pianiste Lil Hardin.

Louis Armstrong s’était joint au groupe d’Oliver à peu près au même moment. Il poursuivait:

‘’So Joe Oliver was looking for a substitute cornet player he could use when he wanted to take a night off. I mentioned Louis to him and Joe got hold of him. Louis had a wonderful ear, and he learned Oliver’s repertoire from him in about three days. And that’s how Louis came to play in Oliver’s place at Lala’s when Joe was working with the Magnolia Band. They had to keep the noise down after midnight and used mutes in the cornets. Well, the waiters and everybody around there liked to hear Louis get off, so they would talk him into taking the mute out of the cornet.’’

À son arrivée à Chicago, St. Cyr avait habité avec la famille de King Oliver. Lorsque le contrat de St. Cyr au Lincoln Gardens avait pris fin, Datnell Howard l’avait engagé pour jouer à l’Arcadia Ballroom pour 50$ par semaine. Il expliquait: ‘’We played stock arrangements, nothing special in the way of music, the same type of stock arrangements we used on the riverboats. After two months Darnell lost the job and the band broke up.’’ À l’époque, Oliver avait demandé à St. Cyr de se trouver un nouvel endroit où habiter, car il vivait dans un petit appartement et commençait à manquer de place. À ce moment-là, Armstrong et Hardin étaient sur le point de se marier. Même si le couple s’était loué une petite maison, il n’avait pas encore commencé à l’occuper, et avait offert à St. Cyr de s’y installer pendant quelque temps. St. Cyr avait même continué de vivre avec le couple durant une brève période après que celui-ci ait emménagé.

Pendant qu’il jouait avec le groupe d’Howard, St. Cyr avait également enregistré avec Charlie Cook. Lorsque le groupe d’Howard avait été démantelé, St. Cyr avait fait savoir à Cook qu’il était sans travail. C’est ainsi qu’il avait commencé à jouer avec le Dreamland Orchestra de Cook qui se produisait au Dreamland Ballroom situé à l’intersection des rues Paulina et Van Buren. Durant l’été, le groupe se produisait également dans des parcs d’amusements comme ceux de Riverside.

C’était la première fois de sa carrière que St. Cyr jouait avec un groupe qui utilisait ses propres arrangements sur pratiquement chacune des pièces. St. Cyr poursuivait: ‘’ We had many specials, strictly in the jazz style, but all arranged, written out. Doc Cook did all his own arrangements. He played piano and organ. He was just an average piano player, but he was at his best at the organ. The use of ad lib, hot solos, etc., had not come into too much use at this time in the larger bands. Two of my old friends from New Orleans were in this band, Freddie Keppard and Jimmie Noone.’’

À l’époque, Noone travaillait au Edelwiess, un club de danse multiracial, avec un groupe composé de Joe Poston au saxophone alto, Earl Hines au piano et Johnny Wells à la batterie. Comme sa famille était demeurée à La Nouvelle-Orléans, St. Cyr avait énormément de temps de loisirs, ce qui lui avait permis d’aller retrouver Noone au Edelwiess et de jouer avec le groupe. Il expliquait:

‘’This was a black and tan club with singers and dancers. As my family was still New Orleans, I had plenty of time on my hands, and so when we were finished at the Dreamland at 12.30 a.m., I started going over to the Edelweiss and sitting in with the group. I was not on salary, but I got my share of the tips, and they were good enough to pay me for my work. This started me off with the Jimmie Noone Orchestra, and so then when Jimmie, Joe and Earl went into the Apex Club in December, 1926, I went with them. This was one of the best jobs I ever had — the management was the nicest I ever worked for. They gave us each $5.00 for a Christmas present, although we had only been there a few days. The Manager also gave us tips on the quiet. This was also an after hours spot.’’

De tous les membres du groupe, St. Cyr était particulièrement proche du saxophoniste Joe Poston. Il poursuivait:

‘’Joe Poston was one of my special friends in the Doc Cook Band. He was from Alexandria, Louisiana. He played saxophone and oboe. His music was more on the sweet side. He and Doc Cook and myself were called the Three Musketeers as we always rode to work together. Then, sometimes after work, we would get a pint of prescription whiskey from a druggist we knew and go over to Doc Cook’s. Joe and I would sit around and have a few while Doc worked on his arrangements. Doc always worked at a high desk and stood up to write. He could write out music as fast as I could write a letter.’’ 

St. Cyr appréciait également le saxophoniste Stump Evans au sujet duquel il avait déclaré:

‘’Stump Evans was one of the few musicians not from New Orleans who seemed to fit in with our bunch; that is, his style of playing. He was from St. Louis and had picked up our style off the riverboat bands before he came to Chicago. He was the first sax player I ever heard to play slap tongue. We all liked his work and he got in on a lot of record dates with us for this reason. He played regularly with Erskine Tate at the Vendome Theatre and hung around a pool room at 35th and State. He was very short in height, which gave him his nickname Stump and not Stomp as it is sometimes misspelled.’’

Après avoir eu un désaccord avec Cook, Noone avait été congédié du groupe. St. Cyr poursuivait:

‘’Shortly after this Jimmie had a big fuss with Doc Cook one night and Cook gave him his notice. As the Apex Club was doing so good and Jimmie was then available they started opening up earlier in the night. Bud Scott took my place till I could get over, then he went to a job he had at the Regal Theatre. One night Jimmie got to talking about why Doc Cook had let him go. Jimmie acted as if he didn’t know why Cook had let him go, so to be helpful, I told him. That made Jimmie mad at me and he fired me. Bud Scott didn’t want to take the job under the circumstances, but I told him, ‘Go ahead, take it, I won’t be there so you might as well take it, if you want it, it’s a good job!’ Shortly after all this took place this group made several recordings for the Brunswick Vocalion Company. These recordings are a very good example of the music that was being played in the clubs, at that time in Chicago. These recordings are just the way we played on the job.’’

À l’été 1929, les affaires ayant commencé à décliner, Cook avait dû réduire taille de son groupe de quatorze à dix musiciens. St. Cyr, qui ne jouait que du banjo et de la guitare, avait été un des premiers à être sacrifiés et avait été remplacé par un banjoïste qui jouait également du violon.

De tous les musiciens qu’il avait cotoyés, St. Cyr avait d’excellents souvenirs de sa collaboration avec Freddie Keppard. Il précisait:

‘’Freddie was drinking a lot by this time, although, he never seemed to let it interfere with his work. We spent a lot of time together at the Union Hall and were the best of friends. Freddie was playing very well, with Doc Cook, as well as all the gigs we all used to get around town. In spite of some of the stories about him, he was a pretty good reader, he played all those arrangements Doc Cook wrote, as well as playing with other bands on gigs. These bands would have their own library of music. He had been reading violin music many years before in New Orleans, before he took up the cornet. Freddie had been, in New Orleans, the first of the get off men on cornet, a real pace setter and pioneer. In Chicago, he was more satisfied to let music just be his work. His inspiration to be coming up with something new seemed to be gone. To compare him to Louis Armstrong I would say: they both started out about even as to ability and inspiration, but music was Louis’ whole life and with Freddie Keppard, it got to be just the way he earned his living, just a job. He also had that independent Creole temperament and was not always the easiest guy in the world to get to cooperate. He had his own ideas about a lot of things, but he was a great jazz musician and a good friend of mine {...}. There were so many great musicians around Chicago at that time I would never be able to name them all. Also singers, they all worked in Chicago at one time or another when I was there.’’

À Chicago, St. Cyr avait également joué avec le groupe de Kid Ory. De tous les musiciens avec lesquels il avait collaboré, St. Cyr se rappelait particulièrement de Johnny Dodds et King Oliver. Comme il l’avait expliqué lui-même:

‘’Johnny was a quiet, serious man, all business. Although we recorded together a lot, this was about the only time we would meet. We never played together on a job except the first few weeks when I came to Chicago. Johnny had come to Chicago several years before I did. Fie had bought a small apartment house where he lived with his family. I would only see him once in a while at the Union Hall when he came in to pay his dues or on a record date. We were always friendly, but not what could be called close friends. I had been good friends with Joe Oliver in New Orleans and of course kept this friendship up in Chicago. Joe didn’t come around the Union Hall much either, although I used to visit him at his home. Joe didn’t like to go out much. He was such a big eater, he always said it embarrassed him to go out to eat, so I would stop by his home now and then for a visit or a meal. He never asked me to join him as he knew I was set with Doc Cook. He was a good-humoured man, liked to joke with his friends, talk with them. He was very business-like, a good band leader and organizer. Jimmie Noone didn’t come around the Union Hall much either. He was quite a ladies man, and usually spent his spare time visiting one or the other of his girl friends. Of the other musicians around in those days George Fields, Ray (Roy) Palmer, Honore Dutrey, Kid Ory, Jelly Roll Morton, Richard M. Jones never spent much time around the Union Hall. Jelly Roll and Richard M. Jones spent most of their time around Melrose Bros Music Store. That is where I first met Jelly Roll. I had known him in New Orleans very slightly. Richard M. Jones kept himself busy with the Okeh Record Company. He was their contact man for their race records. He was a fine fellow, very jolly and a good organizer with a good head. He knew music very well, but he was just an ordinary piano soloist, nothing special.’’

Après avoir été congédié par Cook, St. Cyr avait rencontré un banjoïste appelé Dago qui était également chanteur. Après avoir fait quelques répétitions, le duo avait joué dans des courses de chiens à Gary, en Indiana avant de se produire dans des clubs de Kenosha et de Milwaukee au Wisconsin où il avait remporté un certain succès. Mais St. Cyr avait dû retourner seul à Chicago, car Dago s’était fait une petite amie à Milwaukee.

Le lendemain, St. Cyr était retourné à La Nouvelle-Orléans où il avait travaillé comme plâtrier tout en se produisant avec des groupes locaux avec de grands noms du Dixieland comme Paul Barbarin et Alphonse Picou.

ÉPILOGUE

Dans les années 1950, St. Cyr avait joué et dirigé un groupe appelé  Johnny St. Cyr and His Hot Five. Il avait aussi enregistré avec Paul Barbarin et George Lewis. Après être déménagé à Los Angeles en 1955 et être retourné à la musique à plein temps, St. Cyr avait dirigé le groupe Young Men from New Orleans de 1961 à sa mort en 1966. Parmi les membres du groupe, on remarquait le clarinettiste Barney Bigard.

Johnny St. Cyr est mort le 17 juin 1966 au General Hospital de Los Angeles. Il était âgé de soixante-seize ans. St-Cyr a été inhumé au Evergreen Cemetery de Los Angeles. 

Reconnu comme un pionnier du jazz, St. Cyr, qui s’était surtout fait connaître en enregistrant avec le Hot Five et le Hot Seven de Louis Armstrong de 1925 à 1927 (notamment sur les classiques Gut Bucket Blues et Heebie Jeebies), avait aussi joué et enregistré avec les  Red Hot Peppers de Jelly Roll Morton. Également compositeur, St. Cyr était l’auteur du standard "Oriental Strut", qui était connu pour ses accords particulièrement innovateurs. St. Cyr, qui jouait du banjo d’une façon complètement différente que les autres banjoïstes de son époque, se produisait sur un banjo à six cordes. Il excellait également à la guitare. St. Cyr avait d’ailleurs fabriqué sa propre guitare lui-même en modifiant un de ses propres banjos.

Johnny St. Cyr a été intronisé au sein du Banjo Hall of Fame en 2002.

©- 2024, tous droits réservés, Les Productions de l’Imaginaire historique

SOURCES:

‘’Johnny St. Cyr.’’ Wikipedia, 2023.

‘’Johnny St. Cyr.’’ Jazz Journal, 2023.

‘’Johnny St. Cyr.’’ All About Jazz, 2023.  

‘’Johnny St. Cyr (1890-1966).’’ The Syncopated Times, 2023.

[shankerjaikishen-the-unbeatables]

Musical review of film Yahudi

REVIEWER :hitesh.mehta@gmail.com

Director: Bimal Roy; Producer: Savak B Vacha Artistes: Dilip Kumar, Meena Kumari, Sohrab Modi, Nigar Sultana, Nazir Hussain, Kamala Laxman, Helen, Cuckoo, Tiwari, Baby Naaz, Anwar Hussain, Minoo Mumtaz, Murad, Indira Bansal, Munshi, Bikram Kapoor, Romi, Adil

This is only film Shankar Jaikishan did for Producer Savak B Vacha, who died even before this film could complete. Also its SJ’s only film for Director Bimal Roy- a legend director, who happened to be producer also for many films- notable were Do Bigha Jamin, Parakh, Devdas, Madhumati etc. He normally worked with Bengali MDs like SDB and Salil Chaudhury, but I think, for Yahudi, Savak Vacha chose SJ.

This is based on historic theme of Romans and Jews (Yahudis) rivalary in Rome thousand of years ago. SJ, master of varieties as they are, blended their music perefectly with situation and time frame of story- lot of arabian touch in music. This movie is a masterpiece, not only for its music but also direction,  acting,screenplay, sets, dialogues, acting and lyrics. Bimal Roy, as we know, was a master director. Film’s dialogues were very popular, eg. “Tumhara khun khun, hamara khun pani hai”. Two great actors of Hindi movies, Sohrab Modi and Dileep Kumar were at their best. The sets were very good and able to create scene of Rome hundreds of year ago. As usual SJ’s music was adding to magic- not only songs but background music too. On top of that simple but soulful lyrics by Shailendra- this film has 7 songs, in which 6 were written by Shailendra and he won first filmfare award for “Ye mera diwanapan hai”.

In the film title, Only Dattaram’s name appeared as Asst. Music Director, so I believe Sebastian was not assisting SJ in this particular movie. Movie start with instrumental music of song “ye duniya , ye duniya” alongwith titles. For a change, this movie doesn’t have any title song. Also there are only 7 songs and its pity, IMO it should have atleast 3 more songs because its romantic story in backdrop of roman-yahudi rivalry and there is only one song picturised on hero Dilip Kumar. Definitely hero deserved couple of more songs- IMO. Out of 7, only 4 songs are picturised on main stars, 3 went to supporting cast. But Bimal Roy used songs’ beautifully to support flow of story and nowhere they looked unnecessary or coming in the way of story.

Here are the songs and commentary on them:

1) ye duniyaa, ye duniyaa, haa_e hamaarii ye duniyaa. Singers: Muhammad Rafi, Chorus; Lyricist: Shailendra

Picturised on supporting actor, only Md. Rafi song of film- lyrics and music give voice to pain of yahudis due to excesses by Romans. Md. Rafi did justice in expressing deep sorrow and pain.

2) bechain dil kho_ii sii nazar, tanhaaiyo.n me.n. Singers: Lata Mangeshkar, Geeta Dutt; Lyricist: Shailendra

Dance song by Lata and Geeta Dutt- picturised on Helen and Cukoo (?). Its treat to see this for dance lovers. Energy of orchestra and of dancers competing to each other. Traditional orchastrisation of SJ and fast rhythem but still very melodious song. You may not impress with song in first go but after hearing few times, you will fall in love with this song.  I feel SJ should have used Geeta Dutt for more songs in their films.

3) merii jaa.n merii jaa.n pyaar kisii se ho hii gayaa hai. Singers: Lata Mangeshkar, Chorus; Lyricist: Shailendra

SJ were not getting best only out of singers but from chorus too and this is one of example. This is picturised on main heroine Meena Kumari who looks very young and beautiful and supporting actresses. Its a sheer melody and more you hear this song, more you will like it. And what a simple way to express feelings by Shailendra- “jinki nigahon ne ghayal kiya, unhi se lenge dil ki dawa, na ham muskurate na wo pas aate, uski mili hai saja kya kare….”

4) aate jaate pahluu mein aayaa ko_ii, mere dil batlaa na chhupaa. Singers: Lata Mangeshkar, Chorus; Lyricist: Shailendra

Meena Kumari sings and dances while Dilip Kumar looks at hiding. Shankar Jaikishan actually known for variety and no other MD gave so many different kind of songs so you can not associate a single style with SJ but nevertheless by hearing some songs itself, especially their orchestra, you can identify them as SJ song and this is one of them. Use of violins, mendolin, congo, bongo and dattu ka thheka (dattaram’s rhythem)- a distinctive SJ song. The tune of mukhada is not so ‘catchy’ but antaras’ tunes are more attractive, especially when Lata take alaap aa, aa, aa…..and goes back to Mukhada. The continuously  playing rhythem instruments are the main attraction of this song.

5) dil se tujhko bedilii hai…ye meraa diiwaanaapan hai. Singer: Mukesh; Lyricist: Shailendra

Most hit song of the film, Mukesh beautifully expresses romantic as well as sad feelings at same time! Only song picturised on Dilip Kumar, which is quite unusual given the stardom Dilip kumar was enjoying and looking into his fondness for songs. Mukesh used to be voice of Dilip Kumar in late 40s and early 50s when Rafi was not established- In Naushad’s 1949’s superhit Andaz, Mukesh sang 6 evergreen song for Dilip Kumar while Rafi gave playback to Raj Kapoor!!But then Rafi and Talat Mehmood became voice of him, and Mukesh started getting identified more as Raj Kapoor’s voice. In early 1950s, Mukesh volunteerly left playback to pursue Acting career but miserably failed commercially and was struggling literally to get back his foothold in playback singing. It is said that this song and same year’s “Suhana safar aur ye mausam hasin” again picturised on Dilip Kumar gave him fresh lease of life and after that he never looked back till his death. Ironically he never sang for Dilip Kumar again. It is well known fact that Dilip Kumar wanted Talat to sing this song but Shankar was putting his full weight behind Mukesh. It is said that few people associated with movie wanted Rafi for this song. Shankarji has confirmed on record that Mukesh���s name was finalised by toss but even then Dilip Kumar wanted his approval before song finally goes to film and when he heard recording in voice of Mukesh, he embraced Shankarji for his judgement- for Shankarji made this song keeping Mukesh’s vocal in mind. The moment mukesh starts with lines “dil se tujko bediili hai..” one get immersed in melody of song. Interludes of song are very good and no need to write about orchestra which is outstanding by default as per SJ standard. Two lines of song repeats at the end also.

6) aa.nsuu kii aag leke terii yaad aa_ii, jalte hu_e raag leke. Singer: Lata Mangeshkar; Lyricist: Hasrat Jaipuri

Only Hasrat song of film, a very beautiful sad song, sang perfectly by Lata Mangeshkar. There is arabian touch to orchestrisation and instruments supporting singer like ‘chorus’. This is also one of the great feature of SJ songs, where musical instruments play such prominent role in some of songs, to such extent that without them song loose its sheen. Absolute melody- classic- what to say more?

7)dil me.n pyaar kaa tuufaan na samjhe ko_ii naadaan. Singer: Lata Mangeshkar; Lyricist: Shailendra

Picturised on supporting actress, I could not recognise- may be Kamla Laxman. This is very good dance number with long prelude. SJ used big orchestra for this but still its nowhere become loud. Needless to say Lata’s rendition was very good.

In summary, this is a classic SJ album, definitely in best 15 of them. Everything in music department was great here- lyrics, orchastrisation, rhythem, background music, preludes and interludes of songs, rendition by singers and picturisation- absolutely fantastic!!! !!!!!

I have pasted lyrics of songs in devnagri lipi below. Also given the links, where by clicking you will get lyrics in english fonts too. My sincere thanks to RajPrakashji Ratnam for providing me DVD of Yahudi twice, without which this review was not possible. Due to my limited knowledge of musical instuments and raags, I have not touched that part and that is lacking in review, but hopefully our learned members will add that in their comments to make review more meaningful.

Regards Hitesh

बेचैन दिल खोई सी नज़र – bechain dil kho_ii sii nazar ( Yahudi – 1958)

बेचैन दिल खोई सी नज़र तन्हाइयों में शाम\-ओ\-सहर तुम याद आते हो दिल नहीं पहलू में रह गईं दो आँखें जाने क्या\-क्या हमसे कह गईं दो आँखें सुनसान रातों में अक्सर जब चाँद पे जाती है नज़र तुम याद आते हो दिल तो दीवाना था हम भी क्या कर बैठे मर्ज़ जाने क्या था क्या दवा कर बैठे इक आह ठंडी सी भर कर उनसे कोई कह दे जा कर तुम याद आते हो हम तो ये समझे थे ख़त्म है अफ़साना उठ चुकी है महफ़िल रह गया वीराना हमको न थी लेकिन ये ख़बर ख़ुद हम कहेंगे रह\-रह कर तुम याद आते हो बेचैन दिल खोई सी ...

आँसू की आग ले के तेरी याद आई – aa.Nsuu kii aag le ke terii yaad aa_ii (Yahudi – 1958)

आँसू की आग लेके तेरी याद आई जलते हुए राग लेके तेरी याद आई शिक़वे हज़ार ले के तेरी याद आई हाय रे कैसी जुदाई रोता है गुँचा\-गुँचा आँगन उदास है अब दिल की आरज़ू को जलवों की प्यास है आँसू की आग लेके ... दोनों जहान तेरी चाहत में छोड़ दूँ प्यार का नाज़ुक रिश्ता कैसे मैं तोड़ दूँ आँसू की आग लेके ..

आते जाते पहलू में आया कोई – aate jaate pahaluu me.n aayaa koii (Yahudi – 1958)

आते जाते पहलू में आया कोई मेरे दिल बतला न छुपा आज से मैं तुझे दिल कहूँ या दिलरुबा तेरी सुनूँ और सुनती रहूँ मैं अपनी तड़प छुपा लूँ फिर भी कहाँ तक सब्र करूँ मैं खुद को कितना संभालूँ आते जाते   ... मस्त नज़र तूने ये क्या किया लिया ये कौन सा बदला है ये शराब\-ए\-नज़र का असर कि मुझे दिल भी न संभला आते जाते   ... तेरा तसव्वुर तेरा ही ग़म लबों पे अब तेरा तराना नींद से भी अब कहती हूँ मैं तू उनको ख़्वाब में लाना आते जाते   ...

दिल में प्यार का तूफ़ान ना समझे कोई नादान – dil me.n pyaar kaa tuufaan naa samajhe ko_ii naadaan ( Yahudi – 1958)

दिल में प्यार का तूफ़ान ना समझे कोई नादान ज़ालिम घूर\-घूर के देखे दूर\-दूर से दिल में प्यार का ... जिसके लिए मैं सारी रात जागी उसने ही देखो मेरी ख़बर न ली छेड़े मीठे राग मेरे दिल में जागे आग दिल में प्यार का ... ये बेरुख़ी न दुआ न सलाम मुझको वफ़ा का मिला ये ईनाम वादा करना था आसान जा देखा तेरा ईमान दिल में प्यार का ..

दिल से तुझको बेदिली है … ये मेरा दीवानापन है – dil se tujhako bedilii hai … ye meraa diivaanaapan hai ( Yahudi – 1958)

दिल से तुझको बेदिली है, मुझको है दिल का गुरूर तू ये माने के न माने, लोग मानेंगे ज़ुरूर ये मेरा दीवानापन है, या मुहब्बत का सुरूर तू न पहचाने तो है ये, तेरी नज़रों का क़ुसूर ये मेरा दीवानापन है ... दिल को तेरी ही तमन्ना, दिल को है तुझसे ही प्यार चाहे तू आए न आए, हम करेंगे इंतज़ार ये मेरा दीवानापन है ... ऐसे वीराने में इक दिन, घुट के मर जाएंगे हम जितना जी चाहे पुकारो, फिर नहीं आएंगे हम ये मेरा दीवानापन है ...

मेरी जाँ मेरी जाँ प्यार किसी से हो ही गया है – merii jaa.N merii jaa.N pyaar kisii se ho hii gayaa hai ( Yahudi – 1958)

मेरी जाँ मेरी जाँ प्यार किसीसे हो ही गया है, हम क्या करें \-२ हम क्या करें, और कोई क्या करे, दिल जो दिया है कोई क्या करे (भोली थी मैं, हाय क्या थी खबर लूटेगी यूँ मुझे उनकी नज़र) \-२ न होते मुक़ाबिल न दिल हारते हम ये अपनी ख़ता है, ग़िला क्या करें मेरी जाँ मेरी जाँ... (जिनकी निगाहों ने घायल किया लेंगे उन्हीं से दिल की दवा) \-२ न हम मुस्कुराते न वो पास आते उसकी मिली है हमको सज़ा, क्या करें मेरी जाँ मेरी जाँ ...

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Sad Mode......Mendoline ..... Music Navi Singh 9872008484 (at Aggam Music Studio)