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#1 Report | QuoteMultilingual 

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Creator of the event: Ryzom Team.
Type of event: OOC events.
Appropriate Levels: All. Some events will need teams.

Dates of the event: From 2021/12/18 to 2022/01/05 inclusive.
Meeting Place: Atysmas village and everywhere on Atys.

Homins concerned: All.
Synopsis: Atysmas is here with its magic atmosphere and events!
To learn more: Detailed program & Fortunate Gubani Wheel


#2 Report | QuoteMultilingual 

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"Grinch or Elf?" rewards

The "Grinch or Elf?" event is over, and the winners are the Elves!

If you participated in this game as a Grinch or as an Elf, do not forget to come and take your rewards!
To do so:
— go to the Silan Arena;
— click on the giant statue in its center to open the game status;
— click on the locks to receive your individual rewards;
— Elves, click on the Snowman to the bottom to receive the final reward.



Merry Atysmas to all!

---

Tamarea
Ryzom Team Manager
(FR / EN / ES)

tamarea@ryzom.com

#3 Report | QuoteMultilingual 

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POEM, by Elke


Market and roads are left deserted,
silently illuminated every house,
pondering I walk the alleys,
everythings looks so festive.

The windows are decorated piously
with colourful toys by homins.
Thousands little homin stand and look,
are so wonderfully excited
and I walk out of the walls
into the open fields,
noble twinkle, holy shiver!

So wide and silent is this world!
Stars twine up high in circles,
from the solitude of the snow
rises like wonderful singing -
oh you gracious Atysmas-time!

#4 Report | QuoteMultilingual 

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ERZÄHLUNG, von Kyriann

Im Dschungel von Zoran gab es einmal einen sehr, sehr alten Gibbaï. Normalerweise sind Gibbaïs nicht sehr schön, aber dieser war besonders schäbig geworden. Sein Fell war nicht mehr schwarz und er hatte so viele Haare verloren, dass er ganz dünn und zerzaust aussah. Seine ehemals langen Schnurrhaare waren verdreht und sahen aus wie ein Korkenzieher. Seine Krallen waren alle abgebrochen und nicht in der Lage, etwas zu zerreißen. Er verbrachte seine Tage in der Hocke und träumte von dem großen Krieger, der er einmal gewesen war, und Gibbakya selbst begleitet hatte.

Eines Tages kam der Stammesführer zu ihm. "Osco, du bist ein nutzloser Mund, du bringst uns nichts mehr. Ich werfe dich aus dem Stamm!"
- "Was?", brüllte Osco und versuchte, sich zu seiner vollen Größe aufzurichten. "Du vertreibst mich? Dein Vater war noch nicht einmal Häuptling, als ich schon der erfolgreichste Krieger des Stammes war. Ich war es, der ihm alles beigebracht hat. Und du, du armseliger Wicht, willst mich verjagen?"
- "Eben, du bist alt und niemand fürchtet dich mehr!"
- "Ich habe ein Recht darauf, auf die Probe gestellt zu werden, um zu beweisen, dass ich ein nützliches Mitglied bin! Also gib mir eine Prüfung, die mir gerecht wird!" Der Anführer überlegt einen Moment und nickt. "Hier ist deine Prüfung. Du sollst uns den Kopf eines kleinen Homins bringen und damit beweisen, dass du noch immer ein großer Jäger bist."
- "So gut wie erledigt!"
*Er richtet sich auf und klopft sich auf die Brust.*

Osco kannte den Dschungel wie kein anderer. Er schlich sich sicher zu einem Lager der Tryker. Es kam nicht in Frage, die bewaffneten Wachen anzugreifen. Aber er wusste, dass er in der Nähe der Lager auf einsame Individuen stoßen würde. Und tatsächlich lief eine dieser kleinen Kreaturen mit blondem Fell auf dem Kopf unbewaffnet herum. Hinter einem Baum hervorzuspringen und sich zu nähern war eine Taktik, die Osco in seiner Jugend oft angewandt hatte. Die Kleinen erschraken und er musste sie nur mit seinen langen Armen betäuben, um sie fallen zu sehen und sie ins Lager zu bringen.
Osco ging in Position und wartete darauf, dass der Blondschopf näher kam. Im richtigen Moment sprang er hinter dem Baum hervor und zeigte seine Krallen. Doch nichts geschah wie geplant.
Der Blondschopf lachte nach einem Augenblick der Überraschung und wich Oscos kraftlosen Armen problemlos aus.
"Ahahaha, du bist lächerlich! Was sind die vier grauen Haare auf deinem Kopf? Und diese Schnurrbärte ..."
Osco war in seinem Innersten gedemütigt. Er schleuderte seine Krallen wieder nach vorne, aber das hatte keine Wirkung, außer die Heiterkeit des Trykers zu verstärken. Und als der Tryker anfing, eine der schärfsten Piken zu ziehen, senkte Osco den Kopf und entfernte sich schnell, wobei er seinen Verfolger dank seiner Dschungelkenntnisse leicht abschütteln konnte.

Der Anführer wartete auf seine Rückkehr. "Na, wo ist der Kopf?
- "Du hast nur versucht, mich zu demütigen, indem du mir eine Prüfung auferlegt hast, die zu leicht für mich war. Geh und hol dir deinen Kopf selbst und gib mir stattdessen eine Prüfung, die eines großen Kriegers würdig ist."
Die Augen des Anführers wurden noch röter, als er sich zurückhielt, den alten Krieger anzuschreien.
"In Ordnung, ich gebe dir noch eine Chance. Deine Prüfung wird dich dieses Mal dazu bringen, dich der verletzenden Magie zu stellen. Bring uns einen Kopf eines Magiers, um deinen Wert als Kämpfer und als Magier zu beweisen."
- "Es ist so gut wie erledigt!"
*Er richtet sich auf und klopft sich auf die Brust.*

Osco erinnerte sich an einen Ort in der Nähe einer Homin-Stadt, zu dem Maskenträger kamen, um am Fuße eines Wasserfalls zu meditieren. Während der Maskenträger meditierte, wäre es ein Leichtes, nah genug heranzukommen, um ihn mit einem Kältezauber einzufrieren. Auf Pfaden, die nur er kannte, gelangte er in die Nähe des Wasserfalls.
Eine große Blaue saß dort, allein und hilflos. Die Gelegenheit schien fast zu gut. Er richtete sich hoch auf und ließ den Kältezauber los.
Doch der Zauber schien an der großen Blauen abzuprallen, die sich nicht rührte. Osco versuchte es wieder und wieder, aber ohne Erfolg. Als er es nicht mehr aushielt, ging Osco auf die Homina zu und war fest entschlossen, ihren Kopf zu bekommen. Doch ein winziges Knacken der Vegetation ließ sie ihren Kopf zu ihm drehen. "Bist du das, kleiner Gibbai, der diesen Lärm macht, der meine Meditation stört? Komm, setz dich zu mir und mach keinen Lärm mehr!"
Und ohne sich weiter um ihn zu kümmern, nahm sie wieder ihre entspannte Haltung ein.
Verblüfft setzte sich Osco an den Fuß des Wasserfalls, ohne wirklich zu verstehen, warum er dieser überzeugenden Stimme gehorchte. Der Zauber löste sich erst, als Warnrufe ertönten, die um Hilfe riefen. Die Masken kamen in großer Zahl und Osco blieb nichts anderes übrig, als zu fliehen, während die Weise aufstand und die Waffen zurückhielt.

Der Anführer des Lagers verbarg seinen Zorn nicht. "Du bist wirklich unfähig, Osco! Aber da du eine Stütze unserer Gemeinschaft warst, gebe ich dir deine letzte Chance! Bring mir den Kopf von Zoran und du wirst für immer unser Bruder sein."
- "Es ist so gut wie erledigt!"
*Er richtet sich auf und klopft sich auf die Brust.*

Aber wie findet man den Kopf eines Wesens, das nicht existiert? Osco wanderte zunächst eine Weile ziellos durch den Dschungel, den er liebte. Die Lösung des Rätsels verweigerte sich ihm dennoch. Die Prüfung war schwer, er würde nicht nach einer neuen verlangen können. Wenn er es nicht schaffte, würde er seinen Stamm verlassen müssen. Seufzer und dann Schluchzer stiegen in ihm auf, als das Tageslicht immer dunkler und orangefarbener wurde. Er wusste nichts über die Bräuche der Homins und war daher sehr überrascht, als vor ihm eine Fee aus Atysoel auftauchte.
"Ich bin die Fee von Atysoël. Alle sind verpflichtet, in dieser festlichen Zeit glücklich zu sein. Ich kann nicht zulassen, dass du so schluchzt. Was kann ich tun, um dich glücklich zu machen?"
- "Du kannst mir nicht helfen! Ich brauche Zorans Kopf, aber Zoran existiert nicht, also kann ich seinen Kopf nicht haben." Und Osco fängt wieder an, laut zu stöhnen und zu winseln.
"Den Kopf von Zoran? Aber Zoran ist doch überall! Da er keinen Kopf hat, bleibt dir nichts anderes übrig, als ihn selbst zu erschaffen! Da siehst du, dass ich etwas für dich tun konnte!" Und die Fee verschwand.
Den Kopf selbst herstellen? Diese Idee gefiel Osco sofort. Er kannte genug Orte, an denen man Rinde, Lianen, Blumen, Früchte und alles, was man brauchte, um Zoran ganz zu erschaffen, finden konnte. Den Rest der Nacht lief er kreuz und quer durch den Dschungel. Am Morgen hielt er den Kopf von Zoran in seinen Händen. Oh, er sah zwar etwas zottelig aus und hatte große Schnurrhaare, aber man konnte die ganze Vitalität Zorans an einem Frühlingsmorgen spüren, wenn die Säfte kurz davor sind, überzuströmen.

Als Osco dem Häuptling Zorans Kopf präsentierte, warf sich dieser vor ihm nieder und nahm Osco für immer in den Stamm auf. Und es ist etwas von diesem Zoran-Saft, den Sie auf den Schmuckstücken von Gibbakya finden können.

Last edited by Maupas (5 months ago) | Reason: FR page layout

#5 Report | QuoteMultilingual 

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NENNORAE, by Lutrykin


Nennorae White

Once upon a time, long before the Karavan founded the Church of Jena and allowed homins to revive, there was a young Matis girl.
Her skin was of a white as immaculate snow which highlighted her fine, flawless features. Her black hair and red lips were the finishing touch to this masterpiece of nature. Her white skin made her nickname Alekin-Nennorae. The Karin was close to its blooming period and all eyes were on Alekin-Nennorae.

But she also had enemies.

Of the other suitors, Lady Chiabre was the most vile and did not back down from anything to become Karae. Lady Chiabre possessed a magic mirror that infallibly pointed to the right person when questioned. Dame Chiabre's greatest pleasure was to look at herself in the mirror every day and ask:

"Mirror, my beautiful mirror, who is the most beautiful?"

For a long time, the mirror had reflected only her face. But now she was seeing there the white and luminous skin of Alekin-Nennorae. Days passed and the mirror always showed the young Matis. Lady Chiabre then secretly summoned the guard she trusted the most. She promised to make her the mistress of the royal spies as soon as she came to power in exchange for Alekin-Nennorae's disappearance.
And soon after, the guard kidnapped Alekin-Nennorae and took her away to where the forest was darkest. The young Matis knew that her last hour had come, but her Matis pride allowed her to look the guard in the face. Under this gaze that stared at her and this beauty so disarming, the guard could not go all the way.
Pointing to the heart of the forest, she told her:

"Run away! In that direction. There are rumors of other homins to be found there. Go and never come back."


Alekin-Nennorae began to walk, going deeper and deeper into the dark forest. After a few days of walking, she found a small hut where everything was much smaller than what she knew. On a small table, there were seven small plates with seven small glasses and seven small pieces of cutlery. Alekin-Nennorae was very hungry. She took a bite from each plate and drank a sip from each glass. Then she lay down in one of the seven small hammocks and fell asleep.
In the evening, the inhabitants of the house returned: seven funny small people who spent their days drilling amber and other materials. What was their surprise when they saw that someone had eaten their food and drunk their byrh. Squabbles began to break out, but the smallest one raised his voice, reminding them of one of the principles that guided their lives: sharing. And everyone was content with their share.
Then it was time to go to bed… The astonishment they felt when they saw Alekin-Nennorae is hard to describe. They had never seen a homina with such white a skin, such black a hair and such red lips. They stood there, none of them daring to approach her for fear of waking her up with a start. So when Alekin-Nennorae opened her eyes shortly thereafter to see these small homins, she wondered whether she was dreaming. Their questions made her nervous for a while, but the cheerfulness and good humor of her hosts soon charmed the fugitive. Each one in turn told his story and she learned that these small homins were Trykers and that they lived in a lake region which they liked to explore in search of new materials to drill allowing them to build new objects.

Alekin-Nennorae had found a new home.

Her Matis pride didn't hold her back from learning how to run their home, and in the evenings, when the Trykers came home, they all sat around the fire, telling stories while drinking a little beer. Life was good. But, far from home, when Lady Chiabre asked the mirror again who was the most beautiful, the mirror replied:

"Lady Chiabre, you are the most beautiful here, but Alekin-Nennorae who lives beyond the forest, among the Trykers, is a thousand times more beautiful than you."


The lady's face contorted in anger and she devised a new plan to kill Alekin-Nennorae. Since she couldn't trust anyone, she decided to do it herself. As a true Matis, she knew about poisons, how to prepare them and how to use them. So, on salins so red that no one could resist them, she applied the most virulent poison she knew. Then, disguised as a hawker, she set out for Trykoth through the deep forest.

Alekin-Nennorae saw the hawker coming towards her without suspicion and offered her hospitality without recognizing her rival under the disguise. And she gratefully took the salins that reminded her of her happy childhood. But when she bit into them, her seed of life went out and she fell dead. Lady Chiabre savored her triumph, and when she looked into her mirror again in the evening, it was her own reflection that she could again admire at length. The Trykers' sadness at finding the beautiful homina lifeless was immense, but despite all their ingenuity, they could not determine the cause of her death. Since Alekin-Nennorae's beauty was enduring even in death, they placed her in an amber coffin and laid it on a hill in the light of the stars, watched over by one of them.

It seemed as if she was only sleeping.

In the meantime, the Karin saw a wedding with Lady Chiabre coming closer and closer, and this pushed him to extend his mektoub walks more and more, in the hope of finding the one who had stolen his heart. One evening, when he had gone deep into the forest, he saw a glimmer trembling in the starlight on a hill in the distance.
Alekin-Nennorae was there, lying in her amber coffin, more beautiful than ever. A small homin seemed to be watching over her, ready to defend her against everything and everyone. The Karin raised his hand as a sign of peace:

"I come in peace. I have searched for Alekin-Nennorae for so long. Can you tell me what happened?"

The tryker recounted the joy of being with her and the pain of losing her.

"My love for her will be stronger than death. Jena will know how to bring us together."

His love was pure and his pain immense. Then someone came along and put his hand on her shoulder.

"Your sorrow is great, as is the beauty of this hominid. Do you swear to cherish her?"
"Yes! Oh yes, I will. I swear to protect her and never let her lack anything."
"So… So be it!"


A hand rose above the amber coffin for a few seconds, then lowered and disappeared.
Alekin-Nennorae opened her eyes and smiled at the Karin.
And when Lady Chiabre that night asked the mirror who was the most beautiful, it replied:

"Alekin-Nennorae is a thousand times more beautiful than you and forever."

A presence seemed to be overlaid on the image of Alekin-Nennorae before the mirror exploded into a thousand pieces.
The karin married Alekin-Nennorae under the fireworks of the Trykers and they were happy until Jena called them back to Her.

Last edited by Maupas (5 months ago) | Reason: EN typo

#6 Report | QuoteMultilingual 

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GRATITUDE, by Lylanea

Lylanea bows briefly to the guests gathered for the Tales of Atysmas Vigil before speaking.

"As we do every year, we have gathered here to celebrate the Feast of Blessings. But what does that mean? What does the Feast of Blessings mean to us homins?"

Lylanea smiles.

"Tradition says it is a time to remember the dark years our parents and grandparents spent in exile… that many homins still spend in exile.
Some spent this time in safe caves deep in the Bark. Others, like all those who are joining us nowadays, have spent their time fleeing far and wide on the face of the Great Plant. Surviving only on their own strength, courage and intelligence, until they met those who showed them the way to get here. Many of us have found a place here in the Four Lands. Some are still searching for that place. But everyone will eventually find their place.
For me personally, the Feast of Blessings is a time of reflection, where I measure how grateful I can be to have found all this. These countries, these homins. Those who once welcomed me and with whom I spent many happy years. Until I left it. Those who are no longer with us and those who still walk the paths of the Bark."

Lylanea looks a little sad but soon smiles again and resumes:

"Those homins who supported me during my voluntary exile and showed me new ways. But, also, those who welcomed me back here. Who took the time to know me and let me know them. Those who accept me with all my faults, those who grant me their friendship and those whom I have learned to love. Some less, some more (wink to Wixarika). I am grateful to all of them."

After a short pause, Lylanea resumes:

"Before we continue our vigil, I would like to ask you: what are you thankful for today?
– For me, it is to be with you to enjoy these stories! answers Kyriann.
– Of the homins and homines who helped me, says Ogmios.
– To be able to fill up with stories, one more evening! exclaims Wieny.
– From the kindness that flows from this planet and especially from what I have learned from some homins, adds Wixarika.
– Oh yes! Listening and sharing stories, sometimes funny, sometimes full of teaching, Lutrykin adds.
– The joy of having been allowed to roam this wonderful rootball for many years, Ryzyinshi says with a broad smile.
– I am grateful for the flame that burns in the fireplace!" concludes Ledania.
– Well, that should be enough…. Thank you for those words."

Lylanea finally gives her own feeling:

"I myself am grateful for what I have been able to learn from you and what I will learn from you again.
I am grateful for the friendship and affection I receive from you every time we meet.
I am grateful for all those I have had the opportunity to fight alongside against our common enemy.
I am grateful for every spell, every bandage, every flower and every potion that helped me get back on my feet.
I am thankful for every spell and every sword stroke that took down an enemy and so saved me from pain and death.
I am grateful to the homins of the Four Lands for defending them, keeping them alive and allowing us to exist here."

A time….

"Without you, the Four Lands would not exist. A thousand times and with all my heart: thank you."

Lylanea bows respectfully.

#7 Report | QuoteMultilingual 

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MELTING, by Wieny

We were warming ourselves around a campfire when Gyaz'Alt the seer came to sit beside us.
As usual, he had abused the psykopla roots, and after some time spent listening to our stories, he began to tell one of his visions.
A story that may or may not be true…. It all depends on how much you trust his prophecies.
Here is what he told us that night.

"At that time, a king with a heart of ice reigns over the Matis.
He is so cold that the atmosphere at court is polar.
And his subjects show a chill to the idea of laughing and living.
The queen despairs of this wintry husband.
She brings in jugglers, storytellers and entertainers to warm up the atmosphere.
But nothing works, there is never the slightest smile on the icy lips of her royal husband.
Worse, he took the habit of having the heads of those who tried to cheer him up cut off.
And soon, only a lonesome wind blows in the deserted palace.
Nothing serious, because at that time as now, the Karavan brings the beheaded back.
But who enjoys being thanked in this way?
Then arrives from the desert an ardent fyros storyteller.
His gait is flamboyant, his eyes burning with a laughing flame.
Nothing can temper his enthusiasm for storytelling at the royal table!
He begins a first story, in a high color style.
And miracle….
The king does not cut his head off.
The queen and the courtiers beckon him to continue!
So he tales, again and again, until the day breaks.
Night after night, in front of the king who is slowly thawing, he tales.
He ignites, sets ablaze, and with all his bubbling passion.
One can see the Karan gradually light up.
In the Kingdom everyone lives again.
They sing, they dance, they shout: he has smiled!
The King's heart is no longer frozen, the Fyros storyteller has warmed it up."

At this point in the story, Gyaz'Alt fell silent, as if everything had been said.
I pointed out to him that his visions of the future lacked a punchline to claim to be a tale or chronicle.
You don't need to see the future to find a Zoraï parable…
He shook his mask, as if sorry, and answered me:

"What is the point of telling the story of the Queen's burning anger when she understood the affair?
What is the point of telling the story of the Karan and his storyteller's escape far from the sad throne of a dying kingdom and a loveless couple?
All that matters, as in any good story, is everything that is left untold.
And for your Atysmas, that's enough: all ends well, and spring returns!"

Last edited by Maupas (4 months ago)

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