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Some might find it odd that a Trader like myself follows
the goddess Faenella. However, for those who know me,
it's not that strange at all.
When I was a boy, a mere lad of five full seasons of
harvest, I became intensely curious about how we came
to be. Things like the animals, the crops, the people,
the stars and just about everything seemed almost magical.
Surely something or someone had put them there, but
who or what I did not know. Being the chatty sort that
I was back then, I had decided to ask him if he knew.
{who?}
Each night after supper, we all gathered together near
the roaring fire and listened to tales of old told by
my father or my mother's father. My two sisters were
just as eager as I was to hear their wild tales, the
stranger the better. We didn't get much in the way of
excitement helping with the crops and livestock, or
when we were dragged inside for reading and such. We
rarely saw strangers come our way, either, so our only
experience with the outside world lay in their stories.
This night I decided to ask father my question before
they began their stories. I was hoping that they would
tell us stories about who or what had made everything.
When I did ask, my father's eyes began to twinkle in
the firelight a bit, and he rested his hand on my head,
mussed up my hair a bit and said, 'Take a seat, young
Calmyron, and I will tell you the tale as I have been
told."
Did I mention that my father also played a mandolin?
Oh, well, shame on me. He did. He was a bard long before
he married my mother. I always felt it was his bardic
nature that made him leave the family when I was nine...but
that's another story. I digress.
After we all settled down to listen, Father looked
around to make sure we were all ready, and he began
his tale.
"This is what was told to me long ago about our
Goddess Faenella and the wonders she bestows upon us.
"The world as we know it was created by the gods
and goddesses we hear so much about, each with their
own design and gift to bestow. Ah, but Faenella gave
us the very thing that separates us from the beasts
we see. For you see, the beasts know nothing of music,
poetry, or art because they lack the very thing that
creates these things in our hearts: Inspiration."
I listened to my father as he sang a quick little ballad,
and I looked over the walls of our home to see some
of the art he spoke of, paintings and tapestries, some
older than dirt itself, I was certain. The flicker of
light from the fireplace seemed to make them come alive
as to dance and join in the wanderlust of song coming
from my father. I could even see my mother, a curious
smile on her face, sway to the music with her eyes closed.
My own heart seemed to become even lighter and I could
feel the music begin to sway my soul to heights of joy
that were new to me.
He then stopped his ballad to continue his tale.
"Why did Faenella give us this gift you ask? A
good question and one worthy of an answer.
"Our goddess is the inventor of creatures, large
and small, yet each one was an improvement upon another.
She even created the faerie to help and assist her in
her work. Yet for all her efforts, there lacked something
from each of them. The birds would swoop and dart and
dance in the air and make beautiful sounds, yet these
were instinctual and never seemed to pass much beyond
their original design. For our fair goddess to hear
a new song, she would have to invent a new creature.
That is why each creature is unique and each has their
own song to sing, but they cannot sing another's or
create new ones.
"One day while tinkering with a new creature,
she finally came up with the idea of inspiration. Instead
of giving the creature its own melody to sing, she gave
it the ability and the desire to create its song. At
first she was worried that it would create its music
and then create no more, but she was also aware of how
strong inspiration is in her own heart and felt the
she could instill that in her latest creation: The seven
races of Elanthia."
My eyes must have been as wide as a platinum coin.
I was mesmerized and absorbed every detail. My father
began another ballad, this one slightly more whimsical
and faster. I could almost feel the seven races, each
with their own gift of inspiration, singing from the
very day they were created. I seemed to hear each using
their own tongue to create the songs to praise their
heroes, speak of their ancestors, and live their days.
As my father finished his song, we all noticed that
it had become very late. He smiled a tired smile and
told us it was time to get some rest. I watched as my
sisters left for their room and Grandfather left for
his. Then I saw the smile in my mother's face as she
put her arms around my father and gave him a big hug.
As they began their way to bed, I too headed for my
room, under the watchful left eye of my mother, no doubt.
It was some years later, after my father's disappearance
and the need for money the estate desperately needed,
that I left home for The Crossing. Once here, and feeling
quite alone among the throngs of people more intent
on getting to their destination than seeing a confused
young man, I found the Trader's Guild and became a trader.
I soon discovered that the fields and roads were not
as safe as some would lead me to believe, and it became
necessary to gain favor from a god or goddess. I remembered
that night with my father's story and songs and have
since learned that Faenella also keeps a watch out for
caravans. It seemed only natural to me to follow the
one that gave me the inspiration to seek adventure and
my fortune as a trader.
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