A Snowtribe Fairytale: Little Blue T’lonya

Still children, be still. My, our campfire is warm tonight isn’t it? Yes, yes, I’m sure Clanholder Tussi will feel better soon. He was quite silly to accompany the Gulakhans in hunting down that dreaded snow troll. Tussi’s not as spry as he used to be, and caught a thrown stone to his noggin by surprise. Those trolls can see your spirit, and the older the spirit the juicer the bones they thinks. That’s right, it is because of the third eye they have, the Old Blighter had one too, but the Ur Troll could also scratch at your dreams. Since Tussi isn’t well, how about I tell you a story in his stead. Its one the Wise woman told me while I was still a little girl.

 

Back in the Ashtimes there lived a little girl all the clan loved very much, but none as much as her grandmother. Her grandmother, you see, was the wise woman of the clan then. She gifted her granddaughter with the most amazingly blue t’lonya, and wrapped the little girl in it. Their bond was so strong that when the girl grew up, she continued to wear her little blue t’lonya as a scarf. As must happen to us all, the day came and the wise woman passed through the Waiting Gate to join as one of the departed ancestors, and it was her beloved granddaughter who was chosen to succeed her.

Little Blue T’lonya preformed the old rituals and communed in dream with the Ancestors to learn how she could help guide her grandmother to them, so she could watch over our clan again. They told her that she must pilgrimage into the wastes, and offer one of the wizened ones bones to the foyada spring at the base of Red Tester a day’s journey north.

The next morning, Little Blue T’lonya skipped out into the Ashwastes, carrying her grandmother’s remains in her basket. The Ashkhan saw this and was worried, but he knew no tribe’s kin could follow her on the sacred errand. By chance an acceptable outsider then arrived, a Morag the Khan knew as friend. The Morag, you see, shared a blood-tie to Sheild-thane Sul of Azura’s own. The Ashkhan asked of the Morag to follow Little Blue T’lonya, as he was not of the clan. The honorable Morag swore by Mephal that he wound not let any harm come to the girl and set off to follow.

Little Blue T’lonya continued her pilgrimage, wrapping her t’lonya around her face to protect her mouth from an ash storm that had began to blow. By the time she had reached the foyada to follow to its source, she could barely see a guar’s breath away from herself. It was then it caught notice of her, the Amoral Flea… a great and terrible Nix-hound. He could smell her innocent spirit, but the bone ties to the ancestored wise woman made it jitter in delight, as it considered our ancestors a rare delicacy. He slinked after her, to wait for the right moment to pounce.

The blowing ash settled when Little Blue T’lonya reached the lava spring. She lowered her scarf and set down her urn-basket. She pulled out a rib bone and threw it into the lava with a prayer to Boethiah for thanks. It was then, just as the grandmother’s ghost manifested to thank Little Blue T’lonya for her duty, that the Amoral Flea pounced out of behind a rock and gobbled the grandmother’s spirit whole. The Nix-hound then leapt up on a big stone and cried, “Behold… Boethiah Is Come!”

Little Blue T’lonya, with flame spell charged in hand, said. “My Boet… what a frightful guise you have!”

The Flea answered “To better embrace your grandmother with… I wish to claim this child of mine and bless her!”

Then Little Blue T’lonya asked “My Boet, a noble purpose she does still does have… to serve her clan with our other righteous dead. Surely her place is with the honored ghosts of her clan?”

The Flea answered “I’m giving her power to better help your tribe with. In me she shall have the power to lift all your tribe’s burdens, so you may be challenged no more. You’ll have plenty and paradise forever more”

Little Blue T’lonya then said, “My Boet, what lies you have... the Real Boet-hi-Ah would do no such thing. He showed us that through strength and toil that we prove ourselves deserving of fleeting pleasures, to kill or be killed, through skin of bruise. You are no Dra, I’ll burn you alive and set my grandmother mother free!” She charged up her Flame spell again

“Your right! It’s all a ruse to distract you with!” The Amoral Flea laughed, “Now my Nixlings!”

At it's command, several young Nix-hounds leaped out grabbing Little Blue T’lonya, and pinned her to the ground. The Amoral Flea took hold of her neck with its feeding tendrils, and began to pulling her spirit out of her so it might devour more. Just as she felt her ghost begin to leave her, she heard the Nix-hound scream and it fell off her.

The Morag had arrived none too late, and had cleaved open the flea’s thorax with his ax, the Nixlings ran in terror. As soon as he did, the grandmother’s ghost sprung out and declared, “Foolish eater, see what your transgression has brought you. No son of Bal can be mistaken for our Lord Boethiah. Sweet Forester, fill up the abdomen will rocks, so he might remember his true parentage.” The Morag did as the spirit asked, and Little Blue T’lonya laughed at the Flea as it tried in vain to scuttle away, as the weight of its inner stones were too great, holding it in place. “It seem we’ve made a new monument on the path of this pilgrimage” she giggled.

Little Blue T’lonya then headed back to her tribe, the Morag beside her, and with the new Ancestor guiding her way.

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