short-story

The Wolf and The Unicorn

/ gregorywallsworth / Leave a comment

In Sagenlund, stories matter. They are more than entertainment and history, and at times more than prophecy. They are forces that quietly reshape the world. Most tales are small things: comforts for children, warnings whispered at night, half-remembered lessons passed from one generation to the next. But every so often, a story takes hold strongly enough that it does more than endure. It changes what is possible.

The following tale is one such story. It is the first telling of the Wolf and the Unicorn, a myth that spread faster than it could be contained and, in doing so, gave rise to Overmodmarken—the unexplored continent over which the King and the Bard now vie through stories. Whether told as a children’s story, a migration myth, or a quiet act of defiance, it stands at the heart of Sagenlund’s lore, marking the moment when hope was no longer something remembered, but something to be pursued.

What followed were the myths that gave rise to the heroes – the hope-bringers. Then came monsters, despair, and everything that devourers hope. I will follow up with entries for those as well, but today I share the foundation myth that led to a vast new continent, filled with dangerous legends, powerful treasures, and myths yet to be told.

The Wolf and The Unicorn:

Long ago, there were two children. During the great war, their father was called into service. On the last night he was home, he told them the story of the wolf and the unicorn.

As he went to tuck them in for bed, the little one began to cry. The sound of his tears broke the older one’s spirit, and soon both children were sobbing uncontrollably. They wondered if they would ever see their father again.

The father held them each in turn, then asked if they had heard the story of the Wolf and the Unicorn. They shook their heads, trying to stop the flow of tears. Then the father began:

Two children went into the woods to play.

They played and played, making forts, pretending they were knights, and all manner of make-believe. Before long, they had become hopelessly lost. They tried to find their way out and came across a small squirrel. They asked the squirrel for help. He replied, “Out of the forest? How could that be? The forest goes on forever.”

Next, they found a bird and asked the same question. The bird replied, “Out of the forest? Why, you need only go up.”

They continued on like this, and each animal in turn shared its own way out—the turtle telling them to go into the river, the mouse telling them to go underground, and so on.

Then they came upon a wolf and a unicorn. Like all the other animals, they offered a way out. The wolf promising food and shelter, the unicorn simply showing them the way.

Their stomachs growled, and they followed the wolf. As they walked, they asked how much further they were, and each time the wolf replied, “Not far.” The brother began to grow nervous, and each time he glanced around, he caught a glimpse of the unicorn.

Finally, they neared their destination. The wolf nodded them toward a cave, and his smile revealed sharp teeth stained a brilliant crimson. The boy nudged his sister and pointed through the trees, where light reflected brilliantly off a shining horn.

Something in them broke all at once. The sister seized her brother’s hand and ran.

With this, the wolf grew angry and gave pursuit. Ahead, the children glimpsed light flashing from the unicorn’s horn; behind them, crimson teeth gnashed within the wolf’s jaws. All the while, the wolf chased them, and the unicorn seemed always just out of reach.

This continued  for an eternity. Each time the siblings stopped, one child or the other wanted to give up, saying, “Perhaps we are mistaken. Perhaps the wolf will feed us.” But in turn, each prodded the other along no matter how wary they grew. Always fearful of those crimson teeth, always seeing the brilliant reflection of the horn just out of reach. And so they turned toward the unicorn and ran once more.

Then, just as the wolf was about to catch them, they tripped over a log and fell into a stream. The current tossed and turned, then carried them safely to the opposite shore. As they climbed out of the river, they saw smoke rising in the distance from cookfires in a town. They turned back to look at the forest one last time and saw the unicorn and wolf once more, both safely out of reach.

Each night, the mother retold the children that story, saying, “Perhaps tomorrow we receive news of your father.” But, alas, when tomorrow finally came, the news was as they had feared.

Even still, their mother shared the story each day. Always pointing the children towards something new, always towards the future. But tragedy was not done with them. One day, their mother grew terribly ill. So the sister carried on their tradition, comforting her brother and mother, each day praying for her mother’s swift recovery. But alas, that day never came either.

The first night the children went to bed without either parent, the older sister did not tell the tale. Her brother asked for it, but she grew angry and refused. The brother said, “Maybe it’s my turn. We don’t want the wolf to catch us after all.”

Then, after the boy finished telling the tale he asked, “Where do you think the forest is?”

Startled, the girl replied, “It’s just a story.” The boy replied just as confidently, “No, no I don’t think so.” He then got up and packed a bag.

Unsure what to do, the girl followed her younger brother’s lead. They couldn’t stay there anyway and needed to go get help. Then the two set off.

Soon, the boy found tracks. Huge paw prints, with large gaps between them. Determined to find what left them, he followed.

After a short while, they came to a cave. There, they saw the wolf and the unicorn. The unicorn stood just inside the cave, crouched low, its the horn pointed towards the wolf. The wolf circled just outside, growling, its claws striking stone.

Seeing the unicorn, the two children were overjoyed and heedlessly charged into danger. The wolf turned and showed its crimson teeth, but the moment’s distraction was enough. The unicorn charged the wolf, slaying it.

The children realized, as in their story, they were now lost. The unicorn raised its head, pointing its horn towards the brilliant moon, and then disappeared. They children saw no wolf, no footprints, and no unicorn. Cold, confused, and lost, they argued over what to do. Then, the girl said. “Shouldn’t we follow the unicorn now?”

Frustrated, the boy replied, “What unicorn? This was all just silly make-believe.” Then the girl set off to follow the path of the moon, and the boy reluctantly followed.

For many years, as the children grew, they pondered the moon and the stars, wondering where they might lead. They followed the moon east until they settled in a small port town. The boy learned to sail and, in time, became a ship captain. He returned to find his sister, and together they set sail, braving stormy seas and unknown waters, until they find Overmodmarken.

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This tale birthed the land of hope, but hope cannot exist on its own. Despair always lurks nearby. The difference between Sagenlund and Overmodmarken is that, in the latter, hope often conquers despair. If one can escape the forest or the town, one can leave the land where despair wins the day.

When the Bard wove this tale, his goal was only to create images of hope for people to cling to—to create a symbol. What he achieved was far more. His tale, and its many variants, spread too quickly to be contained. It gained a life of its own, as others spun stories of the siblings’ journey to the new land and what they found there. All the while, the Collector listened.

Stories in Sagenlund never begin with “Once upon a time.” Rather, they start “in a land far away,” or “long ago.” A story not steeped in mystery, not left open in time and place, or stated as false is not one the Collector can weave into truth.

Song of the Sirens

/ gregorywallsworth / 1 Comment

Recently my focus has been on revisions for two upcoming publications, Mysteries in Elanysia and Echoes of the Void. For the first one, I have some commissioned art now and I AM EXCITED! This has put work on my Polynesian game Journey of the Wayfinder on the back-burner.

For my next one-shot, Song of the Sirens, I went deep on original lore for the main enemy. The lore came from trying to answer a simple question, “If the PCs wanted to strike a bargain with the Sirens what would they need to provide?” The answer came quickly, a new song from the gods. This led me to ask, why?

That why became a myth. It’s inspiration is as much Greek tragedy as it is Polynesian. After all I’ve been reading Greek myths since I was a kid. Hopefully I’ve managed to capture a bit of the spirit of Polynesian Myths as well. The legend follows below:

              There was once a beautiful Arioi named Moatangi, whose performances were a mesmerizing array of dancing on water and singing. She’d climb the mast of her canoe, belt songs swinging from the ropes, dive into the sea, and swim back continuing her song until she emerged from the water to finish her ballad as she walked ashore. Over time these acts grew in grandeur. Sometimes she involved dozens of vessels in the act. Lower ranked Arioi would swim in unison, and a chorus of singers, dancers, and musicians accompanied her.

              Her performances eventually attracted the attention of Tavahanu, voice of the wind. At first, he listened silently. The stillness of the wind while he listened provided a quiet backdrop which emphasized the grandeur of her performance. Then, Tavahanu began to carry Moatangi’s songs farther, emboldening the fortes and muting the pianos. Over time, she replaced some of her accompaniment with the sounds of nature. Learning, if only subconsciously, how to leverage the songs of nature. As she sang, the wind would carry the melody of birds, the song of palm fronds swaying in the winds, or the violent echoes of the wind wailing through hollow passages.

              One night as she slept under the stars on the beach, she awoke to a whistling sound leading inland. Thinking she heard the echo of her name on the wind, she followed the sound. Eventually, she found its source to be a cave and heard the most beautiful array of nature’s melodies ever.

The cave was the perfect instrument for the wind. A thousand hollowed out caverns of different shapes and sizes allowing the wind to create a symphony of noises, replicating any sound imaginable. Tavahanu filled the cave with music and Moatangi began to sing a melody to the tune. Her song was a love ballad, like the world had never heard. Starting with the eternal embrace of Rangi and Papa, telling of the one-sided love of Hina and Tuna, the near tragedy of Hinemoa and Tūtānekai, and continuing with all the love stories of the gods.

              Throughout the night islanders were stirred awake by the music. They were mesmerized by the sounds and found themselves compelled to move towards the music. Enraptured by the music everyone who came stayed the entire night. Moatangi never looked outside the cave. She was overcome by the feelings she attempted to express through the ballad she sang. Having finally found the melody within her soul.

              As the sun began to rise the Arioi’s voice broke. Her music stopped, and finally she whispered. “What are you to make such beautiful songs, I have seen nothing all night as I accompanied you? My voice but a back-up singer to the melody of love itself.”

              The wind replied, “Moatangi, you are mistaken. The tune comes from your heart, I but listen and play it so you can sing. I am Tavahanu, voice of the wind. Stay here with me for nowhere else can I come close to echoing the beauty of your voice. No where else can I make all sounds that can be heard by man. Long I have tried to lead you here.”

               She paused for a long moment, puzzled by the statement. For nothing has freedom like the wind. Blowing over land and sea, touching both the heavens and the earth. Finally, she replied, “Anywhere can the wind move, why can you not make these sounds elsewhere?”

              Tavahanu explained that although he can move anywhere the wind can, the wind has no voice of its own. The wind plays nature like the Arioi play their instruments. Tavahanu replied, “The whole world is my instrument, but nowhere else can I play such a symphony in one place.”

              As the two conversed, the magic of the music faded. The compulsion over those watching faded, and the crowd began to murmur and ask questions. Only then did Moatangi notice the audience. For her also the compulsion began to fade, and her own wits began to return. Realizing how long she sang, wondering how long people had listened, she considered what singing with Tavahanu could achieve. She glanced down at her painted leg, a symbol of her reaching the pinnacle of status among the Arioi. Realizing singing with a god, could make the black leg seem pale in comparison.

              She considered the winds response and finally responded herself. “Could you not use me?”        

              In this part, the legends vary. Some say the wind filled her lungs. Others say she would wear ostentatious outfits of shells so the wind could make a symphony of sounds. Most say the wind made love to her, using her to make the sounds. Regardless of the truth, the pair traveled together from island to island putting on legendary performances. Captivating all who listened, even playing for and captivating the gods. The stories also agree that eventually, she carried a child.

              Unfortunately, while Tavahanu could father a child. He could not be a child’s father. For a while, the performances stopped as the Arioi cared for the newborn. But the wind kept blowing. Sometimes visiting, but being carried away for longer and longer periods of time.

However, Moatangi had learned many of the wind’s secrets while they had sung together. One day when Moatangi needed help, she sung a song into the wind like that day at the cave. She used its tune to compel someone’s attention, and continued to refine it until she compelled them to help her.

               Moatangi continued to master this skill, compelling others to do her bidding. It started with small favors. Preparing food, launching her boat, caring for her child while she swam. But overtime she would push the limits. She began to compel people to follow her, to rule their minds completely. Sometimes the wind returned, but most times it simply passed through.

              Still during this time her fame and renown had grown so much that gods commonly frequented her performances. But she longed for Tavahanu. She began to test her compulsion on the gods themselves. Small things at first, hoping to compel the wind to stay. With the wind, while she could keep its attention, it would never stop blowing for long. Even though Tavahanu loved her he simply couldn’t stay.

              One day, she was performing on an island far in the west. At the source of Mātāhiti Apatoa (the east wind). She realized if she could capture this wind, she could keep Tavahanu with her. She put on her most brilliant performance yet, and captivated Tahwhiri’s children. Eventually,  Tahwhiri god of storms and winds, realized his children were missing. Asking the other gods he learned of Moatangi. He requested the help of Tangoroa, knowing he needed to send Moatangi into the depths that he and his offspring could not reach.

              Together, Tahwhiri and Tangaora approached the island in a hurricane of destruction. Tahwhiri appeared before Moatangi and said, “Never shall you set shore upon the lands of man again, forever shall you be bound to sea. Where Tavahanu cannot go.”

              Then Moatangi flopped over, splashing into the water. She attempted to stand but found her legs had merged, and her bottom half looked like a fish. Confused and frightened she flopped about in the water. Her appearance had become deformed and hidous. After that, whenever she found a new audience, they ran from her in fear. The only way she could keep an audience, was to compel them.  

So, whenever she sees men, she sings her song and drags them into the sea with her. All the while craving the attention of Tavahanu, who could not come with her. She swam from island to island, looking for caves, hoping to find Tavahanu once again.

              With Moatangi beneath the sea, Tavahanu howls across the sea singing a sad song of mourning searching for her. To this day, he still does. Moatangi’s children can often be found, singing their compelling songs and luring men to the depths with them. Usually near caves, where they find a strange appeal to the howling of the wind through the caverns.

              This is how Sirens came to be, and why they sing their songs to lure men to their deaths. Creating a captive audience in remembrance of audiences they never knew.