Sharing stories
I was asked to produce some texts surrounding Durga Syn of clan Ravnos before attending the second Convention of Thorns-larp taking place in October 2017. This is the first piece.
“Bear no ills at this place and you are welcome to share stories, stranger. “
“ I am Jarka, of Gangrel, as you, no?”
It was unusual to see someone embraced at such an age, especially one of their own. The crone sat down at the ground, gingerly as if every movement threatened her crooked limbs. Her face showed no ill intentions, her eyes dark and almost... kind.
Introductions were made, she was made aware of that they were noble gangrels, strong and proud, and the conversation from before resumed. Several of them worried, sharing their observations of how kindred of Nosferatu had started to disappear.
“The look of a nosferatu on the run out of fear is.. It's an omen of something far worse. “
“You've not heard the tale? “
The crone hummed quietly and seemed to collect her words before speaking again.
“In a time far from now there was a tribe of kine, they lived for them selves but were a thorn in Baba Yaga the great's eye. You do not anger Baba Yaga, and if she sees one as an issue you must have made an impact. The old nosferatu does not stir in vain, as powerful as she is. The legend says Baba Yaga did her part in tearing the tribe apart but found a soul within it's community that moved her, even impressed the old creature so greatly that she wanted to sire the soul.
The soul is said to have belonged to a young shaman, a girl of incomparable beauty and with a heart filled of love, and this soul denied Baba Yaga. Baba Yaga who could not understand what it was to have family and love tore the tribe apart, piece by piece, soul by soul, sending plagues, curses, sickness and unspeakable horrors upon the shaman and her tribe.”
It was as if the shadows drew closer around them, but the crone looked undeterred. Something about her bade them to trust, and there was a certain note in her words.. The way a really good story makes you feel.
“ When the final attack, a group of lycans, tore in to the flesh of the last member of the tribe, a group of Ravnos snatched the shaman. I can see your confusion, but you must know that the line of Ravnos have been in conflict with the great Baba Yaga since before memory, and they snatched what they thought was the future child of the nosferatu, embracing the dying, cursed and sick shaman to their own clan, hoping to press her for secrets and not knowing the hate the shaman carried for the nosferatu.
The shaman is said to not have said a word for twenty nights after the embrace, and when finally speaking again she set out to learn all secrets of the thief-clan before spending her unending nights hunting Baba Yagas loyalists as Baba Yaga hunted the shaman's tribe.
That is why they are on the run, they believe that evil shaman of Ravnos is after them, cursing every step they take and forcing them to regret every word of support for Baba Yaga that they've ever uttered…”
Silence dominated the air around the camp for a moment, suddenly broken by the crone’s laugh.
“ It is a legend, a ghost story, that the nosferatu believes. Worry not your heads “ said she while plucking an egg from one of her pockets and proceeded to whisper something, her lips close to the eggs spotted shell. The egg was then cracked and she spilled it’s contents in her hand, but instead of the pale and yellow substance of bird’s eggs the content dripping between her fingers was blood. They could smell it as well as if kine bled next to them.
“ Whatever they believe is hunting them is soon gone from this land. “