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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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CONTE, par Kyriann

Il était une fois dans la jungle de Zoran, un très très vieux gibbaï. De base, les gibbaïs ne sont pas très beaux mais celui-là était devenu fort minable. Son poil n’avait plus rien de noir et il en avait tellement perdu qu’il paraissait tout maigre et échevelé. Ses moustaches qui avaient été longues étaient tordues et ressemblaient à un tire-bouchon. Ses griffes étaient toutes cassées et incapables de déchirer quoi que ce soit. Il passait ses journées accroupi, à rêver sur le grand guerrier qu’il avait été, accompagnant Gibbakya lui-même.

Un jour le chef de la tribu vint le trouver :
« Osco, tu es une bouche inutile, tu ne nous apportes plus rien. Je te chasse de la tribu !
— Quoi ?? rugit Osco en essayant de se redresser de toute sa taille. Tu me chasses ? Ton père n’était même pas chef que j’étais déjà le guerrier le plus accompli de la tribu. C’est moi qui lui ai tout appris. Et toi, minable avorton, tu voudrais me chasser ?
— Justement, tu es vieux et plus personne ne te craint !
— J’ai le droit d’être mis à l’épreuve pour prouver que je suis un membre utile ! Alors donne moi une épreuve à ma hauteur ! »
Le chef réfléchit un moment et hocha la tête.
« Voilà ton épreuve. Tu dois nous rapporter la tête d’un petit homin, prouvant par là que tu es encore un grand chasseur.
— C’est comme si c’était fait ! »
*se redresse et se frappe la poitrine des poings*

Osco connaissait la jungle comme nul autre. Il se faufila sans encombre jusqu’à un camp de trykers.
Pas question de s’en prendre néanmoins à ces gardes armés. Mais il savait que, autour des camps, il pourrait trouver des individus esseulés. Et effectivement une de ces petites créatures, avec de la fourrure blonde sur la tête, se promenait sans arme. S’approcher en jaillissant de derrière un arbre était une tactique qu'Osco avait souvent employé quand il était jeune. Les petits étaient alors saisis d’effroi et il n’avait plus qu’à les assommer de ses longs bras pour les voir tomber, et les ramener au camp.
Osco se mit en position attendant que le blondinet se rapproche et au bon moment, il jaillit de derrière l’arbre en montrant ses griffes.
Mais rien ne se passa comme prévu. Le blondinet, après un temps de surprise, se mit à rire et esquiva sans problème les bras sans force de Osco.
« Ahahaha ! Mais tu es ridicule ! C’est quoi ces quatre poils gris sur ton crâne ? Et ces moustaches… »
Osco était humilié au plus profond de lui. Il lança encore ses griffes vers l’avant mais sans plus d’effet que de redoubler l’hilarité du tryker.
Et quand le tryker commença à sortir une pique des plus perçantes, Osco baissa la tête et s’éloigna rapidement, semant facilement son poursuivant grâce à sa connaissance de la jungle.

Le chef attendait son retour :
« Alors, cette tête ?
— Tu n’as cherché qu’à m’humilier en me donnant une épreuve trop facile pour moi. Va chercher ta tête tout seul et donne moi plutôt une épreuve digne d’un grand guerrier. »
Les yeux du chef devinrent encore plus rouges alors qu’il se retenait de hurler sur le vieux guerrier.
« Très bien, je te donne une autre chance. Ton épreuve cette fois te conduira à affronter la magie qui blesse. Ramène nous un la tête d’un magicien pour prouver ta valeur de combattant et de magicien.
— C’est comme si c’était fait ! »
*se redresse et se frappe la poitrine des poings*

Osco se souvenait d’un endroit près d’une ville homine où des porteurs de masque venaient méditer au pied d’une cascade. Pendant que le masque méditait, il serait facile de se rapprocher assez pour le geler d’un sort de froid.
Par des sentiers que lui seul connaissait, il arriva près de la cascade. Une grande bleue y était assise, seule, sans défense. L’occasion semblait presque trop belle.
Se dressant de toute sa hauteur, il laissa partir le sort de froid. Mais le sort sembla ricocher sur la grande bleue qui ne bougea pas. Osco recommença encore et encore mais sans plus de succès que la première fois. N’y tenant plus, Osco se dirigea vers l’homine bien décidé à avoir sa tête malgré tout. Mais un tout petit craquement de végétation la fit tourner la tête vers lui.
« Est ce toi, petit gibbaï, qui fait tout ce bruit qui gêne ma méditation ? Viens t’asseoir avec moi et ne fais plus de bruit ! »
Et sans plus se préoccuper de lui, elle reprit sa posture détendue.
Osco, abasourdi, vint s’asseoir au pied de la cascade sans trop comprendre pourquoi il obéissait à cette voix si persuasive.
Le charme ne fut levé que quand des cris d’alerte retentirent appelant à l’aide. Des masques arrivaient en nombre et Osco ne sut que s’enfuir alors que la Sage se levait, retenant les armes.

Le chef du camp ne cacha pas sa colère :
« Tu es vraiment un incapable, Osco ! Mais comme tu as été un pilier de notre communauté, je te donne ta dernière chance ! Rapporte moi la tête de Zoran et tu seras nôtre à jamais.
— C’est comme si c’était fait ! »
*se redresse et se frappe la poitrine des poings*

Mais comment trouver la tête d’une entité qui n’existe pas ? Osco commença par errer sans but un moment dans la jungle qu’il aimait. La solution de l’énigme se refusait quand même à lui. L’épreuve était difficile, il ne pourrait pas en réclamer une autre. S’il n’y arrivait pas, il devrait quitter sa tribu. Des soupirs puis des sanglots montèrent en lui au fur et à mesure que l’astre du jour devenait plus sombre et orangée. Il ne savait rien des coutumes homines et fut donc très surpris en voyant apparaître devant lui une fée d’Atysoël.
« Je suis la fée d’Atysoël. Tous se doivent d’être heureux pendant ce temps de fête. Je ne peux pas te laisser pousser des sanglots pareils. Que puis-je faire pour te faire plaisir ?
— Tu ne peux rien pour moi ! Il me faut la tête de Zoran mais Zoran n’existe pas alors je ne peux pas avoir sa tête. »
Et Osco recommenca à gémir de plus belle.
*geint*

« La tête de Zoran ? Mais Zoran est partout ! Puisqu’il n’a pas de tête, il ne te reste qu’à la créer toi même ! Tu vois que je pouvais faire quelque chose pour toi ! »
Et la fée disparut.
Confectionner la tête ? L’idée plut aussitôt à Osco. Il connaissait assez d’endroits où trouver des écorces, des lianes, des fleurs, des fruits, tout ce qu’il fallait pour créer Zoran en entier.
Tout le reste de la nuit, il traversa la jungle en long et en large. Et au matin, il tenait dans ses mains la tête de Zoran. Oh elle paraissait bien un peu hirsute et avait de grandes moustaches mais on y sentait toute la vitalité de Zoran un matin de printemps quand la sève est sur le point d’éclater.

Quand Osco présenta la tête de Zoran au chef, ce dernier se prosterna et accepta Osco pour toujours dans la tribu.
Et c’est un peu de cette sève de Zoran que vous pouvez trouver sur les bijoux de Gibbakya.

Original

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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