Orbus Folk Tales / Urban Legends / Misadventures


That works fine! You can do that!


Yes. Or you could link to your post in this thread. I want it all there so that people actually have to see and read my post to compete. That way I’m hoping some people will donate DRAM for the contest (see my thread). Also then I don’t message somebody who randomly wins but didn’t even know about the competition. Also that way people who go to this thread who post multiple times can post once in the other thread with their submission. It’s one submission per person and I’ll take the last submission you posted in my thread (or as stated you could link your post here in my thread)


Nice stories, Kamina! Look forward to any others you think of / come up with!

How about those vying for the competition post on MagicBacon’s competition thread, and those just sharing stories continue here since I have nothing to do with the competition. If you post a story here and want it considered for the competition, just copy and paste it over on MagicBacon’s.


Thanks Aris. Sorry for taking attention off your thread though o7


About the Almas spirits :wink:

Stay a while and listen…

There was, once upon a time, a man. But not any man. This man was unusually smart, reminding those near to him of a particularly bright rodent at times. This man had an idea one day. The idea of ideas. Something incredible. Something unbelievable. He went into the magic wood, he bested many dangers and lo! and behold and also verily I guess, when he returned, he held in his hands… a wooden stick.
At this point some of his relatives began to fear for his sanity so they did the only reasonable thing which was to burn him alive on the nearest solstice bonfire for breaking the law of the woods and inflicting environmental hazard on a World Magics Heritage Site.
Anyway, they kept the magic stick which took revenge for its master by turnign them all into not very authentic spirits with a craving for apples of all things.

credits to style of humor to T. Pratchett


Hooray some ghost origin stories! Thanks, Michael!

–The Fisherman of Fishermen

Have you ever wondered why people tend to fish in large groups along the shore? Ever noticed that those boats in the distance never return to the harbor? That those silhouettes never… stop fishing? Supposedly there’s only one known survivor of The Fisherman of Fishermen, The Lurer, The Manfisher… This predator has many names, and one prey in common: those he encounters fishing. Does he seek to protect the fish? Does he want all the fish for himself? They say all Almas Sprite by the water’s edge are his victims, still thinking they can put up a fight, and those doomed to fruitlessly fish on the unmoving ships never even knew what hit them.

–The Star Crossed Friendship

Once upon a time, a young lad just old enough to spread his wings went to Guardian Bart, determined to prove himself as the greatest warrior in all the land. Bart sent this lad to slay a king stag, but he took a wrong turn and went down the stairs by the airship dock. This mistake led to a chance encounter with a rogue runemage, who had been ostracized by Guardian Bart for dabbling in heathen ways. The runemage risked entering the unwelcome town to lead the warrior to his first real world fight. They got along so well that the warrior reached out to the runemage and befriended her. From there on out, they swore they would adventure together. The tough warrior quickly realized how squishy the runemage was, and vowed to always be her shield. They traveled all across the land, ran through random portals, and survived countless misadventures. The runemage taught him how to fish, and the warrior taught her how to make potions. They worked together as a team and even slayed the Völuspa in the cave, just the two of them. The warrior began to dabble in magic and could effortlessly cast fireworks. The runemage also taught him how to cast portals and resurrection - on more than one occasion they had to raise the other from the dead. Whenever an adventure separated them in unknown lands, they could always find each other with their trusty compass. They faced giant spiders, bandits, other formidable foes, and still took the time to share what they could see in the stars. What they didn’t see, what they should have seen, was the end of their journey. The warrior barely finished sending a message to the runemage before he was taken, and though there was only the lapse of a minute, it was too late. The runemage’s shield was gone. To this day on clear starry nights, some say you can still see the runemage studying the stars for clues to his whereabouts, endlessly searching until she can find her warrior again. Others say she has found a way to reach him on the other side, and can only communicate when all the stars are out. Those that dare to get close enough swear they hear the incantation, I’ll dig under the mountains, I’ll search over the clouds, I’ll wish on every single last star


Listen well for I will only speak this tale once.

Years ago there was a young lad who lived just outside of this very town. His name is known only by the mountains and trees now. This lad, for he could not yet be called a man, was a good lad. Hard working and loyal this boy was a favorite of the townspeope. Though he did not live in the town the boy was a frequent visitor as he often came to sell the wool he collected from his sheep. Often the townspeople would question the lad asking him, ‘Why do you not bring us meat from your sheep?’. The boy would always reply the same way, ‘My sheep are not for the slaughter. The only day time they will provide meat is when they die of old age.’. The townspeople always thought this response was strange afterall weren’t sheep raised to be killed? Despite this oddity though the town was always welcoming to the boy and his sheep. This was life for the boy and he loved it. His sheep provided him company and wool for selling and he provided his sheep with protection and love. It was a realtionship that both groups cherished though a relationship that was soon to change forever.

It was a sunny summer afternoon that brought the boy back to flock after a short visit into the town. The lad had found good trades today as the townspeople had just been visited by a number of wealthy adventurers passing through the area. The adventurers had been the talk of the town and the boy hoped that he could maybe meet them later and ask them about their travels. He thouhgt about the many lands the adventurers must have explored and the awesome feats they must have accomplished. All these thoughts vanished from his mind when he saw the remnants of his flock. The carcasses were strewn across the field where he had left them grazing. No sheep had escaped the rampage and the boy could only fall to his knees and weep. Before him lay not just the eviscerated husks of his livelihood but the barren bones of his family.

The boy was distraught and nothing would comfort him. The townspeople took the lad in and attempted to care for him but the boy would not drink he would not eat and he would not sleep. He only sat staring into nothingness and cried soundless tears. On his third day in this state the boy ran out of tears to cry and he merely sat. It was at this time that he learned the truth of what had befallen his sheep, his family. As he sat upon the barstool of the local inn three adventurers wandered into the inn. They were rowdy and spoke to all who would listen of their recent exploits. Mere days ago the boy would have been eager to hear these tales but now they were no more than the sound of wind through the trees to him. That is until he heard one sentence that pierced through his depression: ‘yup those sheep were the easiest kills we ever had’.

The room grew silent though it took the adventurers a moment to realize that no one listened to them anymore. All eyes had turned to the boy on the stool but the boy only stared at the adventurers. “What did you say?” The boy’s voice was hoarse with disuse and caused shivers to run down the townspeoples spines. The adventurers began to reply but the boy gave them no time and lunged at them with a nearby fork. The adventurers scoffed at the attempt and one casually backhanded the boy to the ground before kicking the boy out of the inn.

Outside traffic in the small town stopped as the boy rolled across the ground. The adventurers followed him out and questioned him, ‘Why did you attack us?’. The boy whimpered in the street elicting a swift kick from one of the adventurers, ‘Answer us boy.’. The boy spoke barely above a whisper, ‘You killed my friends.’. The adventurers looked around in confusion until the innkeeper, having followed the disturbance outside, mentioned the boys sheep. The adventurers took a moment to look at each other before bursting out into laughter. One stepped forward and proclaimed, ‘We’d do it again boy. Those sheep were ripe for the slaughter and we’d never have found such easy prey any where else.’. At this the boy lunged at them once again with a shrill wail only to be cast to the ground with another casual blow.

At this the adventurers turned to the townspeople and yelled out, ‘You see this boy, he has attacked us twice now. Take note we do not handle such threats lightly.’ and with that they began to beat the lad. The beating was not intended to kill but it was harsh all the same and many times throughout the boy cried out in pain asking to die and so he did. Though the adventurers were intent on leaving the boy alive few things can hold the human spirit to life when it has given up and so the boy breathed his last there in the town square under the heels of the adventurers but his story does not end there.

Months went by after this event and the tale of the young lad became a cautionary tale to those who would meddle with adventurers until one night when an adventurer came into town near dead and covered in the blood of his companions. The man was as white as a sheet and told tales of a creature that rose from the ground and set upon his group. When pressed the adventurer revealed that his group had been slaughtering sheep just before the creature appeared. While the adventurer continued to panick the townspeople decided that the creature could be none other than the twisted spirit of the young lad come back to protect his flock from those that would slaughter them for entertainment or gluttony. It is for this reason that to this day we only eat lamb on the rarest of occasions for to kill a sheep is to invite the wrath of the creature.

Hear these words that I have spoken and keep them in mind for even to this day the creature lives.


I have recalled another great tale, but this time it is a story of a grand battle, victory, and subsequent annihilation

The World VS The Worm
The date had been set, the world had decided it was time to make a strike on the most dangerous creature that had ever been discovered, Sanyael The Grand Worm. Standing at 100 feet tall, with even more if it buried under ground, it terrorized the desert ever since its creation by the dark gods, and the heroes of the land decided to finally put a end to it once and for all. Everyone gathered, Laminar, Sharkie, Snugly Bunny, Half Noodle Boy, Female Morgan Freeman, HealBullets, Million Dram Boy, Over Healer, Budget Over Healer, The Disciples of Treasure, and many many more. Leading them all in the effort to destroy this beast was Super Spread Sheet Guy.

When the night arrived, everyone gathered in front of Her layer, and SSS Guy told everyone the plan of attack. Right before they troop went to battle, Laminar stepped forward to give a speech. These words were no ordinary speech, it was the most magnificent speech that had ever been given. Upon hearing Lamina’s words, the army became filled with courage and hope for the battle to come. After that the battle started quickly, with SSS Guy giving the attack command and everyone rushing the beast. Arrows flew, spells raged, bullets pinged, and swords slashed. Every time the worm into a group of adventurers, they would expertly escape danger, and come out unscathed. Sanyael would flail, lashing out at everything in its way, but each time it did the targets would deftly escape. The beast was all brawn! No speed, intellect, or precision! As they began to corner it, it let out a devastating blast of poison on everything within 100 yards. Everyone was affected, but the quick thinking of the healers saved the day, as they quickly decursed the whole group. After its trump card was exposed and dealt with, the rest fell right into place. The worm was slain!

As the celebration at a outstanding victory was unfolding, lightning flashed, thunder boomed, and the sky tore in two. A message had been received from the gods. The Sanyael they had just fought was a “special” Sanyael, and none of its attacks besides the poison were able to harm anything and that a new one would be sent, with it fully functioning and fully powered
The heroes, although disheartened by the news, were still confident in their inevitable victory. With a cry they began there attack again, and as they charged, Sanyael dived at them. The adventurers that was its aim prepared to dodge, but as they were reach by Sanyael, every single one died. Every move Sanyael moved, a dive, a flail, a slash, a roar, more people died. This continued, until there was only one remaining. The last one remaining was none other than Sanyael The Grand Worm.

this is another true story


old legends speak of a jester who plopped his orbs on an old island and some worshipers took them now brave adventurers seek to clam his special orbs.



Also, oooooooo, Super Spread Sheet like an excel spreadsheet… I was honestly envisioning a spread out sheet, totally flat with no wrinkles, and wondered who would have been named that. Spreadsheet, now life makes sense xD

I also wanted to add that Guardian Bart talks of singing on the battle field, but he’s wrong about it being the weapons… It’s the dead who are singing.


Btw, anyone who can correctly put the peoples real names (in game) to their assigned nick name will get 500 dram!

i think my dram is safe :stuck_out_tongue:


Is there a prize for getting three right? Because I only think I know three :sweat_smile:


Haha, if no one else gets more than 3 right, then sure
out of curiosity, which ones do you know?


I think I know Super Spreadsheet Guy (now that I know it’s like an excel spreadsheet instead of an un-wrinkled picnic blanket), Half Noodle Boy, and is “The Disciples of Treasure” one person? That one’s a total guess, though… I’m only confident on the first two.


The funniest thing is that half of those players weren’t actually there for that battle :joy:


“The Disciples of Treasure” could be anywhere from 6 to 2 people depending if your talking about now or back then, but thats confusing so i wont count it for this xD


who wasnt there?!?!?!


Snugly Bunny, Half Noodle Boy, Million Dram Boy, one or 2 healers (can’t tell which is who lol)


Yeah, I heard a tale once…
It’s not a story The Order would tell you. It’s a pagan legend.
Something you’d never hear spoken of in the polite company of Warriors and heroes, but maybe by a daft fool carrying on at Lakewood Inn, or maybe in the basement of that one building in Old Kingsport back in the day, you know the one right? You look like the type.

It’s about magic.
Witches, warlocks, wizards, mages; whatever you’d call 'em, whatever they go by in these times.
They have blessed wands of magic, and they draw these shapes – runes – with 'em. In the air, if you can believe it. They have to be very precise and accurate too, only the exact shape of the rune will conjure the magic, there’s no faking.
Heard plenty of folks have tried it in secret initiations and quickly gave up, preferring the ease of squeezing the trigger of a gun to produce a ‘bang’ than the delicate artistry & steady hand & endless careful practice required for magic spell casting of a ‘boom’.

But there was this one Rune Mage…
They say this mage didn’t have proper form, wasn’t mindful, cared not for rules. This mage didn’t study the textbook wand casting positions. Didn’t practice rigid casting styles like everyone else.
This mage would run into a dungeon and swing the wand wildly and loosely in the air and cast arcane ray every time; the favored spell. Some reports of comrades suggest that those arcane ray runes were so free-form, so non-conformist that their lines were bent & curved forward or back, and that they sometimes even started with a curly-Q and ended with other unnecessary serif flairs.
They called this style Drunken Arcane Ray Style.

The covens don’t teach it.
Tinny, drunk herself, won’t even mention it to you.
They say if you can understand and cast arcane rays in the Drunken Arcane Ray Style, that the entire rune magic paradigm opens up to you and no longer will you be restricted to casting the precise, accurate lines of known runes.

But what would I possibly know about that? I’m merely a humble scholar of the arts…
::returns bottle of liquor to backpack::


Also to help fuel or fluff some stories, here’s a post from way-back-when that can serve as inspiration :slightly_smiling_face:

After reviewing this historical documentation, my take away is that the custom of shaving one’s head before donning a hat is finally explained.

–The Tradition of Shaving to Don a Hat

In the olden days toward the beginning of our civilization, hats were so coveted that each individual receiving a hat had its own celebration! Hats were bestowed upon hunters deemed worthy, and as part of their acceptance process, hair is removed so that nothing distracts from the honorable display of the hat. This tradition remains to this day, and that’s why only uncouth folk not steeped in our traditions have hair despite wearing a hat.