Weird tales of history


Pica Serdica
Once upon a time, in a land far, far, away, there was a mighty empire, and its people were proud and warlike. It so happened that one of the vassal tribes, of miners and metal workers, did a favour to their overlords, and the tribe’s leader expected a reward for his service, and no less than marrying into the empire’s royal family. "You are my blacksmith slave. How dare you utter these words?", the emperor answered, so the vassal tribe revolted, and soon had a realm of its own much bigger than the one of their former masters; and their descendants an even bigger one; and their descendants can still be seen on the highways of Europe, busily motoring and creating traffic jams at border crossings; the empire in the land far, far, away, and its people proud and warlike long gone and forgotten now.

Moral: Never underestimate people that are truly into metal.
Once upon a time, in a land not so far away from where I live, there was a mighty kingdom, and its people were prosperous and happy. It so happened that to the southeast of the mighty kingdom there was a new empire, and to the southeast of the new empire there was an old empire. Neither was particularly hostile to the mighty kingdom but there was a tiny little altercation between the two empires, so the old empire hired a group of steppe warriors to pester the new empire, and the new empire hired another group of steppe warriors to pester the first group, and then the first group, which was in the habit of invading the mighty kingdom, plundering and having a good time and then retreating, year after year, suddenly had nowhere to retreat to, because the second group had destroyed their dwelling places, so they stayed, and the mighty kingdom was soon no more.

Moral: Never forget that shit happens out of the blue.
Once upon a time, there was a land far, far away, and it was a mighty island, as mighty as they make them nowadays anyway, and it had no people at all. It so happened that two groups of settlers came to the mighty island, one from the east and one from the west, and those who came from the east brought cattle with them to graze and slaughter, and were prosperous and happy for a while, until winters became colder and colder, and those who came from the west tried to teach the easterners how to live in the cold, and catch fish and such, but the easterners were stubborn beyond belief, and their church had told them to avoid foreigners and their advice, and soon they were no more, and the people from the west are still there to this day.

Moral: Fish is good for you, and arrogance kills.
Once upon a time, in a land not that far away, there was a mighty princedom, and its people were, well, all kind of people, frankly. It so happened that the mighty princedom disintegrated into many smaller princedoms, some of them mighty and some not that much, and then a group of steppe warriors from the east conquered most of them, plundering and having a good time as usual, and then one of the least important princedoms became very, very important all of a sudden, with the help of the steppe warriors and some betrayal to the other princedoms; and then it grew, and it grew, and grew again, and became an empire, and then it grew again and kept growing and then became something else, and it kept growing, and its people were still all kind of people, not that anyone ever cared anyway, and one day the mighty something else simply collapsed under its own weight, and yet what remained is still there to this day, and its people are still all kind of people.

Moral: Never forget that history is not literature, and happy endings are just a plot device.
Once upon a time, there was a little boy born to a family of musicians, and the boy grew, and excelled, and became a man, and married. It so happened that he listened to his wife, and followed her advice, and met people she had arranged him to meet, and then one thing led to another, and soon he was a mighty man, and a brave one and a clever one for that matter, and a talented musician, fencer and pilot, and so ruthless that some said his heart was made of iron, and he died a very painful death indeed, and is remembered to this day as the darkest figure in a dark empire, and a criminal with so many deaths to answer for that you wouldn’t think it’s even possible.

Moral: Being brave, smart and multi-talented does not necessarily make you a role model, and listening to your wife can be lethal.
Magnus, I'm watching this thread with much interest and I enjoy a lot your creativity.
This project of yours has enhanced an initial idea of mine for a story project in here: Draft the story or a story out of The Parchment.

As a first challenge I invite you and anybody else with some creative temper to write a short story similar in style and length to the ones above with the Moral ending being either "Patience is no sin" or "Countenance is not a sin". I will also work on that and once done I'll post it here. We can take clues from the lyrics as we see fit, but there's no obligation to connect the dots of the full story just yet.
Once upon a time in a land somewhere between desert Taklamakan & the Caspian Gates in an area roughly corresponding to the Gobi Desert there were locating the Cities of the Pilgrimage, six in number: Tamaghis, Ba’dan, Yass-Waddah, Waghdas, Naufana, and Ghadis.

Tamaghis was roughly located in what is now Kashgar, Ba’dan was encircling the lake Issyk-Kul, Yass-Waddah was Merv, Waghdas was Semnan.
Naufana was a huge city on the bunds of Jhelum river, covering a big part of what is now Kashmir valley. And Ghadis was located in what is now Panjakent.
Between those cities there were nomads and other “normal” cities and civilizations and as a matter of fact those cities were nearly never belonging to a same umbrella civilization, however there was always this secret bond that was tying them together that we will explore below.
The inhabitants of those cities were divided into an elite minority known as the Transmigrants and a majority known as the Receptacles. The Transmigrants were reincarnating Time Travelers and the Receptacles were the populace majority who supplied the bodies.

The Transmigrants were choosing their parents during their lifetime and they were even having a list of alternative parents citied in their documents, should an accident happen on their first choice parents’ life cycle.
The reincarnation was happening either with the couple of Receptacles mating physically close to Transmigrant’s death bed (could be also altar of execution), or in some cases remotely for the more advanced Transmigrants who in that case were called Immortals. When the transmission was remote the physical parent was to be killed by blade in the second new moon after conception or birth in front of a mating couple of Receptacles and would then become a Transmigrant.
In all cases the transmission was always happening when the moon was one the rise, one day before full moon.
The Traveler should start in Tamaghis and make his way through the other cities in the order as above. This pilgrimage could take many lifetimes, spanning thousands of years.

The Travelers were typically not able to remember their previous lives most of the time, except during some few moments of clarity, known as The Gates.
What was guiding them in their many lives quest of fear was their documents; containing the lists of their previous parents and a mystic poem that their previous selves had written when they were passing from the Gates. The Travelers were carefully studying this poem at those moments understanding its clues and their purpose in life and when the time was appropriate they were adding new rhymes.

We can now say that this poem was serving as a kind of time traveling passport through the aeons written in a series of Parchments made always from a leopard skin and always in the City of Yass-Waddah.

To be continued.

I’ve used some elements from Cities Of Red Lights, W. Burroughs, for the set up. I will most certainly inject other pieces of literature and history to my imagination as we are moving fwd. I may not bother citing them every time. Maybe I'll do so once and for all in the end. Or not.
Part 2

Below is the map of the three Pilgrimage routes. Parchment grottoes were located at a geographical triangle with a virtual centre the city of Ghadis, Pilgrimage’s destination. However only in the proximity of Yass Waddah Parchment grottoes were part of the main (or major) Pilgrimage route. To reach the other two locations, travellers should make considerably lengthy and hazardous detours through desert lands on purpose.

Pilgrimage routes lite.png

To be continued.
Once upon a time, in a land not too far away from where I live – but, thankfully, not too close either – there was a boy who was mediocre as fuck. It so happened that the boy met some people and made a mediocre career, and became a man, or a kind of a man at least, and then met other people and made another mediocre career, and then again met some more other people and, lo and behold, there he was, ruler of a realm inhabited by all kind of people that, then, still looked like it might become something worth talking about. But then it so happened that the mediocre boy who had become a mediocre man – and ignorant as fuck for that matter – stayed in charge for too long, and, somehow, assumed he was not mediocre at all but quite the contrary, and those few who tried to dissuade him met fates too unpleasant to mention here. Meanwhile, sadly, people from outside his realm started thinking there must be something about him after all – and how they came to believe this is something too unpleasant to mention here too – and then the mediocre boy who had become a mediocre man, or a kind of a man at least, managed not only to ruin his own country but others as well, and keeps doing so to this very day.

Moral: Mediocrity kills, and so does inability to recognize it, or oppose it in due time.
But, maybe these tracks could be great with Steve putting some personal touches on them, who knows. :)

This would have changed the course of history for ever and for the worse, let me explain.

When Zeus learnt Harris’ plans to contribute & co-produce on Blaze's The Brave, he got that upset that thunderstruck Olympus for a fortnight. Then, for the greater good of music, Zeus asked goddesses Athena to send Sandman to Rod’s sleep and implant the idea of a reunion in a dream within a dream (2 layered dream) so Rod thinks it’s his idea.

And then to go to Bruce’s sleep in a 3 layered dream and tell him to include the word Brave in his new album, his solo album or with band, whichever comes first, so future generations could decode the connection between the Braves and realize gods’ will.

Bruce woke up terrified from that dream (ancient gods didn’t have electricity so Sandman had to have a flare for light, also served as a lighter to smoke ancient weed in Bruce’s dream) and he wrote on a piece paper so he wouldn’t forget:

word brave new album

This is how the reunion really happened and why the title of the album is Brave New World. Bruce took his notes and replaced the word by world (as previously replaced bitch by beach) so it now looked more Haxley-esque “Brave New World”.
But most importantly for mortals and immortals alike, is that The Brave, the song, remained intact from Harris’ contribution and co-production. The title Silicon Messiah does not make too obvious the Brave connection between the two albums, but it hints that its conception was divine (Messiah) driven, so future generations would connect the dots one day.

Otherwise the intro of The Brave would have been the intro of Benjamin Breeg (Let me tell you about the Brave, let me tell you about his dreams of his need to touch the sky etc) and the course of history would have completely altered to the point that next Iron Maiden singer for their 2006 album “Top Secret” would be Mel Tormé. Also by 2015 there would be no France.
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