History

T

Old Othnal

It's wot the domdest ting. Ol' Othnal stood out thur and gave that ol' razer whut fer. And you know wot? The razer backed down!

Elhainen Shwart, Poglian barkeep, 2585 AoR

Crisis Averted

A New Legend

Impotent

Death Toll

he Squalling was initiated by the apocryphal figure, Othnal Peyterschwimm, in 2585 AoR . The story goes that Othnal was a saltfoot from the coastal village of Gero . He was apparently very old, incredibly cranky, and a lifelong subscriber to the wondrous powers of mouldmilk. On one fateful evening, he was down at the pit, savoring his ninth or tenth mouldmilk of the night, when word came that the Bells of Norkey were sounding. Sure enough, once the local drunks exited the building, it was clear that a gargantuan razer was looming on the horizon.According to most accepted tellings of the tale, while everyone else started making immediate plans to evacuate as fast as they could, Old Othnal marched right onto the beach and started screaming at the approaching razer . In fact, he didn't simply yell at the storm. He seems to have gone into a full-blown apoplectic fit. He tore his clothes. He shat in the general direction of the razer . He displayed every obscene gesture in his repertoire. And apparently, he kept up this spirited rage for a great many hours.To the other Hinterfolk who witnessed his tantrum, they were convinced that he'd simply lost whatever remained of his fragile sanity. They laughed - and proceeded to hunker down, or evacuate, before the mighty tempest came upon them. But a funny thing happened...Nothing. No catastrophe. No destruction. The razer never hit Poglia . It turned completely away, spinning somewhere out in the Aequin Ocean . And when the locals turned back to their normal routines, they came back to the pit, looked out upon the beach, and saw Old Othnal laying in the sand. Dead. There was no evidence as to exactly what had killed him. Maybe it was the sheer exertion. Maybe it was just "his time". Whatever the case, they knew what didn't kill him - the razer Once word began to spread throughout the Hinterlands of Old Othnal's grand (and insane) gesture, he quickly ascended into legend. And that legend soon gave birth to an entire tradition that still continues in the Hinterlands to this day (to some extent). Whenever the Hinterfolk become aware of a razer threatening to slam into their homeland, they march to the beaches (or as close as they can get to the approaching tempest) and they do their best impression of Old Othnal. They shriek and holler - as he did. They shed their (already weather-worn) clothes - as he did. They insult the weather system. They challenge the gods. They bare their arses toward the sky. They basically carry on like idiots.It hardly bears mentioning that this ritual's ability to actually avert a razer strike - in any way - is... mythical (at best). There have been a few bored Agnoscio who have actually tried to steady the phenomenon of the Squalling, and to measure any positive impact it has had on the threat of oncoming razers . Not only has the supposed-benefit of this tradition never been quantified, but some of those Agnoscio are known to have perished in the razers that struck during their studies. Cognoscenti have pointed out (when they're not chuckling dismissively about the subject), that the Squalling has been a terrible detriment to all Hinterfolk Poglians , especially. The religious zeal with which Hinterfolk embrace the rite leads many to continue raging clear into the most dangerous periods of the storm. Indeed, there are some who hold out for as long as humanly possible - until the storm has been averted... or until they're dead. And the archives overflow with Hinterfolk who met their demise in the midst of the Squalling. The only cognoscenti who won't dare to reject the prophylactic powers of the Squalling are those who actually live in the Hinterlands