Ghanburi's Horses

[Ghanburi]

There was a little man named Ghanburi who lived in Jungle Camp. He gave visitors muse fruit and sometimes horses. Then, a bunch of bad men came to Jungle Camp, and killed Ghanburi and his horses. But, they didn't known Ghanburi could never really die, and that horses take a long time to return to the meadow once they leave there. So, Ghanburi skipped through the meadow, taming all the horses he came across, and the bad men had to walk all the way back home (a very long way back home indeed). Ghanburi gave the horses to the nice people who visited Jungle Camp. The End.

 

[Ghanburi]

Ghanburi's Pot

There was a little man named Ghanburi who lived in Jungle Camp. All he ever ate was muse fruit and raw pork. One day, he decided he needed to get a pot so he could make stew. The only problem was that the nearest pot could only be purchased in the town called Bakti, which was a long ways past the river and near angry sators and terrible, giant birds with huge talons and beaks. Ghanburi wasn't afraid of the sators and birds though, he knew his horse, Oldburi, could outrun them all (even though he was old, which is how he got his name). His only concern was the bad men who marauded around the jungle.

Even though Ghanburi tried to be helpful in the jungle all around Jungle Camp, the bad men still cruelly hunted him for sport, and worse they killed his pets. Yet, he had made up his mind--no more raw pork for him! Ghanburi grabbed some muse fruit for a snack, some wolfbrush for Oldburi's snack, fifty silver, and a torch (because it was dark). The little man bounced up upon Oldburi's back and the two burst out like through the night jungle like a shooting star.

The road was long and uneven (when there was a road at all). First, they traveled through dark, dense jungle, and the poor horse nearly tripped over roots and snags many times. Then, they sped away from sators and the terrible birds (just like Ghanburi knew Oldburi could). Next, they climbed up a steep cliff road, and followed signs that said, "Bakti: this way!" Finally, Ghanburi laid his eyes on the town Bakti (where his stew pot was) and he did not like what he saw.

Bakti looked a bit like Jungle Camp, except it was much larger, more menacing, and there were far more people. Ghanburi noticed that even though the sun had risen, it was still very dark in inside of Bakti's high walls, and this gave him a bad feeling. It was a dreary placed, filled with strange noises and shadowed faces with leering eyes that made Ghanburi shiver. "Now...", thought the hairy little man as he gathered his biggest courage, "...where do they sell pots?"

Oldburi took his rider up and down muddy, narrow and twisting streets hemmed in by looming stakes and sharp, yellow grass. Ghanburi was really starting to dislike Bakti, but was happy no bad men had tried to kill him or his horse (so far). Finally, he came upon a man who was standing on the corner, muttering something that sounded like magical words. Ghanburi asked, "Do you know where I can buy a pot?" The man said, "I do" and started to walk away briskly. Ghanburi figured that he was supposed to follow, so he did.

After a left turn and a right twist, they had finally found the kitchen vendor. Ghanburi heartily thanked the man who had guided him, and said to the vendor, "I need to buy a big pot to cook stew in. Do you have one?" The woman produced a shiny pot (out of the sharp yellow grass, which Ghanburi found odd), and Ghanburi handed over his silver. Finally, the little man had his prize, but now he had to take it (and himself, and Oldburi, and what was left of the muse fruit and wolfbrush, and his stub of a torch) a l l t h e w a y b a c k to Jungle Camp.

...to be continued...

 

[Amelia]

Do Ghanburi accept a gift ? I know that jungle could be a very hard place to live.

 

[finegamingconnoisseur]

In the post-Second Conflux world, horses have more power than any guild, warlord or empire.

He who controls the horses, conquers all.

 

[Ghanburi]

Ghanburi's Pot: Part 2

At this point in the story, you'd expect an exciting conclusion to Ghanburi's adventure. The truth is, though, that Ghanburi didn't have any troubles going home to Jungle Camp. Sure, Oldburi had to run fast around the terrible birds and angry sators, and yes, there were many snags and roots that threatened to trip him up (but you've heard all that before). However, Ghanburi, Oldburi, the new pot, and what was left of the supplies all made it back to Jungle Camp safe and sound. That would be a happy, if not too satisfying, ending... if it was the ending.

A short while after Ghanburi returned, a man showed up saying, "I have a delivery for a Mr. Ghanburi. Are you him?" "I am", the little man said, a bit puzzled. "Here you go," the courier stated briskly, and handed Ghanburi a pot, a baking pan, a spit, and many more tools for cooking. Ghanburi was amazed, but then he remembered that he had told someone that he would trade five thousand muse fruit for a pot to be delivered to him at Jungle Camp. So, he went to his storage and counted out five thousand muse fruit (which sounds a lot more time consuming than it is) and gave them to the courier. The courier received them, and was gone before Ghanburi could even say "thank you." Ghanburi mused that he must be very efficient at his job, but then his attention turned to cooking delicious stew (but now, which pot should he use?).

Ghanburi thought that things had been going very well recently, and for a moment he almost believed that they would continue to. Today, he would make stew. However, Jungle Camp is not a safe place (even though Ghanburi tried to make it that way), neither are those that travel their always friendly. Ghanburi, being very old and very wise, knew life was kind of like a big wheel; it was always spinning around and around. If you lived on the edge of the wheel, you would have some great heights when on top, but that old wheel keeps turning, and eventually you will be crushed beneath it. Ghanburi new the secret though. He new that wise do not dwell upon the edge, but at the center. Ghanburi's thought was interrupted by the sound of steal being scraped upon steal, and the frantic whinnying of a horse.

Ghanburi looked up, and saw a man who held a sword which was thrust into Oldburi's neck. One heart or two heartbeats later, Oldburi fell lifeless to the ground. Ghanburi was shocked, but before he could feel sadness for his lost friend, a woman burst out and attacked the man who had killed Oldburi. Now, that old, little, hairy man who lived in Jungle Camp was not a fighter, but he wanted to help. So, he ran to his storage and grabbed water and calamine. These he could use as reagents to heal the woman who was trying to drive off the murderer. He had to hurry! Ghanburi burst out of the storage room and began to cast a healing spell. Dancing yellow sparks surrounded the woman and a few of her wounds closed. He was successful!

However, the spell drew the murder's attention to Ghanburi, and he advanced towards the little man with his bloodied blade. Regretfully, but understandably, the woman who had so valiantly sought to fight off the murderer, lost her nerve and used the opportunity to flee into the jungle. Ghanburi tried to heal through the viscious slashing and cruel stabbing, but he could not, and he fell there, next to Oldburi. As his vision faded, he thought about Jungle Camp, and how he loved it there. He thought about his Oldburi, and how he would miss him. He thought... He...

To be continued...

 

[EZgold]

what about THE POT ?
I hope the "little man named Ghanburi" didnt lose THE POT in the vicious attack...

 

[Ghanburi]

what about THE POT ?
I hope the "little man named Ghanburi" didnt lose THE POT in the vicious attack...

(SPOILER ALERT)


Ghanburi still has both pots, the one he got from Bakti, and the one he had delivered to him.

 

[Ghanburi]

Ghanburi's Pot: Part 3

...thought... Wait! I cannot die, I am one with the Jungle, and as long as it is, I shall be. Oldburi, too, shall be reborn in the little meadow by the big tree, with all his brothers and sisters. With that thought, and a deep breath, Ghanburi jumped up alive and well again!

Jungle Camp came into focus before his eyes. There was the fire, and the storage hut, and the tree house--yes all here. The sky was blue, and the flora was green. Birds were chirping their same, merry song. Yet, there too was the murderer, standing there covered in blood. Ghanburi noticed that he had a smug look of satisfaction on his crimson face. This stranger had come to Jungle Camp just to kill, because he liked it. He did not come for gold, or glory, but to cause pain because somehow, someway it pleased him to do so. Ghanburi suddenly felt very sorry for the murderer, but even as he did so, the murderer drew back his sword to strike again.

The rest of the story goes as one might expect it to go in the strange, brutal world of Nave. Ghanburi would get chopped up, slashed apart, sliced and diced, and each time he'd come back with a deep breath. Though he was not proud of it, the little, hairy man could not help but to taunt to murder a bit, saying things like, "Oh no, don't kill me. Ah." in his most sardonic voice, and reminding him that Ghanburi was, in fact, immortal. At one point, one of Ghanburi's friends bravely tried to stand between the murderer and Ghanburi, taking the blows to her body. She was very courageous, the little man thought. "But, no! I will wear out this man's blade on my hide if that is what it takes." So, Ghanburi moved foreword into the blade of the deranged, pitiful murderer.

Soon after, a pair of hunters who had tamed huge terrible birds came to Jungle Camp. The murderer attacked them too, but the hunters turned their giant birds loose on him, and with jungle shaking screeches they gobbled him up in short order. You might think that it would end here, the deranged sadist defeated, and that life would return to normal in Jungle Camp. However, "normal" in Jungle Camp is perhaps something a bit different than you may be used to, and just as soon as the hunters and their huge birds left, the murderer returned.

Slice, dice, chop, stab, bonk, skewer, and poke, it went on and on. After Ghanburi had perhaps died five or six times (and came back, because he is immortal) the pitiful murderer finally grew tired, or perhaps bored with the whole affair. Again, Ghanburi's own frailty was manifest in his taunts towards the man, which wasn't very nice (and the hairy man later regretted).

In the end, the murder tracked bloody footprints out into the jungle, and the little man named Ghanburi sat down by his fire. As he munched on a muse fruit, he thought that maybe he should go to bed. "Tomorrow". he thought, "I will make my stew." Ghanburi took another bite, "Yes, stew tomorrow."
"But", he pondered, "which pot shall I use?"

The End.

 

[Nefnate]

Beautiful. Thank you for sharing, Ghanburi. I will be sure to visit you some day: deep in the jungle, sitting by a fire, and perchance - sipping on some stew.

 

[Ghanburi]

Ghanburi's Fire

There was a little man named Ghanburi who lived in Jungle Camp. Though he was old and small, he was keen and he knew the jungle--he knew every root and branch and each bird perch upon them. He new which mushrooms were delicious, and which were deadly. In the all the massive world, Ghanburi understood very little except the jungle, although that was enough.

Sometimes, people would come to Jungle Camp. Sometimes, they were friendly, and sometimes they were not. From time to time, someone would come to visit Ghanburi and talk over a snack of muse fruit. Squatting there, in the deep peat, they would discuss all sorts of things.

One day, two men came to visit Ghanburi. They appeared as men of the jungle, much like Ghanburi. However, there was one distinct difference--they were equipped for war. Ghanburi never carried his bow or club, unless he was going to hunt or fight wicked Sators. Of course, he knew the safe paths and could dart and hide better than a bush pig if there was trouble, and that was enough.

The two men introduced themselves. They used a friendly tone, but there was a graveness to their voices.

"Ghanburi", one said, "we know that you live in Jungle Camp. We know that you know the wild ways and that you are welcoming to strangers. We, too, live in the jungle, and we believe that she is our mother. However, we know it to be a lawless place where strangers travel to kill and destroy. We seek to defend her from those who seek to defile her. You are rarely seen with spear or club. How can you love the jungle, if you do not defend her?"

Ghanburi nodded solemnly, and tossed a dry twig on the fire. "Brothers" Ghanburi said, "you see this fire before you?" The two nodded.
"It has never gone out, at least for as long as I have been here. Do you know why?"

"Because you and others feed it fuel?" one of them replied, with just a hint of exasperation in his voice.

"That is true," Ghanburi continued, "and it will continue to burn, just as long as I keep brining it wood."

"Sir," one of them said, "What does that have to do with our question? We have not traveled here to speak of campfires, but of defense of our beloved jungle. What say you, Ghanburi? Will you retrieve your weapons and join us?"

Ghanburi got up and he walked into a nearby shadow. He returned almost immediately, and in his hand was his stout, brown bow. For a moment, his visitor's eyes grew large in approval, but in the next they scowled as the little man named Ghanburi tossed the bow into the fire, sending up sparks and fresh licks of flame.

The two visitors looked at each other, and shook their heads. They stood and walked silently into the dark jungle. Ghanburi resumed his squat by the fire. "Time for supper..." he thought.

 

[Kalistair]

No Ghanburi rampant PvP arc? Maybe next season. Either way, I forsee great things ahead as long as Jungle Camp and Ghanburi remain one. Keep her close, Ghanburi. Keep her close.

 

[Ghanburi]

Who are the Woses?

The people who are referred to as Woses, Woodwoses, or Wodewoses are predominately Oghmir who migrated south and settled in the jungle.

Long ago, the Oghmir people split, and the group that moved north and lived among the Kallards became known as the Blainn. Later, a portion of that Blainn group migrated south and settled in the jungle. So, strictly speaking, a Wose is an Oghmir, specifically a Blainn, who has made the jungle their home (as opposed to the snowy mountains). However, others are also referred to as Woses who do not descend from Oghmir (which further complicates categorization). When the offshoot Blainns migrated south, they befriend the Veela Alvarin there. Over time, some Veela were integrated into the Woses group. Therefore, among them you will find Blainn and Veela. It is also rumored that some known as Woses are descended from Sheevra Alvarin, but this has never been confirmed.

 

[Favonius Cornelius]

Ghân-buri-Ghân

We have Drúedain in the southern jungles!

 

[Ghanburi]

Ghanburi's Shadow

There was a little man named Ghanburi who lived in Jungle Camp. He had noticed that, recently, Jungle Camp had received many more visitors that usual. Typically, Ghanburi would see maybe two or three different people in a day, but now there were two or three times that. All kinds of people too, from all over. Ghanburi enjoyed visiting with some of the more friendly strangers, and provided sleek, brown horses from the meadow for those who needed them (when he could, which was more often than many would think).

One day, after hunting panthers, Ghanburi returned to Jungle Camp. He passed through the gate, the bounty of the hunt hung over his shoulder, and he approached his larder. He was vaguely aware of several people present, but paid little mind as he was weary from his expedition.

"Shing!" sounded the telltale, familiar sound of imminent violence. Ghanburi turned and, as some of you might have guessed, there were maybe a half dozen, fully armored thugs bearing bloody weapons before him. Ghanburi sighed, and was immediately cut down.

If you don't know Ghanburi, being one with the jungle, could not really die. It was an old magic, which Ghanburi himself never fully understood. However, that was the way of things. With a deep inhalation, Ghanburi jumped up alive again... and fell again.

For some reason, at Jungle Camp, groups of wicked men would come and kill all the peaceful people there. The peaceful people were often unarmed, and almost never wore armor. They would try to defend themselves or run, but they were generally overpowered by the heavily armed and armored attackers.

Ghanburi sometimes thought that, after destroying his body once, might leave him be. However, this was almost never the case--once was never enough for the bloodthirsty. That day, he died in Jungle Camp almost a dozen times, and that was enough for Ghanburi.

At twilight, when the wicked men had finally sated their bloodlust and marched away, Ghanburi sat by the fire in troubled contemplation. Ghanburi was convicted by the thought that something must be done, but what? Then, out of the corner of a his dusty memory, he glimpsed something red peaking out from the darkest shadow.

To be continued...

 

[Ghanburi]

Ghanburi's Shadow: Part 2

The sun was just setting as Ghanburi made his way north past the horse meadow, and then west through the dense jungle. This time, he brought no torch, because he knew what he sought could only be found in darkness. A few minutes later, he came upon his destination--the yellowed ruins of a once great civilization, moldering somberly in the damp.

As Ghanburi recalled, this place was the only location where he could find what, or rather who, he sought. The crumbling stones of the ruins began to take on a greenish hue in the moonlight, and Ghanburi knew he was in the right place, at the right time. He produced a bone knife, took a deep breath, and drug the blade across the palm of his hand. He let a few droplets of blood hit the ground and then, slowly, he slid his wound across a section of ancient wall.

"Ghanburi? Is that you? It has been so long since you've called," a voiced hissed.

"Aye," the little jungle man replied.

Ghanburi's eyes, which were well accustomed to the jungle dark, scanned the area. Yet, he saw no sigh of the one he came to address. "I am here to seek your counsel, Red-One. Show yourself."

Ghanburi heard an unpleasant dry cackle in response. "Anything for you, my old friend," the voice hissed with a noticeable tone of sarcasm.

At that moment, Ghanburi felt very cold, or perhaps very hot, and his stomach turned. His vison blurred, and he nearly swooned. He steadied himself, squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, then allowed them to pop open. The image he saw was as if he looked into a clear, quiet pool under red torch light.

To be continued...

 

[Ghanburi]

Ghanburi's Shadow: Part 3, Ghanburi Rides Again

Ghanburi spurred Oldburi on, and hastily did his stead’s venerable hooves churn the dark jungle peat. The little man of the wild looked wild indeed as he perched atop his horse, long beard and hair wiping frantically in the wind.

Trees seemed to part before Ghanburi, as if they bent and bowed their great leafy heads to make way. Though his eyes stung and watered, he did not need to see to find his way back from the moldering ruins where he had met with the Red-One. Something that jungle devil said electrified Ghanburi’s return, and Oldburi sensed it and moved accordingly.

You see, Ghanburi was very old, at least as old as the jungle itself. In his long life, he had seen many things, and learned many lessons. Yet, all these disparate lessons were in service of the one great lesson, of which Ghanburi was reasonably certain. First and foremost, the jungle taught detachment, and those who would not learn it could find only suffering there. As such, Ghanburi was not accustomed to dread or worry, even though he had become very familiar with dark deeds done by murderous men. However, even these wicked persons could not endure the jungle for long, because no matter how they pillaged or destroyed they could not fill the great hole inside of them. They knew nothing of detachment, and therefore could only ever be strangers in the jungle–passing shadows that block the light for a brief time, before being devoured by the night.

When Ghanburi had summoned the Red-One, he had convinced himself he had done so out of a genuine concern for the sojourners that were not prepared for the dangers that awaited them. He had embraced the lie of noble love, but the truth is fear motivated him; not the wellbeing of others. It seemed the jungle had yet another lesson to teach him, even after so very long: hate is not the opposite of love but, in fact, its opposite is fear, and the key to love is detachment. It is detachment that leads to benevolence, because only in detachment can you want the good of the other for their sake, and not for your own benefit. Thus, it was fear that sent him to the Red-One, but it was love that sent him back to Jungle Camp.

And so Ghanburi is there now, beneath the dense canvas, a smile upon a his weathered face. As he squats casually by the fire, in the warm jungle wind a voice proclaims: A soul is not made benevolent by having the most but, instead, by needing the least.

 

[Weis]

Ghanburi's Shadow: Part 3, Ghanburi Rides Again

Thus, it was fear that sent him to the Red-One, but it was love that sent him back to Jungle Camp.

Weary Traveller, I have traveled far from the humble khurite town Mohki to resettle in the area with my valient guild members, the Freedom Fighters. South west of the Jungle Camp lies our village under the enchanted waters of Drizzle falls.

When we relocated our home to the Jungle camp we also procured a home just outside the gate which is now named the Freedom Stables. it is open to all who travel to Jungle Camp on one Condition. You must pay Goblin Tax.

The goblin tax is simple, we require no gold or items. We simply ask that you channel your inner goblin, show us the voice of a goblin to pay hommage to our diety KING GOB. Gobs statue awaits you inside freedom stables along
with a cooking pot to aid you in making the finest stew that the jungle can offer through its bountiful harvest.

All of the red ones of before know of my name. Let my name offer you protection should they attempt to bloody their blades once more. Simply echo the following "Weis has sent me here to pay Goblin Tax, I have his protection" With this chant you will find the bloodied blades sheathed into their scabbards and only raised to protect you.

I await to hear your goblin voice.