#frivrps

A long time ago, there were two kingdoms at war. One kingdom treasured the spoken story, and believed that a story had no life unless it had a chance to evolve and flourish on the tongues of man. That the same story, told the same way for eons and eons, could never hope to survive.

But what about the stories no one likes? The stories no one tells? Those get forgotten! And in the kingdoms, it was a very sad thing for a story to die. It was like the extinction of flower, or the death of a noble beast. This is why the Northern kingdom treasured the written word. So, the kingdoms fought over who could be the keeper of stories.

It had occurred to them that both could protect the stories, but each side disregarded the argument. ‘Why would I let a story starve in the hands of a northerner?’ the South would say. ‘I bet they don’t even know how many stories they have, those dirty southerners!’ The North would spit. So they could not come together. Luckily there were special people who came between the kingdoms, who encouraged the flow of stories. These were the Tali.

The Tali were a very special people, who were raised to be storytellers from a very young age. It was the highest honor to have a Tali in your home. You shared a meal with them, gave them a place to sleep, and in turn, they would tell you any story you could imagine, and ten thousand others beside. You could tell a southern Tali by the bronze scroll that hung around his neck, and you could tell a Northern Tali by the bone mask he carried. These were given to them when they became true Tali.

This was why true Tali were so rare and talented - they had to pass the tests it took to join the revered nomadic group. But that is a different story, just as long as this one. So the Tali protected stories. One day, years and years into the war, a young Tali came to the head of the Northern kingdom and asked for their story. This was unheard of! A Tali, asking for a story? Nonsense! 

But the Tali was smart. “I’ll trade you. A story for a thousand.’ So the Northern royals agreed. They told him the history of why they wrote their stories down, and even showed her the great library, where all the records of stories were held, which was a kingdom in its own. And for this precious story, she stayed the next month, telling his one thousand stories. She did not stop to eat or to sleep. Afterword she slept a day before going on her way. 

Her quest led her to the Southern kingdom next, the clever thing. She asked the Southern Royals for the same, but she did not offer them a thousand stories. She knew the Southern royals would not care as much for that. No, she offered them one thousand incarnations of the same story. So the Southern royals told her their story, and why the life of a story was so important. Afterword she stayed for a month, telling her story one thousand times, same as before. She left, making her way to the border between the two lands, a kind of no mans land where no one quite new which kingdom was which.

She told the story of the two kingdoms from the point of view of the story, something that was also unheard of. She told them of how the story was raised in the hands of the north and the south, and how they loved the little story. The tale of the little story spread like wildfire. It became a household story. People began to wonder, why are we fighting? If the story of my side was true, whose to say the other sides wasn’t? Didn’t we all want to protect the stories?

“So the kingdoms tracked down the origin of the story, the little Tali, and asked her why she had asked for their stories. ‘To bring a young story’s family back together.’ she replied. The next day the kingdoms came together at a little border town and drew up a treaty, reuniting the two kingdoms into one realm. Singlehandedly, the Tali had ended the war. How had the Tali come up with this story? Why did she bother, when it didn’t matter to her if the kingdoms fought? A nomad had no home and thus no country.

Because it did matter. The story she told mirrored her own. She was the child of a northern scribe and a southern Tali. Though they loved each other, they could not be together, because each family saw the other as story murderers. So the Tali was sent off, carrying the child of a scribe unbeknownst to her kin. And this Tali told her daughter her story, and made sure she lived a rounded, full life, filled with a love for the written and spoken word. When the Tali’s mother died she carried her story to the kingdom, in hopes of reuniting the two and ending the story war.

There once was a very timid man, from a very timid family, all of whom never, ever left the house. Their food was delivered, their clothes were delivered, even their news! They paid a different family, who lived next door, to do all these things, and one year the charge of delivering these things fell to a young girl named Tara. She befriended the youngest boy in the family, a small soft-spoken thing named Warin.

Now Tara was always trying to convince Warin to leave, to see the beauty of the world, but Warin never could bring himself to do so. Every time he tried, his father would find him out and give him a lecture about the things that happened outside. Disease! Horror! Wolves and monsters alike! And so Warin was always scared of the outside world, no matter what. Tara, for her part, would still play with him inside, though she longed to take him out into her beautiful bright world.

They passed their years together, thick as thieves, though this one shortcoming held them apart. Then, one week, she didn’t come. No excuses, no notes, her younger brother just came in her place. Warin, worried, begged her brother for news. Nothing. Day after day, the brother just said ‘She left on her journey.’ Left? Without telling him? Would Tara do that? His Tara? Maybe she really was sick and tired of him never leaving his home.

He ranted and raved for days, pacing and cursing everything in sight. His family believed he’d lost it, and tried all they could to bring him back to his senses. Then, one day, he went quiet. He didn’t speak a word. He just began to pack bags, sending the brother back and forth for every supply imaginable. Anti-venom, socks, a large winter coat. He bundled himself up as much as was possible, even though it was only fall. His family tried to ask him what he was doing, but he didn’t answer.

Then, finally, he left. Gone. In the middle of the night. Nothing save for a note for his overly cautious family. ‘I have gone to find Tara. I will return.’ His family was at a loss, but could do nothing. Angry, his father left him for dead. ‘He chose to leave! He’s dead to us now, you hear? Dead! If anyone speaks a word of him again, they can consider the same fate!’ He shouted, so his family mourned in silence.

So Warin had left, in hopes of following Tara to the crystal city, where the traveling kind like her earned their right of passage. No one outside those who had already made passage knew where this place was, save that it was in the treacherous northern ice lands, which was known for its mirages and bitter cold. Had Warin left looking for an adventure, he’d surely gotten one.

Warin had an idea of what could happen to him. He was scared, and he hoped fate would have mercy on him. Even though he was scared, though, he trekked on, because he had to find Tara. If she was going to be lost to the wild, dangerous world, then he was to. The journey north was not that bad at first - far from it. The weather could even have been called pleasant. He would stop by inns and ask after her, but always to no avail.

So he journeyed on, until he reached the great peaks, which separated the safe northern country from the treacherous ice lands. He stayed, indecisive, at the base of the mountains. No matter what he thought, he couldn’t bring himself to climb them, to face his fear. He had hoped to have found her by now. What if she was dead already? Then his journey was pointless. What if she was in danger, or captured, or worse? Wasn’t it his job to rescue her?

After a day and night of indecision, he decided to go up the mountains. He climbed the peaks, higher and higher, until there was no more air, no more clouds, no more anything. And from up above, he saw the world as it was - dangerous and beautiful and wonderful and terrifying and oh so alive. From atop the mountain, the earth breathed and lived. From atop the mountaintop he could even see the dancing lights. He yearned to stay, to watch them, but continued on.

As he made it down the mountain, he could see why these were called the ice lands. It was slick and snow filled, blizzards blinding all the could be seen below. Many times he almost got turned around, but he kept on, until he made it to the base. He barreled on into the blizzard filled wasteland, continuing farther and farther north. Then, one day, the storms stopped. There was nothing. A desert. There was nothing in any direction as far as the eyes could see.

Now you may wonder why, even though he was following Tara, he didn’t see her or heard word of her. There was a simple reason for this - she had gone to a southern town first to get supplies, and was actually a week behind Warin, even with the 3 days he spent mourning and packing. Not expecting anyone to follow her, she went on her merry way. But soon innkeepers began to ask her if she knew a ‘Warin’ fellow, who seemed to be looking for a girl remarkably like her.

At first she wanted to believe it was a coincidence; however, as she headed north she knew it was true. Warin had left. Stable Warin. Timid old Warin. ‘The fool!’ she moaned. ‘He’ll get eaten in a day!’ she worried for him, now following him north. ‘Please let him have survived. Please let him be alive.’ She begged the heavens. Not seeing him at the border she lost hope. He’d have died already in the ice lands. She sobbed at the base of the peaks. Warin was lost for good.

So Tara resolved to go to the ice lands to bring his body back. If he had left searching for her, then she had to bring him home. Even if it broke her heart. So she went through the pass in the mountain too, only she didn’t stop to look down at the earth. She had no time. She trekked forward ever faster, hoping to find him. Somehow she still clung to the belief that maybe, maybe he was alive. Maybe, she hadn’t lost him yet. So she continued into the frozen desert. 

But, if you remember, the desert is full of tricks, and nothing could truly be as it seems. Compasses and maps were useless once you entered. One could only know oneself after traveling through the desert, because no one could know you like the desert. The first trail was a trail of grounding. The desert chased both the teens with castles of gold and oasis’ laden with food, breaking the teens down.

The second was the test of feelings. Beautiful beings accosted them, attempting to distract them from their way. They twisted in and out of their minds, telling them of secret precious things. These thoughts distracted them, setting them farther into the desert. The third did not seem to be a trick. It was a companion who guided them through the desert, taking their secrets as treasures. Meanwhile he guided them to nothingness, to despair. And then, when things were at their worse, they left.

The fourth was a test of heart. The two found what they believed to be the other lying in the desert. Finding their hearts still beating, they carried the unconscious bodies ever farther north, or so they thought. The true burden was their loss made physical, and they could not leave their load, or they were done. Bravely they carried their friend across the desert. After 4 days and 4 nights the clone woke up, again asking for their secrets.

But the travelers were wary now. ‘How can I trust you?’ they would ask, and the clones would answer, ‘because I am true.’ They would test the clones, which would pass, because they were born of their own minds. They yearned to speak with them, to tell them how they felt, now that they knew themselves, but they could not. Their minds were free, but their hearts were not, and so their tongues were bound. On the fifth night, the clones attacked, digging out their eyes. Oh, woe! They were now blind.

The last was the test of self. Alone in the desert, they mourned, no longer wishing to go on. They stumbled blindly through until the came across a large boulder at the center of the desert. They rested against the boulder, no longer in need of food or rest. They had nothing to do except talk to themselves, the only ones left. So they did. They talked of their hopes, their dreams, their fears, and their shortcomings. Until there was nothing left. Until, finally, they were free from themselves. 

The desert told the nomads of the crystal city of their journey, and what they’d done. They cured their blindness, which was completely within them. 7 days later the two woke up side by side in the care of the wise old nomads. ‘You’re alive’ they both asked incredulously, moved to tears. ‘It is you, isn’t it?’ They embraced, knowing that this time, it was real. Though Warin wasn’t of the same tribe as Tara, they were both granted their birthright, their token as adults.

Once, a long time ago, there was a nomadic tribe of storytellers. It was their job to carry the treasures of belief throughout the land, and they took their duties seriously. Their kind was revered for a long time as saviors of the stories, and the kingdom. But this is another tale.

Since the beginning, the children of this tribe, who grew up much more different than most, had a guardian. And it was her job to protect the children, and teach them how to survive on stories and rainwater. How to live off of believing. For an long, long time, she did just that.

But a time came in the kingdom when her people were no longer welcome. When they were cast out. It seemed innocent at first, but quickly grew ugly. The guardian, to eager to keep traditions, told her tribe to stay put. That things would return to normal. They did not.

So one morning there came a time when the kingdom made its final attack. The last fight in a winning battle. The tribe fought back, but they were not meant to fight military forces. They were only bards. The guardian joined, but she could only do so much to the monsters. Finally, she fell.

When she awoke, there was nothing left. They were all gone and dead. There was nothing left for the guardian of the once-nomads. Her people were gone. But in the distance, under the wreckage, she saw one unburnt piece of paper. She tugged it out and held it up to find it was a drawing of a shining city, filled with impossible things drawn by her latest and last charge, Thomas. The Frivolous City… So the nomad dropped her newly given name, and took up her destination. She was going to find the city of impossible things, and her people, too.

I was born in a city hidden under the moon, at the base of the mountain. I was fed on the love of my friends, and drank from the water that raced by my home. I am not very noticeable, nor have I ever wished to be. In my little house on the edge of the city, I was happy.

“But that did not mean I was not wanting. Because every night I looked to the sky, and watched the stars. My mother had told me about them- How they would have glorious balls in the sky, and how they would sometimes come down for flowers.

“One night I saw a star jump from the sky, and she landed outside my home. She was delicate, like a flower, and walked like she weighed no more than a feather. She walked around, searching, but it seemed she had missed. I walked out to get a better look at her, to see what she looked like. And then, she saw me.

“She came towards me, trying to speak, but could not. So instead, she sang. Her music felt like the sunset, like happiness. At once, I was in love. And she was lost. She hadn’t meant to jump down, and she didn’t know how to get back. Terrified, she ask for my help. So I offered to take her up the mountain.

“It was a long trek, seemingly unending. Mercifully, the crescent moon hung paralyzed in the sky, and morning did not come. When she could not walk, I carried her. When she began to fade, I sung to her. Eventually she was not able to stay awake. I made it to the peak just ask she began to become gossamer, and I tried to wake her. But she would not awaken. I knew would have to bring her back to the sky.

“A crazy idea struck me. I made a jump for the moon, and managed to catch it. I hauled us up onto the edge, catching my heavy breath. I looked from the edge and saw it, the ballroom of the stars. I tried to wake her up, but still she would not wake. I would have to take her there. So I set out a foot, and walked. Through darkness and hopelessness, I followed the light of the dancing stars. At last, I made it.

I handed her body to her friends, who paused to worry over her, keening and whispering. She came awake slowly, and danced happily. I watched on, outside the group, until once again, she noticed me. She reached out to me, and we danced. Seemingly forever. But I looked over the horizon and saw light touch my precious mountain, and knew I needed to go home.

But there was one thing I did not know about the spirit world. The window between our world only opens but once a year. So I was trapped. Though I had dreamed of dancing with the beautiful stars, I still missed my family, my home. A year passed, and my homesickness healed, and my love was strong. Together we danced through the skies. But I knew I had to go back and tell my family what had happened. So I carried my own star down with me, a precious lantern that would let me travel between the worlds.

I woke my sister and told her my story, crazy as it may have seemed, and she listened. ‘Do not follow me’ I said to her. ‘I want you to be safe. Tell mama that I love her, and that I am happy.’ And then I made my trek back up, back to my home. Every year I came home to see my family, until they grew old and weary, and needed me no longer.

Friv had been sensing it for a while now. That he was different. Slightly off. This person, this child, whoever it was, was not her Valentine. He may look like him, talk like him, get into the same messes, but he did not feel the same.

Not by along shot.

The imposter had everyone tricked. Even right now he was acting sweet as punch to his mother, using that mischievous grin that everyone was so fond of. He was trying to be slick, to talk his way out of a grounding like he always did. 

So, if he acted the same, how did Friv know that this copy of her charge wasn't, in fact, the boy she had been entrusted to care for? Simple. He ignored her.

Every time Friv tried to talk to him, to help him, to guide him, he would act like he couln't hear him. And when he would get close to hurting himself right in front of her, he would just look at her with those eyes.

Those eyes she could not explain.

They were like emerald daggers glinting from underneath his mop of red hair, daring Friv to try and stop him. And then he'd jump off the building.

But Friv always saved him. Why?

Friv was glad to be back doing what she loved. What she was made to do. She tucked in the little girl, pushing in the folds of the fabric around her so that she didn't roll around too much. The girl, seemingly no older than 7, laughed as her imaginary friend wrapped her in a warm cocoon.

"Frivi, Frivi, will you tell me a story?" She said with an eager face, her big eyes pleading. Friv looked down at her, fake reluctance on her face.

"I don't know, it is pretty late..." she said, trying to keep the smile from her face.

"Then tell a short one! One about the last nomad!"

Friv tapped her chin for a moment, trying to decide. "I like my eyes! They're a really nice shade of green! Oh, and I'm really loud!"

Facts about Friv:

1. She is very firm about her word, and has only broken it once, when she 2. She has fought a bear and a giant snow beast, among other things.3. She is a relatively good butcher, mostly self taught.4. She has rudimentary art skills, mostly used for basic illustration and map notation.5. I'm not even sure how many languages she knows.6. Nothing makes her more angry than someone who hurts children. She has been known to steal people from abusive homes and in drastic cases she has killed someone before.7. Her nightmares are mostly about the day she lost her tribe and the day she almost froze to death.8. She has only told a story about herself once.9. She does not have a birthday, though she believes she was created in the summer because that is the season of her first memories. (In all actuality, she came into being as a hallucination of a little girl who lost her mother and later her sister at a very young age, and looks like the sister. She does not have any of the memories of the sister, but acts remarkably like her. Friv never could understand why as the child got older she couldn't stand to look at her anymore, and counted it as her own failure. That first child is also the only one to remember her after she "left". All other children do not recognize her when she "materializes" or makes herself visible to adults.)10. Her first winter alone she did not have a map, and in turn she got lost in the northern territory, about 2 degrees under the tundra line. She almost froze to death, and was saved from the brink of disaster from another nomad from a group who lived in the north and moved more south for the winter. She lost her middle toe on her right foot, and part of her heel on her left. Luckily her finger survived, as well as her other extremities, but she is terrified of winter because of it. She is also very embarrassed about her feet, and rarely takes her shoes off if there is a chance someone will see.

Facts about the Mun: