The Starwyrd Bargain
Posted on Sun Dec 14th, 2025 @ 9:15pm by Axion & Thane
1,433 words; about a 7 minute read
Chapter:
Chapter VIII: Broken Chains
Location: Original and translated texts handed to the Red Raptor crew by Thane
ORIGINAL FABLE - MIDDLE ALDERAANIAN LANGUAGE, circa.800-900 ABY
Þe Starwyrd Bargayn
Onys upon a tyme, er þe brekynge of worldes and þe longe sorwe of Alderaan, þer stood upon þe Newe Worlde a noble hous ycleped Wyrd, olde in name, yet late yfallen lowe.
Hir baneres weren wan and wery, hir cofers bare, and hir lord bar upon his soule þe weyght of dettes, of sones forlorne, and of othes ybroken.
Oþer houses grette Wyrd fayre by daye, but by nyght they spaken of hir ende whan þe lampes weren lighte.
So it bifel upon an eve, neyther good ne ille, þat þe lord of Wyrd walked alone in his nether gardynes, where þe hegges weren hye and þe shadewes layen thikke.
Þer he fond a djinn abydenge.
Þis djinn of Olde Alderaan, ybounde unto a Starweird, was clad in derke rayement ful wel yshapen, and upon his flesh weren markes ygraven deepe, as ywrite by fyre and yheled by wille.
His eyen weren blewe over alle blewe, pale and shynynge, yea even þe white therof, so þat who loked upon hym was both yweyed and ymeted.
At his brest brenned oon rubye of crymsyn, glowyng softe as a lyvynge herte.
Þe Starweird smyled, and his wordes weren swete as hony, yet hevy in þe herte.
“Bynde þi name and bynde þi lyne,”
quod he, softely and fayre,
“What þou hast lost I shal refine,
And reise þin hous from care.
Yive me oon, and yive I thee ten,
Let fortune tourne þi weye-
But what is sworn shal stonden then,
And dette abyde his daye.”
Þe lord trembled sore, and tolde of his meschaunce: of dettes unpaied, of bondes ybroked, of sones lost to sekenesse and to chaunce.
As þe Starweird herkened, þe shadewes bihynde hym drewen togider, til no man myghte seye where man endede and derknesse bigan.
Þanne þe Starweird aroos from þe erthe, nat by stepe ne sprynge, but as a flame lifteth in stille eir; and whan he sette fote adoun ageyn, þe hevene answered hym with rede leynynge, rentyng þe cloudes as clothe.
“Golde I seke nat, ne londe ne see,
Ne prayer ne bended kne.
I axe but þat þat longeth to thee—
What þou must lese to be.”
Drede is a sharper spore than wisdom; and so þe lord of Wyrd graunted þe covenaunt.
Er þe nyght was spent, oon voys was stillede.
Somme seyn it was þe lady of Wyrd, þat spak ayens þe bargayn.
Somme seyn it was a child, clene of blame.
Somme seyn it was neyther flesh ne blood, but a name ystriken from remembraunce, never eft yspoken.
Þe tale is dyvers, for þe hous forbad þe tellenge.
But children remembren it thus:
“Oon was taken, oon was gon,
Er þe brekynge of þe dawen.
No belle was ronge, no grave ymaked,
Yet þe pryce of Wyrd was paied.”
At morwe, þe hous of Wyrd was ychaunged.
--
From þat tyme forth, fortune cleved unto Wyrd as yvy unto stoon.
Shippes camen with good wynd uncalled.
Mariages were ymade fer beyonde hope, bothe upon Alderaan newe and fer among þe sterres.
Marchaundyse flowed in bare yeres, and foos were undone by hap alone.
Yet ech lord of Wyrd was seyn to wexe olde over sone, and noon was ever knowen to laughe ere he caste his ye upon þe shadewes.
Ech heir sware þe same oth unsaide, though no wrytyng therof abood.
Ech held counseyl in closyd chambres.
And ech felt hymself ylokede upon, yea even whan alone.
Noryces warne þat þe Starwyrd, as it is now ycleped, yet haunteth þe gardynes of Wyrd whan þe lampes brennen lowe;
þat he bereth þe same blewe lok and þe same rubye of crymsyn;
and þat he herkneth for swete wordes yspoken in nede.
For þe Starwyrd seketh nat corounes,
ne baneres,
ne worshipe.
He axeth oonly continuance.
And so þe elders ende þe tale with a ryme taught softe to children, half in bourde and half in drede:
“Lykke þat lengreth, lykke þat stayeth,
Is never fre in mortal dayes.
Rekene þe smyles and rekene þe cost-
For Wyrd yet paieth for þat was lost.”
TRANSLATED INTO MODERN GALACTIC BASIC BY THANE OF CAANUS - 1,218 ABY
Once upon a time, ere the breaking of worlds and the long sorrow of Old Alderaan, there stood upon the New World a noble house named Wyrd, ancient in title yet newly brought low.
Its banners hung faded, its coffers lay thin, and its Lord bore the weight of debts, failed sons, and broken oaths.
Other Houses greeted Wyrd with smiles in the day, yet spoke of its ending when the lamps were lit.
And so it came to pass that, upon an evening neither fair nor foul, the Lord of Wyrd walked alone in his lower gardens, where the hedges grew tall and the shadows lay deep.
There he found a djinn waiting.
The djinn of Old Alderaan, a Starweird-bound, wore dark raiment, finely cut, and upon his flesh were marks etched deep, as though written by fire and healed by will.
His eyes were blue beyond all blue, pale and shining, even unto the whites, so that to meet his gaze was to feel weighed and measured.
At his breast burned a single jewel of crimson, glowing softly like a living heart.
The Starweird smiled, and his words were sweet as honey, though heavy in the ear.
“Bind thy name and bind thy line,”
said he, softly and fair,
“What thou hast lost I shall refine,
And raise thy House from care.
Give me one, and I give thee ten,
Let fortune turn thy way-
But what is sworn must stand till then,
And debt endure its day.”
The Lord trembled, yet spoke of his ruin: of debts unpaid, of alliances broken, of sons lost to sickness and to chance.
As the Starweird listened, the shadows behind him gathered and drew close, until it was hard to tell where man ended and darkness began.
Then the Starweird rose from the earth, not by step nor leap, but as flame lifts in still air, and when he returned to ground, the sky answered him with red lightning, tearing cloud from cloud.
“Gold I seek not, nor land nor throne,
Nor prayer nor bended knee.
I ask but what is thine alone-
What thou must lose to be.”
Fear is a sharper spur than wisdom, and so the Lord of Wyrd agreed.
Before the night had waned, one voice was silenced.
Some say it was the Lady of Wyrd, who spoke against the bargain.
Some say it was a child, unmarked by guilt.
Some say it was neither flesh nor blood, but a name struck from memory, never again spoken.
The tale differs, for the House forbade the telling.
Yet children remember it thus:
“One was taken, one was gone,
Ere the breaking of the dawn.
No bell was rung, no grave was made,
Yet still the price of Wyrd was paid.”
Come the morning, House Wyrd was changed.
--
From that hour forth, fortune clung to Wyrd as ivy to stone.
Ships came upon favourable winds unbidden.
Marriages were made beyond expectation, both upon Alderaan reborn and far among the stars.
Trade flowed even in lean seasons, and rivals found themselves undone by chance alone.
Yet each Lord of Wyrd thereafter was said to age swiftly, and none were known to laugh without first glancing toward the shadows.
Each successor swore the same unspoken oath, though no record of it remains.
Each kept counsel in shuttered rooms.
And each was said to feel watched, even in solitude.
Nursemaids warn that the Starwyrd, as it is now named, yet stalks the gardens of Wyrd when the lamps burn low,
that he bears the same blue gaze and the same crimson jewel,
and that he listens for honeyed words spoken in desperation.
For the Starwyrd seeks not crowns,
nor banners,
nor worship.
He asks only continuance.
And so the elders end the tale with a rhyme taught softly to children, half in jest and half in dread:
“Luck that lingers, luck that stays,
Is never free in mortal days.
Count the smiles and count the cost-
For Wyrd still pays for what was lost.”
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