One hundred sixty kilometers west of a village called Nah, lies an enchanted oasis ruled by a powerful Werehyena—a shapeshifter, who could take on the persona of animals at will. His best and most fearsome visage was that of a stag, which the locals called, “The Sublime.” Its massive rack, five meters high festooned his ten-meter tall frame. His gaze penetrated the soul. Hunters who had first discovered ‘The Sublime,” over one hundred years ago in the little oasis, told stories of their encounters. One famous story goes as follows:
Once upon a time, a group of weary hunters from Nah got lost in the woods. Panic set in as their homemade flambeau torches flickered and died.
Suddenly, the hunters were enticed by an unusual full moon (unusual, because it was not yet the time of the Full Moon) which guided them unawares, deeper and deeper into the woods, to the oasis.
Suddenly high upon a waterfall made of liquid smoke, a large stag almost 10 meters high, glared menacingly at the hunters. The hunters called the stag “The Sublime” a word in their tribal language that means “beyond the unattainable.”
Without warning, “The Sublime” sped towards the hunting party. Its hooves thundered—kicking up dust spiked with an enchanted eternal sleep potion.
The hunters suddenly felt an unusual cold as the once gentle winds around them swirled with a mighty force. Some of the hunters said that there was an aroma of Morning Glory flowers blooming at Dawn. Others claimed the scent was asafetida. Yet others in the hunting party insisted that the scent was of sulfur.
Then, for some reason unbeknownst to the hunters, “The Sublime” halted his charge toward them.
A fly burst hurriedly into the hunters’ path and to their horror, the fly spoke—in their tribal language:
“Leave this place for good or, “The Sublime” will turn you into a waterfall— forever. Run for your lives! He enchanted me, Lagniappe. I was a warlock from your tribe. I cast a spell in search of immortality. But, “The Sublime” beguiled me. And now, my fate is to speak this warning forever in my present form…until someone believes me. Go now. Take that route—” uttered the fly, turning its body around and pointing to a glowing cypress tree. Then, the fly “Warlock Langiappe” vanished.
Needing little encouragement the brave hunters heeded the warning. They ran as fast as their feet could muster, in the direction the talking fly “Warlock Langiappe” had shown them.
A few moments later…
As they parted the tall cypress tree branches at the edge of the enchanted oasis, to their utter dismay, the hunters discovered that they had traveled a mere eight kilometers from their village.
An elderly man came up the path to greet them as the hunters entered the village after their all-night ordeal of traveling in circles.
“Hello Sir,” said the hunting party leader, Tumu: “Can we help you. Where are you from?“
“My name is Lagniappe, I have come from long ago and far away; but yet from this very village. You met me earlier and you believed me.“