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   There was a man named Jorvain sod-Leman who lived just outside the city of Lindol in a shanty village called Tolvol.  He was a painter by trade with a wonderful talent, wit and a man of great character.  One day Jorvain was stung by a bee and became very ill.  Near death was he.  His wife Shaymale went into Lindol to get a doctor; who in turn gave Jorvain a healing ointment.  Though the salve worked it produced a rash requiring yet another Shaman’s learning. In time Jorvain had one physician after another.  Whatever they cured left an aliment worse that the last affliction leaving the need for yet another treatment and healer to be called for.  For twelve long hideous years was Jorvain afflicted with rashes, boils, headaches and stomach bleedings; and a host of others illnesses requiring attention from learned men.  
   One day as Jorvain was working in his garden, picking herbs to dry for yet another treatment for him to try, a stranger came walking by.  He said, “Oh son of the field what ails you today that man has not cured?”
   Jorvain looked up from the sage-grass he was pulling, and feeling angry called back, “Has another nobody come by to poke fun me yet again? Be gone stranger, all your pleasures can be had for the right coin over in Lindol.” Pointing to the city walls behind him Jorvain went back to his garden.
   The unmoved stranger said, “I am Kyon the son of Nadan.  I shall give you a joy that none have granted before and it shall make you rejoice to the Heavens.  The lessons learned from your dealings with men shall pale by comparison.”
   Intrigued by such boasting Jorvain inquired of the wanderer, “Honey laced with snake oil? Shall I climb Mount Ipstha and pluck a flower?”
  “For twelve years your afflictions have seen bleedings, boils and unceasing headache, but today the lone Lord of Heaven shall wash all the learnings of men away.  Obey me in this with haste and do not delay to go to the River Luhun that feeds the great Bay of Mithar.  Beneath its waters shall you bathe.  Upon arising the third time you will venture to your wife, Lindol and then the Priest of Mithar and tell them all you know one greater than them.”
   Jorvain was stunned by such simplistic talk.  A bath.  He had taken many bathes before and questioned why this kind of bath should be any different.  He had no use for the priest of Mithar, nor did he have an interest in contacting them.  The physicians of Lindol were as much use as sea shells to him as well.  Though he loved her greatly his wife was a constant complainer against his outcries. 
   “Heed my words now, and obey,” Said the stranger, desiring not to be questioned as he looked sternly at Jorvain.  He dropped the bundle of his gatherings and turned to leave for the river.  Turning back around, to inquire if tomorrow’s morning start would be better, Jorvain saw that Kyon was nowhere to be seen.   Jorvain called to Shaymale he was running errands.

   By late afternoon Jorvain had come to the banks of the river Luhun, a half mile south of the bridge, which lead to the northwestern Iron Hills.  As he entered the waters to bathe several people gathered about at such a sight, for Lindol was renowned for its public tiled-baths.  They laughed at the man with bleeding boils, and called after him that they were glad he had not gone to the city after all.  Jorvain removed his shirt and went beneath the waters a second time.  A guard from the city walls called for him to be removed for they found the open sores on his back offensive.
  As Jorvain came up from the waters a third time the two guards splashed back out of the water in wonderment.  The crowds gasped in disbelief.  Even Jorvain himself was bewildered by what that had occurred.  Then for a fleeting moment Jorvain caught sight of Kyon om'Dan in the gathered crowd smiling back at him.  As the moving crowds gathered, the person of the Prophet was lost among them.
  Jorvain began laughing and shouting praise to God above and calling every doctor by name a fool.  He excitedly returned home to his beloved wife and told her everything.  He went to every physician of Lindol and finally to Mithar and their priest.  Many of the priest renewed their love for the Lone Lord and praised Him for Jorvain’s healing. Everyday for the rest of his life Jorvain praised God and told everyone eager or not to hear that sometimes simplistic faith carries more healing power than all the efforts of men.

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