003 | [Audio]

[epicbraille]

It's far too cold outside for a trip to the library, but I've finished all the books in my apartment. Who knows a good story, urban legend, or rumour? I'd love to hear something new, anything really.

[ A guy has to make do until he can get his hand on some fresh literature. ]

It's a little late in the year for ghost stories, although November is traditionally the month of the dead so I'll listen nonetheless.

Comments

[pastalishe]

Then I shall tell you one of the tales of Rhaplanca and Maoh, from the zodal rhaplanca line. It is a tale that comes in two parts--and this is the first.

[There are soft, rustling sounds on the feed, as Cloche settles herself into a comfortable position--after all, the tales of Rhaplanca and Maoh tend to be very, very long stories. Once settles, she begins to speak in the low, even voice of someone reciting a piece they have learned (mostly) by heart.]

Once upon a time, in the faraway past so long ago that is naught but a dim memory, there was a poor land. Every day, the sun shone brightly over the cracked, dry earth. The people who lived there sowed many seeds over that withered land. But, no matter how hard they worked, they could only harvest enough food so they could eat the next morning. Everyone worked hard and struggled just to survive.

Everything changed when a girl named Rhaplanca crafted the divine tree Implanta. Through the blessing of this tree, the land became moist and fertile. The people ate its fruits and were content. For many years, no one worried if they would have enough food to eat or water to drink. Alas, nothing lasts forever—not even the power of Implanta. When its strength began to fade, little by little, sand began to blow back into the land. It was obvious to all the people that it would not support the land for much longer.

But all was not lost. Rhaplanca, blessed by the gods, was able to commune her heart with Implanta. When she sang, she could craft magical seeds: each seed could grant the wish of a single person. One day, she gathered the people of the dying land and told them:

“Use the powers of my seeds. Wish for this world to be enshrouded in greenness. Wish for the water to drift about it.
If you do this, you will never have to worry about food anymore. No one will be troubled when they wish to find water.
If you do as I say, this land will become joyful and prosperous—and that prosperity will last until the time of the grandchildren of your grandchildren.
To give birth to a prosperous land, a thousand seeds are necessary. From this day forward, I will sing for a thousand days in the temple to create the seeds.
Please, until the thousandth day comes, protect these seeds. I entrust them to you. Do not use them—instead, cultivate them with the feelings you have for this land.”

With these words, Rhaplanca confined herself in the temple. As she sang and crafted the seeds, the days came and passed her by. Nothing existed for her but her song: whatever happened outside the temple, she knew none of it. All she wished for was the happiness of this world. She sang every day to craft the thousand seeds, one by one, using all of the strength that her frail body possessed.

Finally, the day came when she crafted the thousandth seed. When Raphlanca went out from the temple, holding the seed in her hand, she could not believe the scene that lay before her. The world that she looked at was not one of happiness, filled with the warm smiles of the people.

Of all the seeds that she had crafted, the only one that remained was the one that she held in her hand. All the rest had been used up to satisfy selfish desires. The city had fallen into depravity: the people drowned themselves in alcohol and excess, living in palaces, while the world around them withered and died.

But this was not yet enough. The people desired the thousandth seed that Rhaplanca had crafted: the only seed that was left, that she still held within her hands. When they saw that she had it, the people began to scramble and fight for the seed. They even killed each other for it. Finally, they hung Rhaplanca up by her hands. Someone cried,

“Craft the thousand-first seed!”

And then, as if those words had helped them settle the dispute, the people began to shout and scream at her.

“Craft the thousand-first seed! Craft the thousand-first seed! Craft the thousand-first seed!”

When it was all over Rhaplanca used the last of her strength to crawl away from the city, carrying with her the last seed. She came to a hill where there was just one dead tree—a tree that had once given enough fruit to feed all the people—fell down to her knees, and wept bitterly. She was terribly weak, for she had no strength left from crafting the thousand seeds. Yet, her tears would not stop.

“How could this have happened? Is it the fault of the humans... or does it lie with me, for being so foolish?
Why... would the humans betray me like that? Why... would the humans deprave themselves like that...?
There is... only one reason why. And that is because, more than anything else, every living person fears death...”

When Rhaplanca realized this, she decided to create the true utopia by using the thousandth seed. She raised it up and made a single wish:

“Please, bestow eternal rest upon this land. Give birth to a world without life nor death...”

[greyerrant]

War is not romantic. It is brutality.

[ghost_shield]

...Ow. You do this sort of punning on a regular basis?

[primordial]

Hahaha, I understand that well, actually. Little sisters...

[A slight laugh, before he speaks again.] Okay, let me see here, I think I have one off the top of my head.

Ah, here we go. I remember now.


In a certain country there lived a King; and this King had a daughter who was an enchantress. Near the royal palace there dwelt a priest, and the priest had a boy of ten years old, who went every day to an old woman to learn reading and writing. Now it happened one day that he came away from his lessons late in the evening, and as he passed by the palace he looked in at one of the windows. At that window the Princess happened to be sitting and dressing herself. She took off her head, lathered it with soap, washed it with clean water, combed its hair, plaited its long back braid, and then put it back again in its proper place. The boy was lost in wonder.

"What a clever creature!" thinks he. "A downright witch!"

And when he got home he began telling every one how he had seen the Princess without her head.

All of a sudden the King's daughter fell grievously ill, and she sent for her father, and strictly enjoined him, saying--

"If I die, make the priest's son read the psalter over me three nights running."

The Princess died; they placed her in a coffin, and carried it to church. Then the king summoned the priest, and said--

"Have you got a son?"

"I have, your majesty."

"Well then," said the King, "let him read the psalter over my daughter three nights running."

The priest returned home, and told his son to get ready. In the morning the priest's son went to his lessons, and sat over his book looking ever so gloomy.

"What are you unhappy about?" asked the old woman.

"How can I help being unhappy, when I'm utterly done for?"

"Why what's the matter? Speak out plainly."

"Well then, granny, I've got to read psalms over the princess, and, do you know, she's a witch!"

"I knew that before you did! But don't be frightened, there's a knife for you. When you go into the church, trace a circle round you; then read away from your psalter and don't look behind you. Whatever happens there, whatever horrors may appear, mind your own business and go on reading, reading. But if you look behind you, it will be all over with you!"

In the evening the boy went to the church, traced a circle round him with the knife, and betook himself to the psalter. Twelve o'clock struck. The lid of the coffin flew up; the Princess arose, leapt out, and cried--

"Now I'll teach you to go peeping through my windows, and telling people what you saw!"

She began rushing at the priest's son, but she couldn't break into the circle. Then she began to conjure up all sorts of horrors - floating eyeballs, heads dripping in blood, monstrous creatures that snarled and howled his name. But in spite of all that she did, he went on reading and reading, and never gave a look round. And at daybreak the Princess rushed at her coffin, and tumbled into it at full length, all of a heap.

The next night everything went on just the same. The priest's son wasn't a bit afraid, went on reading without a stop right up to daybreak, and in the morning went to the old woman. She asked him--

"Well! have you seen horrors?"

"Yes, granny!"

"It will be still more horrible this time. Here's a hammer for you and four nails. Knock them into the four corners of the coffin, and when you begin reading the psalter, stick up the hammer in front of you."

In the evening the priest's son went to the church, and did everything just as the old woman had told him. Twelve o'clock struck, the coffin lid fell to the ground, the Princess jumped up and began rocking from side to side, and threatening the youth with the worst words, insulting him and his family and everyone who he had loved. Then she conjured up horrors, this time worse than before. It seemed to him as if a fire had broken out in the church; all the walls were wrapped in flames! But he held his ground and went on reading, never once looking behind him. Just before daybreak the Princess rushed to her coffin--then the fire seemed to go out immediately, and all the devilry vanished!

In the morning the King came to the church, and saw that the coffin was open, and in the coffin lay the princess, face downwards.

"What's the meaning of all this?" says he.

The lad told him everything that had taken place. Then the king gave orders that an aspen stake should be driven into his daughter's chest, and that her body should be thrust into a hole in the ground. But he rewarded the priest's son with a heap of money and various lands.


And that's the tale of the headless princess.

[epicbraille]

It's something of a common occurrence, I'm afraid.

[epicbraille]

I thought it'd spruce up the conversation.

[epicbraille]

True enough. However, romanticised and romantic don't always go hand in hand.

[spaztastic]

O-oh! Um--[you can practically hear her blushing from the other line. |D] I-I haven't!

[epicbraille]

Really? It seems like the kind of thing you'd have to try once you've heard about it.

[spaztastic]

[She chuckles sheepishly.]

Yes. I, um... I didn't really had anyone to confess to back home. Plus, there were rumors that people are being turned down when they use the phone booth. Maybe it's because it's better to confess in person?

[epicbraille]

Interesting...

[ Snake listened to the story with keen interest, only speaking when he was sure it was finished. ]

It's remarkable Rhaplanca chose to blame fear of death over human greed. Delayed gratification isn't an art we've mastered as a species.

[ While the outcome of giving out the seeds didn't come as a surprise, he does have one question. ]

What happens next?

[epicbraille]

With a moral like that, it seems this urban myth is more like a fairy tale. The Wicked Stepmother's apple taught us not to take treats from strangers, the Big Bad Wolf told us to be wary of our grandmothers, and now Molco's mysterious phone booth is teaching us the value of proper dating etiquette.

[epicbraille]

Now that was a spooky story, if ever I heard one. I won't sleep for weeks!

[ The last part is, of course, a joke. He's too old to ask mother to check under the bed for monsters. ]

The headless princess seems almost vampiric, don't you think?

[greatseal]

He's not in the city, but I don't think he'd mind. Stories are meant to be told.

[epicbraille]

In that case, don't keep me in suspense much longer.

[forceofnature]

Give it up. Alder weak attempts reflect badly on your wits.

Not that that one was so hot.

[primordial]

Yeah, it...it was quite the creepy one, that's for sure.

[A sound of assent.] Mmm, yeah, she does. Especially with the stake in the heart part at the end.

[epicbraille]

I suppose some things never change in the world of horror. Although vampires are supposed to die when their heads are removed, which I don't suppose was a problem for the princess.

[epicbraille]

Would it be too much of a stretch to say you're running rings around me? How about 'take it or leaf it?'

[ . . . ]

I think it would be for the best if we stopped before this gets embarrassing.

[primordial]

Well, they never did say she was a vampire, but a witch, which is a whole other type of creature for the Russian people, I guess...because I know, for a fact, that they do have vampires in other such stories.

[greyerrant]

Even so, I would not tell a story in such a way.

[forceofnature]

Please. This got embarrassing a long time beech-fore we drew the line.

[...]

So what's with storytime, anyway?

[deathboss]

Can we NOT talk about rumors?

[ghost_shield]

Talk about tragic inflictions.

[voice]

[yoursandmine]

[The prompt for a story reminds him of something, so fumbling with the technology for a good minute or two finally gives him some way to reply, even if he starts of a little slow.]

Well... uh.

...There was a great big world. All light and nice. The people were happy.

Except they started to fight. The fighting allowed the darkness into the world, and everything was destroyed.

[Is this lame? It sounds sort of boring; Roxas isn't quite sure he's telling it right.]

[But that's easy enough to do when you have no idea where the stories coming from.]

Except for the lights in children. And.. because of those lights, we have the worlds we know today. Distant and far apart.

[Yep. Lame.]