Arcana: Everway Family Legends Project

The Mudbank Sacrifice

A Mudbank Family Legend

by Alan Schwartz

Scrap!" Ruddy Mudbank stamped her feet as she walked through the Court of Fools and entered her family's spacious estate. Grumbling, she nearly ran into Tenfold Mudbank.

"Grandmother, I'm sorry!" the girl stammered, vainly struggling to contain her frustration.

The older woman nodded seriously, and fixed the girl with a knowing stare. "What's the matter, child?"

Released by the words, Ruddy almost exploded. "It's the other Families and their jokes. I work hard all day, collecting carcasses, tanning, making leather. And the other Families buy it. But still they call me names and joke about the smell of the animals! It makes me so mad! Why did I have to be a Mudbank? Why do we do this dirty job?"

A slight smile creased the old woman's face and she bent down to the girl and spoke in a whispered voice. "Sit down, and I'll tell you, and perhaps you'll see why we still make leather and why you should be proud to be a Mudbank. These are secrets, now, and you must never tell them."

Ruddy nodded excitedly and sat down silent and eager, as Tenfold began her tale.

Our family is very old. It was many years ago, during the reign of Hardhand Tower, that the first Mudbanks began curing and dying hides and making leathers. Our family grew to master the craft, and our products were widely sought in the City and throughout Roundwater. Tourmaline Mudbank, founder of our Family, saw to it that none had cause to disparage our wares, and endured the slights and sneers that we still labor under.

It was a fair midsummer, and the land was peaceful under the shadow of the Pyramid. But fair skins may hide foul growths. None expected the army that poured forth from the gate to the place we now call Remnant. Hundreds of men, dressed in pelts but horse-mounted and armed with sharp steel poured forth at the behest of their leader, the accursed wizard Thumbprick Noshadow.

The Crows were hard-pressed to rebuff the assault, and most others fled behind the walls of the City and prayed for deliverance. But 'twas Tourmaline Mudbank who ordered clothing made to resemble the pelts of the invaders, and 'twas Tourmaline who rode forth on her horse and spied upon the army, which, from the wizard's overconfidence, set few sentries, and poor ones at that.

Once, twice, she watched the army and returned to tell the Crow which flank to mind. She was a sight, the old woman, her skin as tanned as hide, and as rough. And the third time, she caught a glimpse of Thumbprick Noshadow himself, half-naked, and stood shocked.

Across the wizard's back was a blazing tattoo, a swirling red circle with symbols arcane emblazoned into the skin at the center. Bright tattoos were less common in those days, and her hands shook from the beauty and the horror of it as she carefully noted the symbols within the flaming ring.

On her return to the city, she spent not a moment returning to her finery, but ran, in pelts and all, to Hardhand Tower. She met that night with the Great King, with Greybeard Crow, and with Silent Crookstaff. Upon hearing the description of the tattoo, the Crookstaff shuddered and bade her return the next morning.

In any tattooing, you see, a bit of pain becomes a bit of power. Thumbprick Noshadow's tattoo, the Crookstaff explained, was causing him constant, unstoppable pain as part of its magic, and affording him great arcane might, too great to be faced with swords or words. To defeat the wizard, one of the City must submit to the needle and the dye, and the lingering pain, to be crippled with a burning agony that would defend the city from Noshadow or his kin. But the Great King could not find it in himself to subject any man unwilling to the torment, and, I fear to say, did not himself wish to undergo the process.

From the look in your eye, I can see you've guessed. Yes, 'twas Tourmaline Mudbank who offered her own body and whose skin they pierced, secretly. That once able woman spent her remaining days abed, cheered only by the news that Noshadow's army had been routed, the wizard destroyed, and the gate to Remnant watched more carefully thereafter. It is in her honor that every Mudbank woman gains a small tattoo on her back when she comes of age; a momentary prickling remembrance of Tourmaline Mudbank.

The people praised the Crow's valiance, and never knew of the Mudbank sacrifice. Only Crow and Crookstaff elders knew the truth; that is why of all the Families, the Crow and Crookstaff never joke about our Family or our trade unless they must, to keep the secret.

Oh, yes, my child, the secret must still be kept. For the power of Tourmaline's tattoo did not die with her. The preservation of that square foot of human skin took the greatest skill of our Family, and is our greatest work. One day I will show it to you. Until then, you too must keep the secret and endure, like Tourmaline Mudbank, knowing that you are loved and respected by those who know you for what you are: one who draws beauty, warmth, and shelter from what others discard as dead.

The Mudbank Sacrifice copyright © 1995-2000 Alan Schwartz, used with permission.