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The Life Blood of the World

Dear Cass Maren, If the Arts were not of import in this world, then I am afraid to say that this entire week will have been for nothing. From the lowly scholars in my fellowship, to the strings of my lyre, to the sculptures of the Dead Kings that line the avenue on the way to Farcliff Castle, to the Water Dancers of the Felenii [fell-en-ee], to the Star Guides of the Canavar [cane-ee-var], the list could be as endless as my existence!

Art and Music are the very life blood of the world. They are how we share stories, lift us in the darkest times, bond us in the happiest ones. The medium is less of a concern, more the message. From the earliest days of this world, in a time before the Dran’kar [der-ran-car], there are cave paintings from those who came before, those few who found comfort from the darkness and told their stories on the walls for us to wonder at in Ages passed. Without the Arts, my early days would not have been sponsored by the wealthiest patrons I have ever known and nor would I have had the opportunities I have been most fortunate, or unfortunate, to have experienced. Now, I am not one to pluck my own strings, but in my time, I had a name that would make women swoon and men jealous. My voice was that of golden nectar, and my stories by far the most inspiring of an Age! But before I leave you, dear Cass Maren, I wish to thank you for your correspondence this fine week. I hope that your knowledge has been satiated for the time being. And should you need anything further, you or your associates, you know where I am to be found. Though for now, I shall leave you with one of my more favoured pieces:




Lights doth dim, and lights doth fade But never doth the light end For there is light in all things made And that is what the gods intend Beyond the close of the veil Years renew once more in rest For the golden time shall not fail And it is a time to be blessed Darkness will come, night will rise As the trees linger in sleep. Sun will wake to the dark demise And the trees with green joy will weep At year’s end be not afraid Celebrate in happy friends For the dark will always pale And winter will still be best Fleeting however it dies There will be many more to reap – The Sorrow of the Autumn

Yours most humbly, The Chronicler of Farcliff

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