Category:Telthor
Descriptive Text
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When I was young, maybe five, maybe six, I'd go with my grandmother to the windmill near our village. Grandmother was a wise woman, an elder of the village, and it was her duty to take offerings and tidings to the spirits that watched over the village from the windmill.
That day we took a loaf of bread, a roast chicken, a jug of milk, and a jug of beer - a real feast by most standards. Naturally, I wanted some of this food - it smelled wonderful. But naturally, grandmother said 'no,' and carried the chicken and bread herself, leaving the jugs for me to carry.
Eventually, we get to the windmill, an old abandoned place no one used. Instead, grandmother and the other elders would come out here and paint little drawings and stories about life in the village on the walls. Grandmother had taught me about some of the images - the picture for my birth, the old picture of her birth, the time when the Red Wizard visited the village and took five young boys and five young girls from us, never to be seen again.
Grandmother pushed open the mill's door and we went in. All the food and drink we set in the center of the dusty room. I drew a circle in the dust around the food and grandmother addressed the empty room, saying that we had brought food and drink for the spirits and asking them to bless and protect the village. She spoke a few minutes further, recounting events from the village since she had last visited the windmill, finishing by repeating that the food was for the spirits and repeating the request that the spirits protect the village.
After that, we turned and left, not even bothering with the door. Grandmother had told me on one of our previous trips to never look back when we left the windmill. She said the spirits didn't like it. But that day, I snuck a quick glance back.
There were shimmery, transparent figures gathering around the food we'd left. Some were human, but I saw a wolf and a hawk among them. But I only looked for a moment before grandmother grabbed my ear and started scolding me. She never took me with her after that, and steadily grew more and more odd and withdrawn, until one day she walked out into the plains and disappeared.
- a tale related by Itran the Badger, a Rashemi ruin delver[1]
- ↑ Descriptive text from John W. Mangrum's Teeny Tiny Tales of Terror project (contributed by Chris Nichols), from posts on the Fraternity of Shadows message board.
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