Dear Listener,
“Nothing’s ever truly gone, and nothing gained nor lost. It just transforms, unnoticed… forgotten… ’til it’s not. Like sickness, or a story, or a lifetime, or a plot.”
— Author Unknown
Preview Legend: The Bull’s Breath
Long before Thorgal R’uun the Peaceful united a shattered race and saved them from perpetual violence, a few among the Minotaurs had already grown weary of war. Among them was the Shaman, high keeper of the largest herd in Phenem. He begged for peace and preached it to his congregation, but none would listen. For them, violence was prayer. It was their culture, and nobody wanted his peace.
But his faith was great, and he believed that the gods wanted peace among all living things, as he did. He prayed night after night, eyes toward Mo’Rath, the Great Winged Bison who guards the heavens. But without an answer, his faith wavered.
One dusk, as he pleaded for a sign, he saw something new within Mo’Rath’s domain: a puff of light so faint it vanished when looked at directly, yet lingered at the edge of sight. It was certainly the Bull’s Breath, the living exhale of the god who had heard him. He prayed with renewed passion until, at last, he received an answer. He was certain of it.
The voice spoke of unity, of an end to all bloodshed, of peace. And the Shaman believed, because it was what he wanted for the world. The god plucked Mo’Rath, the great bison, from the stars. Vast and obedient, a beast of thunder and smoke. And it obeyed the Shaman.
The Shaman rode the bison into the villages and mazes, demanding peace, despite the people’s passion for war and instinct for violence. When they did not comply, he commanded the bison to gore those who disobeyed. And so, peace came, for a time.
Yet peace without healing settled like ash. Soft at first, then suffocating. And when the peace he had forced on them by divine decree exhaled, there was war beyond any there ever was. Entire herds were culled. Bloodlines ended. The rivers ran red. The Shaman returned to demand peace, commanding Mo’Rath to trample any who bore arms. When the herd learned to hide their weapons, the Breath whispered again, and they both agreed: “Kill them all.”
The clans, terrified, united at last against him. When his defeat was certain, he ordered the bison to rise and bear him away. The beast unfurled its wings and obeyed. Had the god lied to him? Perhaps he misunderstood the divine directive. To obey perfectly and finally bring peace, he must reach the god itself. So he commanded the bison higher: through the winds, through the cold, through the veil where stars begin.
He flew for a thousand years toward the Bull’s Breath, which never drew nearer. He passed by the very gods and legends written among the stars, and wonders not suited for mortals. The universe presented him with more glory, knowledge, and beauty than he could ever want. But he passed them all by. His eyes remained fixed upon the Breath.
Soon he had flown further than any star that shined. All that remained before him, from the corner of his eye, was the Bull’s Breath, hanging alone in the darkest dark, as distant as it had been before.
What the Pig Promised is written, performed, and produced by Shawn Fitzmaurice.
A production by Voiceover Nerd Productions, Inc. © 2025. All rights reserved.
