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as told to Cassandra, sprite shaman of the Mage's guild
Beginnings of the Masters Clan:
In times unrecorded by mortals, before stories were told to children,
before songs were sung or poetry graced mortal ears, there lived a young
man in a non-descript Cosrin village. The young man, whose name has been
lost to time, lived a life that was uneventful until a fateful day when
he was 18 years of age. As he was walking along a path towards Moorgate,
he came upon an old woman.
"Hail, young child" she said with a raspy voice
"Yes, old woman? What do you need?"
"I have need of no thing. I thought you would like to see a scroll I
have" Her face contorted with a sly grin
The young man was in a bit of a rush, but spied a large leather covered
scroll grasped in the woman's wrinkled hands. The leather was deeply embossed
with intricate designs, inlaid with gold and gems. It aroused his interest
greatly.
"sure, why not, bored anyway"
With that, he found himself somehow suddenly sitting next to the old
woman. As she unfurled the scroll, he read incredible stories of immortals,
of Kali and Ica, Andaria and Valtera. The most exquisite art graced it1s
pages. For hours he sat there transfixed by the beauty of the art, the
fasination of the stories. There were words that seemed to sing out even
as he read them, words somehow put together that meant more than seemed
at first reading.
"What is this? I've never read words so wonderous!"
"It is called poetry"
He continued reading the history and stories of the immortals and heros,
and admiring the art and beauty of the eternal worlds beyond.
"I have never seen such words, such art! Oh that mortals could have
such history of gallantry, words that sing and art that brings us joy!"
"They could" they old woman assured him "your world is without the memory
of histories, without the beauty of art and poetry. It will always be
a dull and lifeless world till mortals write down their memories and create
their art"
"but I, we, could not create such art. Our deeds too boring to remember"
the young man lamented.
"You could with practice and hard work child!" She pulled out a small
scrap of paper and wrote a sentence ...For thy sweet love remember'd such
wealth brings, That then I scorn to change my state with kings...
The young man read the words. They said so much more than "I love you".
They were music. He sighed.
"If I, an old woman, can write such words without thinking, think of
what a young man could do!"
"hmm" The young man thought to himself. "Perhaps I could" He grabbed
the pen from her hands in his excitement and wrote a few words.. So I am
drawn to you as a bee to a flower's. "hmm.. not quite as beautiful. You
are a Master!" he sighed.
"no, but there you have much promise. You are young, years ahead of
you!" she suggested.
"Thank you.. the words and are so beautiful, the storied history so
fasinating. Perhaps I1ll try. Thank you so much old woman. My life is
so boring, maybe."
The old woman was gone. The young man ran back to his village. He was
so excited he spent every waking hour attempting to write poetry, gather
histories and tell stories, paint, sing and do anything that related to
the arts and literature. He turned out good at gathering and telling the
history of his village, but his art and poetry were lacking. He didn1t
have enough time for it all and soon grew exasperated. "We mortals need
more, not just my meager stuff" he thought. One day he noticed a small
girl copying a picture he had drawn of a Serenity glade.
"that is beautiful!" he said
"oh. I am sorry. I just liked your picture and wanted to make a copy
for a friend" she squeaked
"Don't be sorry! You are doing a much better job than I! Would you like
to join me, help me create art and beauty?"
"Would I!? Please! I would love to"
So with that they joined efforts. Soon many more citizens came to them.
Some talented in art, others poetry, others history and story telling.
Before long the formed a clan of mutual support and encouragement and
the land became rich in music, art, beauty and memories. They called their
clan the Masters Clan. To the day he died, he never knew who the old woman
was. He never saw her again. Perhaps she was Andaria or one of her long
lost scribes in disguise. Or perhaps she was just an old woman who found
a book filled with beauty. We may never know.
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