Torqueadian Fables are more than just allegorical stories to stimulate imagination. They offer an insight to the Realm of Torqueadia and motivation of the characters. We invite you, read along and enjoy.
Torqueadian fables
an excerpt from “The Shadow that protects the light”
The Torqueadian stood alone with her back against the light and faced the darkness which contained all manners of fear, ignorance and doubt. What made it worse was the rain, she thought. The Torqueadian lifted her gaze from her feet, feeling the cold soak into her soles as she stood in the pooling rain water. She immediately changed her thought externally and focused on the situation unfolding. As her chin came up, she spied her nemeses in the crowded darkness. She gripped her Torqueblades one in each hand, the touch was reassuring. One blade she had named Resilience, the other Retribution. The Torqueadian cried her challenge to the darkness, “I know you, I accept you. Come, embrace my blades!” Then darkness swarmed around her. She intercepted the onslaught redirecting force. The energy passed round her, through her and over her. She was a shining blur, like a bright star in the cold winters night sky. She moved with precise control, each of her strikes burning the fear and ignorance away. The kin of stagnation fled before her shadow. Only she remained.
“Standing stalwart before the light, protecting those within.
Leading with example, a Knight Paladin.”
Torqueadian fables
an excerpt from “Thieves from ignorance”
He smiled with relief as he reached the top of the hill. This place is awkward to navigate all gnarly and over grown with brambles. The old watchtower is always overlooked, the forest had taken back its domain. Here, after the escape, he would be able to rest from his pursuers. He made a mark on his face as he wiped away the sweat and filth. He winced as he rested his back against the rock wall. The relics had been getting heavier and warmer to the touch, if it wasn’t so cold the radiating heat would be annoying. Only a few hours to dawn, then the rest of his squad would be here. Or at least the ones who have survived he thought. “Why all this fuss over these two old things, petrified with age, the markings are faint, can’t quite make them out. Just old an’ rotten”. His inner dialogue nearly missed the sound outside. His head snapped round, a noise to the right. Could this be the lads? He whistled the song of the marsh thrush to see if the remainder of his squad would reply. As he waited he moved further back into the shadows. Nothing, it’s all quiet, not even a breeze outside, now these old wooden blades are burning my hands, what the hell? He thought.
From outside of the watchtower came a calm voice, “I believe you have whats mine”
How had this person found me, is that, is that a girl? “I don’t know what you mean, I was just getting some rabbits for me family. You know, breakfast? I don’t believe they belong to anyone?”
“That’s not nice Samuel, stealing and now lying to me. How are the blades, getting heavy yet?”
Samuel winced again as he shifted his position. How did she know my name? Must of caught one of the lads. A young girl, they sent a young girl, I am not sure if I should be insulted, “This will be short work” he mumbled.
A sack came tumbling through the broken window frame and partially snagged on a nail. The contents spilled, making sick wet thuds as the beaten shapes rolled across the stone floor.
“Your raiding party I believe?”
Samuel’s face became a sneer, and his normal calculating thought process was taken over by rage, he decided to smash these damn useless wooden trinkets over that bitches head. Cutting the heads from my lads – barbarians! With lighting speed he rushed out of the door with one blade raised. All pain from the chase forgotten replaced with rage and fueled by adrenaline.
Outside in the cold morning air, he stumbled and halted. He saw his crew bound and gagged. Heads firmly attached to necks. A trick, this annoyed him even more. Standing in front of disheveled squad was a young lady. She was average height, athletic, sharp eyes and short red hair. Dressed in simple attire, but fixed in the hunting way.
“Now Samuel, is this anyway to treat a lady, are the blades getting heavy? Do they burn in your grip? You look tired Samuel, you need to rest” she taunted.
“I will rest when I am back home with my lads. I will rest when the job is done. I will rest when I have completed my task before me” yelled Samuel. He lunged at the tracker. With a simple well placed step she moved, subtly shifting her weight. The onslaught passed her by and Samuel sprawled across the hillside in the brambles. This added more fuel to his rage.
“You are easy to anger Samuel, and therefore stupid. You are big and strong but lack power, you have no wisdom like the rest of your kin. You are brutes and you bore me. Now, give me the relics” the trackers voice was calm and sweet.
The tone of her voice compelled Samuel to move forward, to give her the blades. Her voice reminded him of a matriarch, an alpha mother to the universe, she who must be obeyed. He stumbled forward and caught himself. He fought through the glamor. Samuel was tired. It’s true he thought, but damned if he would let this young whelp take what they had worked hard for, the pain and suffering he and his squad had to endured.
This time circling slowly, using the training he had been given in the academy, he raised the blade and stepped forward to strike. Again the slight tracker had moved. This time she slammed her elbow into his ribs and then racked the elbow round to his back as his blade arm traveled past her shoulder. As she stepped into the strike her lead foot was placed on the inside of his attacking leg where his weight was resting. As her body unwound like a corkscrew, she slid her foot drawing her knee up, lifting Samuel’s lead foot off the ground. As she replaced her foot after sweeping his leg, she twisted on the spot, dropped and buried her opposite elbow down hard between his shoulder blades. Samuel breathed out and fell heavy into the earth.
The slight figure stepped over the fallen man, although he was big, he did not know how to move, she noticed this and used it against him. The tacker removed the wooden relics from the oafs grip. He thought the relics would give him power. Its not the blade, its the knowledge of the blade. As she held the relics in her hand the markings glowed in the early morning light.
Samuel moaned “What are you doing” he said as he rolled over, no fight in him now. He looked over at his comrades and realized that their eyes were reflecting what he felt.
The young tracker replied “I will release your men, eventually”. “Did you like the bag of rotten turnips I threw at you?” she asked.
Samuel huffed, “You played on my fears”,
“I played on the way you judge yourself and therefore the world” reverently turning the wooden blades in her hands, she noticed that the wood was so old that it seemed to be as hard a rock.
Samuel moved slightly from his position mesmerized by what she was doing, she lifted the blades with ease and grace, they seemed to be part of her. She twirled them, and moved in shadow forms, her face seemed to glow, she seemed different. She seemed not to be present as her body moved. Then the moment was gone and she stood before him.
“These Torqueblades belonged to my great grandfather and were past down through the family. I have never actually held them before. For that I can thank you. Why did you come for the relics?”
“We were told to take your lands power which the relics endowed” said Samuel
Still looking at Samuel the tracker called out “Come forward Captain”.
Samuel looked up from staring at the earth. There was a motion in the brush and into the open walked several men dressed similar to the lady Samuel simply new as the tracker.
“High Provost, my Lady, we caught up as quickly as we could, you must not leave unless you have your guard with you”
“Thank you Captain” She smiled, “But as you can see, I am having a nice chat with our guests”.
She subdued my squad on her own, who is this girl? Samuel’s face was agog with surprise.
“Samuel” the High Provost turned to her captives, you have options, you may go back to where you came or stay here and learn our way, it won’t be easy. Your biggest challenge will be changing the way you think”
“Why do the scratchings on the relics glow when you hold them?”
“Oh, the ancient symbol. Knowledge is used to read the markings, wisdom is needed to interpret. At the moment you have neither – but you will do if you are willing to embrace change and fulfill a destiny?”.
Torqueadian fables
an excerpt from the Knight Protectors
“Blades of Torque, the right of passage for the Torqueadian”.
The young farmer awoke by the jolt of the wagon. He tried to move his extremities, his feet and hands were still bound by the closeness of the others in the transport. He could smell the foul odor of his body and that of the people next to him. He decided to go back to sleep or at least the half sleep he had been getting over the last few days.
He awoke to another day of punishment, the days of toil rolled into one, the days became weeks and then months. All through this time he sought sanctuary in his mind. He shrugged off the torment as one would shake off the rain drops from an unrelenting storm.
Then the day came. The sun shone through a gap in the clouds. He was told to bathe and change into the new clothes, to place the items he had earned about his person in the prescribe manner befitting a supplicant. Then standing before the doorway his teacher beckoned. Looking solemn, his teacher instructed him to go through. As the young farmer stepped through, he risked a side ways glance which would normally reward a cuff about the head, and saw a brief smile dance across his teachers face.
The light was bright, he could see nothing.
“What have you learned?” the voice echoed.
I must be in the great room, he thought and then replied. “I am free to choose my own prison. However, I prefer one with no bars”.
“A good answer. Now take that what belongs to you”
With a sense of achievement he bent on one knee and grasped the handles of the blades. He stood up. As he raised the symbols of passage above his head, the assembly cheered..
Torqueadian Fables
An excerpt from:
“The Traveling Tinker”
The tea leaves rolled lazily round in the pot of simmering water. The old man sat under a spreading tree and watched the steam rise from the pot. A little way from his resting place a loud discussion was taking place. He had walked for two days to the market to sell his mended pots and pans. Once a month he would visit the city, the closeness of the buildings and people made him feel uncomfortable. Still, the goings on, the back and forth, the general hustle and bustle amused him and reminded him of an ant hill. The last few weeks had been very hot and the dust in the market place rolled across the floor. Today the weather suggested that it was going to another hot day. Fortunately the big tree offered shade and there was a tender breeze that made the leaves move. Just enough of a breeze to make the day comfortable.
As he rested with his back to the tree he viewed the market place waiting for his tea to steep. The smells of the market always amazed him, so many unique spices. The food being cooked by the vendors made his mouth water. But he reminded himself that the first time he had eaten from these stores he had felt ill. He had felt tired afterward and a little bit sickly. He had also nearly lost a sale due to that incident. So he reminded himself not to eat at the market again. Anyways food should always make you feel awake not sleepy, thats rotten food that is. The Tinker thought to himself.
The loud discussion was getting close now, as he looked up he saw a man and a woman arguing. About what, he did not know. It seemed heated, the young woman was waving her arms about and the man had his head down and arms crossed.
They were walking towards him. The old man shifted his position a little bit and leaned forward to pour himself some tea. He sat back against the tree and blew over the tea to cool it down. The young couple were now in front of him, unabashed they continued to argue.
The young woman said “I just can’t believe that you can’t see it?”
“I can, but I don’t feel that it is important, I believe that we should by the young bull and not the cow” said the young man.
“Well we can buy two cows for the price of the bull, we can have milk and we can breed the cows”
“Yes I understand, but we can make more money for studding out the bull to my uncles herd. We can buy cows later”
This argument took the old man back, of course both were right but they were wasting energy. This cyclical argument reminded him of when he was married. Ah Martha, I miss you so. The old man sniggered at his memory. He realized that the discussion had stopped. He looked up.
The couple were staring at him. He smiled “If you don’t mind me saying, you my young lady, see only the short and not the tall. And you my good man, you see only the large and miss the small” said the old man laughing.