Year 50,000: The Bellaron Sacrifice Chamandra

Previous history

     Year 0: The Brun return to the frozen north 
          Year 30,000:  The cleansing ritual of Oparron

(I started off the players with How The Beast of the Sea Slew the Weak.  The title alone made them apprehensive.  The fingers began pointing in Connor's direction almost as soon as the story was concluded.)

The Oparron tribe has crossed the island chain, in boats and rafts, for millennia. In that time, their society has changed; those who are strongest survive, and those who perish weren’t strong enough. Leaders of the tribe (now called Bellaron) are chosen by combat prowess; a loser who survives, which doesn’t happen often, is exiled. A loser who fails to survive is purified: that is, boiled or burnt. Mates are often selected by contest as well, with men fighting for the right to a woman or, just as frequently, women fighting over men.

Upon reaching adulthood, men and women must undergo a rite of passage, to do something daring and possibly deadly. Thousands of years ago, such demonstrations included hunting game alone; more recently, demonstrations involved far-ranging expeditions to find new islands, or deep-diving demonstrations to bring up pearls.

Now, as the seas are rising, their islands are disappearing, but salvation is in sight: land is just visible on the horizon.

The leader of the Turning Shell tribe has organized expeditions to neighboring islands to bring back as many trees as can be found, to make rafts to get the people to the mainland. The leader, Windstrong Ravvy (M, 50) is a tough, judicious leader. Yes, the trip to the mainland is perilous, but we cannot remain. Some will die, but the strong will make it.

Not all are happy with the decision to go. Many of the younger generation follow the words of Nightsky Chamandra (M, 16) who says he is the strongest who ever lived. He has personally killed seven men in combat, he can have any mate he wants, and he is not afraid o the water. He will remain behind with all his mates and any who will stay. In fact, Chamandra claims that the Sea Spirit spoke to him and told him he was immortal. He will remain behind and the tribe will witness that no harm comes to him.

Ravvy says he cannot allow this. Those that follow Chamandra include most of the women of childbearing age, and without them, Ravvy will have a short-lived time on the mainland.

The medicine woman of the Turning Shell tribe, Copperdawn Dainar (F, 43) is not much use. Although she agrees that the waters will consume all the island and it is not safe to remain, it is also not safe to go. The berries which grow on the island are key to fertility: without the seaberries, we have no children. Have you not noticed that a woman only bears children when she eats of the seaberry? Have you not noticed that men only sire children when they have eaten the seaberry? There is a reason we use the seaberry in our rites of passage ritual, she says; we cannot abandon the islands, and yet we cannot leave. Our way of life is doomed; the world is ending; game over, man, etc.

That is nonsense, says Queenfisher Abda (F, 22). We all eat of the berries. Who here has not? In any case, the sea will support us. I will show you the way. I, who have dived deeper than any, and I who can remain below the water for hours at a time, will show you how the sea can sustain us.

Chamandra and Ravvy are squaring off to see which of their people will follow them.

What The Players Decided  

"He says he's immortal?" asked Connor.  "Let's kill him.  That will solve it.  They won't pay any attention to him once we kill him off."

What if he is immortal? I asked reasonably.

"Oh." And they went back to the drawing board.

"Hang on, that purification ritual," Joe the Leader said, glaring at Connor.  "The whole burning and boiling heads thing. If he is immortal, he'll be the last to fall. So who will purify his remains? He can't leave his people. What does he say to that?"

"I am immortal," said Chamandra. "The question shall never arise."

"So he says he's immortal," the Joe said, trying again. "That doesn't mean he can protect the people that stay behind. Doesn't he care about them?"

"If they're strong," Chamandra says, "they'll survive. If they don't, they weren't strong enough."

"Boy," said Connor the Mystic, "we really messed these people up."

"What do you mean we?" asked Dave and Joe, together.

"All right, let's test his immortality," Joe said, coming back around to Connor's first solution. "He doesn't seem to afraid to demonstrate it. If the people see that he's not immortal, they won't be as likely to take his advice and remain on the islands."

"We'll make him dive into the water and stay there for ... like, two days," Dave said.

"What about that water-breathing chick — Abda?" Joe asked.  "She can stay down for hours. What if she breathes air into his mouth?"

"We don't let her go down with him."

"What if he can breathe water too?"

"Hmmm. Okay, let's not use water. Let's say, All right, you're immortal, do as you will. Before we depart the island we must perform the purification ritual for you. For if we all leave, who would perform these rites for you? Just step over here and stand in this fire..."
 

They built a giant bonfire to purify the body of Chamandra prior to his death. If he really wasn't immortal, he'd die, no problems, and we don't have to worry about him.

Chamandra was happy to oblige, and gathered the people before the fire. "I accept my purification directly from the hands of the Four Warriors, the only ones who have the power to do so—"

("I knew he was going to do that!" said Joe.)

"I will die, but I will be reborn—"

("Aaargh, why didn't we think of that?" asked Dave.)

"—for I am immortal. You must now leave my islands. You will rue the day that you ever chose to leave."

He then stepped into the fire and burned to death.

The Players looked at each other.  "Oh, great," said Joe.

Results  

The effects of this event are too complex to enter into here, but suffice to say that the tribes of Brun who would now populate the mainland would have a strong element of sacrifice in their mythology.  They would all tell the tale of Chamandra, who was sacrificed to make the rising waters fall.  At the time I prepared this event, I thought it might be amusing to introduce a character that was actually immortal, considering how the Players would continue to return to the world and see the changing face of culture and technology.  Wouldn't it be fun to see one familiar face?  I did not, however, expect the Players to immediately resent this supposed immortal and order him burned to death.  You might say that the Players hadn't handled this particular Event very well.  I say that they gave me a gift, such that any GM would love to receive.

How the Beast of the Sea Slew the Weak

When the world was young and the seas were cold and the skies rained, the Island People did long ago live in the Land of the Setting Sun.  Their leader, a mighty leader called Axe-Hand Oparron, led the people to a place where there was nothing but water on all sides, and here he told them to rest and prepare for the hunt.

As the people rested and prepared, Four Warriors came forth from the Land of the Setting Sun, and they called out a warning.  But the people did not listen, and behold!  Two giant beasts of shell and horn emerged from the sea, and did slay five of the people.

Huntress Javaz said, “We must slay these beasts in kind,” and she led her mighty warriors to the battle, and they did kill the beasts of the sea.

And the mighty leader Axe-Hand Oparron said, “You have done well, you have slain the beasts.  Now we hunt.”

But the people were starving and two of the weakest of them ate the flesh of the beasts, and those people turned red in the face and died at once.

And the people said, “These are not beasts that we can eat!  Axe-Hand Oparron, what shall we hunt?  For there is no food.”

Huntress Javaz said, “Only the strongest among us can eat the flesh of these beasts.  Dare you to see if you are strong, or if you are weak?”

And Axe-Hand Oparron consulted Warrior Zoad and Mystic Olan, and they said, “From this day forth, on the day when a boy becomes a man, and on the day a girl becomes a woman, each shall taste of the sea berry, and each shall partake of the flesh of the sea beasts, and we shall know if they are strong.”

And thus it was so.

And Huntress Javaz said, “And if ever question arises who is to hunt, the hunt shall be led by the strong, and not by the weak.”

And Mystic Olan said, “And if ever question arises who is to be our medicine man, we shall choose the one with the strongest spells, and not the weakest.”

And Axe-Hand Obarron, who was wisest of all, said, “And if ever question arises which is the strongest, remember the Four Warriors, who saw the beasts of the sea when others saw it not.”

Year 106,250: The Ascent Of Chamandra

(Just to keep the players on their toes, I started them off with a piece of mythology that was surprisingly ... accurate.  This was The First Pilgrimage, the tale of the people of Cha.)

We return to the eastern continent.  The Ovron sorcerer tribes are the most advanced civilization of the plains, possessing mathematics, currency, a code of laws, bronze, and drama, but they are by no means the only civilization.  There are others.

First, the Drogol.  They have adapted to life on the unpredictable tornado-swept plains by becoming nomads.  They plant ground as they find it, abandon it just as easily, and harvest from whichever fields seem to have survived the stormy season.  Their agricultural methods are slipshod, as they spend no more effort than necessary — their philosophy is, “Why bother?  The winds may come north this year.”  They carry most of what they need on the backs of donkeys.  The Drogol are a polytheistic culture just barely out of the Stone Age; they have and can work bronze, but they rarely mine it themselves.  Like the Ovron, their southern neighbors, they believe in a demon-filled world where forces of nature are wielded against helpless humanity.  The Drogol, however, have given up trying to appease them.  “Why bother?” they say.  “There is always another demon.”

The only city of note among the Drogol is Olghoq, a semipermanent camp and bazaar, usually found in the same general area but prone to moving every year.

What the Drogol have become, living on the fringes of Ovron society and taking what they can to survive, is very skilled raiders.  The Drogol have inherited the fatalism of the Ovron and converted it into a daredevil code of machismo.  Tempting fate is not sufficient for the Drogol; they must poke Fate in the eye and call him a pansy.

It isn’t any wonder that the Drogol developed the arts of magical camouflage and of swift movement, for their lifestyle depends on fast strikes, attacks from ambush, unseen reconnaissance, and quick retreats.  Surprisingly, their culture is accepting and egalitarian, unlike the Ovron; in a world where a downtrodden lower class can simply ride off to the next hilltop and start his own rival clan, laws and castes are not strictly enforced.  The mark of a good leader is solving his clan’s problems with diplomacy, and fighting other Drogol as little as possible.  “Why bother?” they ask.  “You never know how many you’re fighting.”

The Drogol commonly raid their more settled neighbors to the north, the Ototek.  The Ototek are mired in the Stone Age, but they live in well-built cities for all of that.  They have observed and learned from their southern neighbors; the best-traveled among them know what the Ovron cities of the plains look like, and they have done their best to imitate them.  The walls of Bihotinep are stone, their buildings are stone; and the impressive ziggurats that serve as temples are also made of massive, cut blocks of stone.  All was built by hand, for the Ototek have few beasts of burden available to them, and with the little magic that they know.

The Ototek still recall the stories of Chamandra and the sacrifice to the sea god, although in their more modern adaptations, Chamandra is the god Monka, the sun god, and humans are sacrificed for his pleasure.  The Ototek use their Stone-Aged weapons for gladiatorial combat, taking the ancient survival-of-the-fittest habits of the Brun to grisly new heights.  Elaborate combat arenas have been set up for the Ototek’s enjoyment; the competitors are sometimes Ototek criminals, or captives from other nearby cultures, the Drogol raiders especially.  The fight is always to the death; only the winner has the honor of being sacrificed to Monka.  Sometimes the Ototek release prisoners into the arena with wild beasts for blood sport.

This shockingly primitive culture had the ill fortune to arise in a region without copper, without tin, and without even gold; the only metals at their disposal are erratic iron ores that can be found on the surface, and silver — which, for the most part, they haven’t the tools to extract.  They are the survivors of a prehistoric line of Brun tribesmen that crossed the land bridge without any surviving magic users.  As a consequence, their magic rituals are entirely their own, developed independently as magical talent arose among them.  Their spells often involve ritual sacrifice, blood, entrails, flame, and boiling skulls.  Berries smeared on the face, only in season.

The third culture north of the Ovron lives on the Gulf of Dawn.  The Cha are far advanced in technology and culture beyond the Ototek and the Drogol, but they are not numerous.  Their society is conservative and ancient, but fragile.  They have advanced bronze working and metal casting, silver currency, mathematics, and music.  They are the only culture on the eastern continent to possess both horses and cattle; they have cotton from Sathad, rice from Thos Ophos, and skelt from Skeltern.  They sail in the Gulf of Dawn using boats reminiscent of the Bazik catamarans; they write their stories and draw maps using an alphabet derived from the Jorannian cuneiform.  Their advanced technology is a patchwork, as if they had drawn at random a selection of inventions the world over, each from a different period in history.  The Cha seek to understand their technology as best they can, but their people are relatively few, only twenty thousand or so, and they cannot by themselves reproduce and improve upon the efforts of all the inventors of the world.  At best, their understanding of technology is a synthesis of the work of others.

The leader of the Cha is Chamandra (M; ~56,250).  He and all his people are immortal.  They are his descendants, and have inherited from him the ability to reincarnate.  Technically, this means they are all related, although the relationships are usually more complex; a reincarnated spirit may be reborn into a different family than his previous incarnation.

Prior to death, the people of Cha perform rituals that they have developed over the years.  The rituals encourage the reincarnated spirit to be reborn close to home, often within their own village.  If the departed person cannot be reincarnated within the village, he or she is born into a different race somewhere in a nearby culture.  The child is then raised in the new culture, and upon reaching adulthood he or she makes a pilgrimage back to Shezy.

The people of the Gulf of Dawn are avid star-watchers and have named a great many constellations in the heavens.  The stars help guide them back to their native lands when they become reborn in a far corner of the globe.  They know many languages, for as they are reborn they learn a new native tongue; and they study maps to help them return home.

Once every few lives, a Cha will die without benefit of ritual.  This is sometimes deliberately done, and sometimes the result of accident or misadventure.  The departed Cha will become reborn in any distant culture in the world, living his life among other people and learning their technology, before eventually finding his way back.  Some Cha are gone for generations, unable to get back during one life, and forced to wait until the next.  The period between death and eventual return to the city of Shezy is known as the Pilgrimage, and it is through these Pilgrimages that the Cha have acquired such a potpourri of useful knowledge the world over.  Some enterprising Cha heroes even managed to bring back breeding pairs of livestock, crop seeds, and ships.

The Cha are facing no immediate danger; there is no crisis on the horizon; there is no prophecy of disaster.  The people are, after all, effectively immortal — sometimes people don’t come back from death — but otherwise there are few earthly threats that worry the Cha.  All things can be overcome in time, and Chamandra has had more than enough time.

That, in fact, is the problem.  Chamandra, the leader, has summoned the gods privately, apart from his people, to demand an answer to his existential crisis.

“Great gods,” he says, “I do not know why you have put me here on this Earth to be born again and again, and to die again and again.  I have lived for more years than I can remember:  one year for every day in a hundred years, or even more.  I have lost count.

“I have seen every corner of the earth, I think, and I have been born under every star, and met every king of this earth.  I am tired of being reborn, great gods, when I do not know my purpose.

“When I was younger, I enjoyed my immortality.  I had been cleansed at the hands of the Four Warriors, personally blessed by the spirits, and sent on my way, and I was deathless.  But I learned to be not so rash, and to protect my people as I swore I would do.  I have tried to keep my people safe, and teach them the Pilgrimage, and show them the world.  My people look up to me.  I am the Eldest.

“But I implore you, Four Warriors—” here he looks at Temu— “and this goddess of foreign lands whom I know not, please tell me my purpose on this Earth.  I have gathered knowledge here in Shezy.  I have seen the Earth.  I have lived for tens of thousands of years.  There are those, whom I have seen, who live in lands to the south, and they worship the name of Chamandra as if I were a god.  I am no god.  I have not the power of the heavens to save mankind.  My only power is to die.  Tell me, great gods, teach me my purpose on this earth, or take this burden away from me.  I can go on no further.”

What The Players Decided  

At first, hearing the story of The First Pilgrimage, the Players gloated to hear that finally, some civilization somewhere didn't revere Chamandra or treat him as an all-knowing savior.  The Chamandra of The First Pilgrimage was arrogant, cocky, boastful, and was humbled by the things he had experienced.  I'm sure the Players were pleased to see their arch-enemy brought low, even as they were curious where this Event was going.

Then we came to the actual civilization that Chamandra had built, despite being surrounded by barbarism.  They heard Chamandra's plea to release him from his burden of immortality.  They saw the repentance and the humility.

"He's repenting now, I like it," said Connor.

"I know," Dave cried.  "It sucks.  I kinda feel sorry for him now, all those years he had to live."

 "What did we do to him?" Jack asked.  He had been present for the original cleansing ritual, way back in Year 50,000.

"Somebody made up a ritual," Joe said darkly in Connor's general direction.

"Was he immortal before that, though?  He said he was immortal.  He probably already knew," Connor said.

Chamandra had said that the Sea God had promised him that he was immortal, I reminded the Players.

"So what do we do with him?  Can we take him up to the afterlife* with us?"

"He's one of us," Connor insisted.

"He's not one of us," Joe said.  Joe had had enough of Chamandra for all these centuries.  So had I, frankly; that's why I wrote this scenario.

"We have to take him with us," Connor insisted.

"Are you saying if he's tired of coming back," Joe said, "he has to ascend and come up here... with us?"

"He'd be the new guy," Dave said.  "He'd get to do all the crappy jobs."

"He's not going to be one of us," Joe said firmly.

"Even if we get rid of him, there's a whole city full of Chamandra," Connor said.  "They're all Chamandra.  We can't get rid of him completely."

"They're not Chamandra.  Maybe they just have a culture that really believes in reincarnation," Joe said.

Then how do they keep coming back from all over the world, with everybody else's inventions? I asked.

"That's how the painting got down there!" Connor said, realizing what it all meant.  He was referring to the pictographic representation of the Cleansing Ritual that had been painted on the cliff walls on the island of Joranne.  That had puzzled them mightily at the time; how did the Jorannian people find out about Chamandra?  They had their explanation.

"Chamandra probably painted it himself," Jack said.

"They're still not all Chamandra," Joe said, getting back to the town of Shezy.

No, I agreed.  They're descended from him.  At some point he had a wife, or wives, who gave him sons and daughters.  Some of them were reborn in nearby tribes, the Drogol or the Ototek or the Brun, and they walked back.  That's how their culture has grown over the centuries, and why they have such a diverse racial stock.  They're literally made up of every race on Earth.  Some more than others, of course.

"What are we going to do with him?" the Players asked each other.

"We'll tell him that his work is done," Dave said.  "That his purpose was to build this civilization, and now he can rest.  We'll take him to the afterlife.  He can sit down with Dytoclanes and play chess with him, or something."

"He'll have to choose a successor," Connor said.

"No," Joe said, putting his foot down.  "Let them worry about that.  That's not our job.  If Chamandra had wanted to pick a successor, he'd have given us three people to pick from, or something.  We take care of him and we're done."

"I still think he's one of us," Connor said.

"He's not coming with us," Joe said.

"What do we tell his people?" Connor asked.  "That he died and went to heaven?"

They're astrologers, I said.  Point up at some stars in the sky and say, That's Chamandra.

"I like it," Connor said.

Results  

I won't know the results of this round until I have prepared for the next round.

*Earlier in the evening we had become diverted into a discussion about the Afterlife, and how it might appear in this world.  Dave's suggestion was for a tiny little place for the good people to go, and a tiny place for the bad people, and a vast cosmic space in between known as the Weaselly Middle Ground.  On a more serious note, the Players did wonder what it was that their god-characters might be doing in between the times they were summoned to the planet.  Was there an afterlife? they wondered.  A Mount Olympus, a Valhalla?  What do we do in between crises?  "If there is an afterlife, and we have anything to say about it," Dave said, "I'm going to make sure that philosopher, Dytoclanes, is set up.  Nice summer place, the works.  Every time you give me a hard time about the Weaselly Middle Ground, I'm gonna quote that guy at you."

The First Pilgrimage

Back in the beginning of Time, the gods fashioned the Earth.  They shaped it round, like a fruit, and they scattered it around with stars, and they hung over it a sun and a moon.  At the north of the world, where on a fruit might be a stem, and on the south where might be found a blossom, the gods placed ice.  And they shaped the Earth into mountains and rivers and lakes and islands, and they placed the People upon it.

Now the People all came from one place in the beginning, for all tales start there.  And over the years the People did move in all different directions, separating, rejoining, marrying, and making war.  And so it came to pass that the People did live in every corner of the Earth.

Some of the people in those days were crossing the ocean, and the oceans were rising, though know man today knows why.  And there was one among them who was named Chamandra.  And Chamandra was young and foolish in those days, and he believed that he could stop the rise of the oceans and save his people, and he taunted the gods with his foolishness and he dared them to cast him into the flames of sacrifice.  And Chamandra boasted that although he might die, he would be reborn, and thus it was so, for Chamandra was the first Immortal.

Now Chamandra was reborn at the will of the gods, but he did not return to his people on the ocean.  He was reborn first in a faraway land where men and horse were one beast.  He lived there, and died, and was again reborn.  And each time he was reborn, he became less a fool, and he began to understand the grand creation of the gods, and he began to repent his previous ways.

So Chamandra began the First Pilgrimage, and he walked and walked and walked, until he died and was born again.  And when he came of age, he again walked and walked, until he reached the place where the land fell away into ocean, and from there he sailed, until he died and was reborn.  And when he came of age again, he sailed and sailed until he reached the place where the Four Gods had cast him into the flames of sacrifice.  And when he saw that island, which he knew of old, he knew that he had been a fool, for he had not been sacrificed, and yet the oceans had fallen.

And Chamandra regretted his boast, and he renounced it, and he decided his Pilgrimage must be over.

It was then that the women of the sea whispered to Chamandra, “Your Pilgrimage is not at an end.  Have you not learned?  Are you not wiser?  Do you not recall that you swore to protect your people?”

Then Chamandra knew that the real purpose of his Pilgrimage had been to remind him of his duty to his people, and thus he set off to follow in the footsteps of Windstrong Ravvy and Copperdawn Dainar, who last he saw, a hundred years ago, had talked of sailing for the mainland.

Tale of the Sea Wind

Long ago, two armies appeared on the borders of Usta, each determined to fight for her riches.  One army was led by General Jabess of Ovron, and the other army was led by General Roonda of Baruna.  And Ovron had brought his sorcerers and his best beserkers, and Roonda had brought his phalanxes, and the two armies did poise for battle on the edge of the city.

Just as it came to pass that General Jabess raised his horn to signal the armies to attack, and just as General Roonda raised his bronze sword to announce the armies to charge, there came a mighty wind blowing, and all the trees shivered, and all the ground shook.

Behold, for from the city came the figure of Chamandra the Immortal, he who speaks for the gods themselves, and Chamandra came between the two armies and said:  “Why do you make war in the land of Usta?  Why do you destroy her prosperity?  Why do you waylay her merchants and seize her goods?”

General Jabess said, “The people of Usta must be made to follow the laws of Ovron, for we have sworn to protect the people from the demons of Beyond.  The heretic and devil-appeaser, General Roonda, stands in our way.”

Then General Roonda said, “The people of Usta are part of our Great Circle, and without them our people are lessened.  The wealth of Usta must be brought into the Circle for its own protection, and the fanatic and tyrant General Jabess mocks us with his presence.”

“But why is it yours to protect, General Jabess?  And why is it yours, General Roonda?” Chamandra asked them.  “The city of Usta belongs to itself.”

The two mightiest generals stood before one another, neither willing to give way, but neither with the proof of property that entitled him to rule over Usta.

“Then through me,” said Chamandra, “the gods declare this:  he who raises a sword or casts a spell or takes so much as a trinket of Usta for his own shall be swept away into the sea.  The gods have spoken.”

But that night, when the moon rose, General Roonda did stealthily creep into the town of Usta with his phalanxes, hoping that the gods did not see.  And General Jabess, too, had with spells of invisibility crept into the town, also to seize it for his own.  And they saw one another, and immediately they ordered their armies into the fray.

Even as they did so, a terrible wave rose from the ocean and crashed down into the very center of Usta, washing away all sign of both armies, and cleansing the streets even of their blood and bones.  All the armies and their retainers and donkeys and dogs of war were swept into the boiling sea.

And ever since that day, none has dared make war on Usta, or waylay her merchants on the roads, or steal the least of her trinkets, lest they answer to the gods.