What Are Turbo's StoriesEdit

Generally horrifying to the uninitiated (those who aren't Saranj), Turbo has absorbed a good deal of this history of his culture/race, and is able to tell the stories of a civilization which is, by this point, largely destroyed. He brings these stories up at such random and disturbing intervals, and usually in the worst of moments, and these are spouted off without much care for doing so.

The Red SandsEdit

"The thought, I think, is that N'ja [water] is pink with the sands... one bad year, when the goddesses were displeased, a sandstorm came and made the n'ja red, all very red, and those who drank it died... their lungs and bodies slowly filled with the thin sand that clogged them all up... but they could not help it... what could they do but drink the n'ja? And then there were some who were not kind to their--" *ATCHOO* "--quibbets and egglets, and opened the veins of their mates, or of others, and drank of them, denying their children the food that would make them grow strong, and most often killing their mate or their stranger... and sometimes, that was very bad, if their fluid was clogged with the sands already... but this was before my time... "

The BlightEdit

'*blinks at... culture has always been rather hard, and knows only the strong survive, has never heard any bad comments about this before* "Ah, that was not as bad, though, as when the blackness came and ate at the plants... and they too became black and drippy and bad, and could not be eaten... if someone ate something with the blackness in it, the blackness would eat them from the inside out. This is why, even though it was long gone, we use knives to cut the plants, and inspect them from the inside, so that if something like the blackness is there, we do not eat it... the blackness is supposed to be dead. They made a cure for it." *proud smile* "My egg-bearer helped work on it. There are images in one of the caves..." *makes a gesture again* "One of the people who ate the blackness. They cut him open, and the blackness was all inside him... it had eaten all of his inside, and had hollowed him out, until there was muscle left, and the bones, and the skin, but like the hollow of a pit when the pit is no longer there. And the blackness was there instead. ...Ah... stories like these are all the time..."

The Great SicknessEdit

Would be cool to give him a bad story about the uncle who spat his white blood into a bowl and infected everyone with his breathing, until they were all spitting white blood, sweating their blood, their breaths rasps, until his aunt went a little crazy in the head, because of the sickness, and she killed the household with a ritual knife, but this was his papa's side of the family, so his egg-bearer was all-right, and this was also before his time, but he remembers, because some of the survivors looked a little strange, like all the strength had left them, and it damaged their limbs so they could do very little, and some of them had scars and red-rash that stayed with them until they died. This was a little before the time of the red n'ja....

The Time of the ShamansEdit

"Yes, right before my aunt took her life away in a storm, when she opened her veins to the elements, strapped to a stone, so she could not worm free, in her pain, she would tell me the stories of her youth, and of her egg-bearer's youth, and of her egg-bearer's youth. And in this way, I knew about the time that the shamans were of the regular people, and the goddesses demanded sacrifice in life, and the villages were running bare with people going away and not returning, so they offered up shamans, who would keep the village safe, in return for the total eating of their inner life that goes when people die... so they would not go to the good place... that would be eaten, and they would not be there. The shamans did not like this so much, but the chiefs made the deal anyway, and the people began to repopulate. This is why shamans are bound to their hut, though, so they cannot themselves kill the people that they would protect, for we are hated by our own protectors... ^^ But as for the story of why shamans help those who come to their hut, I cannot tell this story, for it has too much gore, and my aunt was half through telling me it when she died, and her blood ran from her mouth, and also spattered me, for she made weird noises in her mouth as she was dying... >>;;; It was strange..."