Storytime- Part 1

"Oh, heed the farmer’s plea, Oh, heed the farmer’s plea!"
"For the earth and sky are a’weepin’, in the darkness, we are a’sleepin’."
"Change our ways, change our ways, least the ruin end our days!"
"Oh, heed the farmer’s plea, and let the land be free of sorcery!"

A Rakash Bards sits by himself on a makeshift chair in the village tavern of Acenamacra. No one bothers Ludpels as he strums his goldwood mandolin in the corner, a half-drunk tankard of Rakash golden ale next to the potentially greater than half-drunk Bard. He sings softly, going over his own ditty for his own sake and not to the entertainment of others.

"Oh, heed the farmer’s call, Oh, heed the farmer’s call!"
"For the Heralds whisper warnings, least the mountains start to fall!"
"Turn away, turn away, from evil magic's wild sway!"
"Oh, heed the farmer’s call, and let peace find its way!"

Lupdels frowns and stops playing. No one here is interested in small talk and he enjoys the solitude as much as the rotating stock that seems too highbrow for this dim location.

"Least the mountains start to fall ... No, I wrote this before ... but ... "

The distinct possibility that he has been granted the foresight of a Moon Mage encroaches into his mind. Or perhaps his songs can bend Fate to his will? He needs to compose ballads to his great wealth, serenades of peace and serenity across Elanthia, perhaps even a sonata for success in fishing.

Or not.

Setting the thought aside, Lupdels begins to recite a story. He's been working on this one for some time, weighing different words against each other, pondering the right way to capture the chaos he sees all around him. It needs to be just right before he performs it for an audience greater than the smugglers and fishermen who make Acenamacra home.

>>>>THE RIVER<<<<

Long ago and far away, there was a river.

The river wound down from high in the mountains, bringing with it the chill of the snowy peaks that melted in springtime. The river flowed through hills onto the plains and from there, eventually, to the ocean.

At a particular spot the river tumbled down quickly over a few remaining rapids before slowly easing into a meandering course.

For as long as anyone could remember, and before even then, salmon had swam up the river into the crags and highlands during the fall, returning from the great ocean, so that they could lay their eggs.

And every year the eggs would hatch, and the smolt would follow the great river back out to the ocean. In time, some would return, but not all, to start the cycle again.

Sometimes, when the winter brought with it deep snowfall, the spring melt would be more than the banks of the river could hold. Other times, a storm would come in from the warm ocean and it would rain more than had been seen in years. And other years there would be less snowfall, less snowmelt, less water flowing in the river. For nothing was permanent.

Then came the engineers and architects. They decided to divert the flow of the river into a mill, because they were industrious. They dammed the river, creating a lake so that no matter the season there would always be water for the mill. They controlled the flow of water, so that there would no longer be flooding.

The salmon no longer traveled up past the dam. The fishing spots high up in the mountains were forgotten. They laid their eggs in the meandering streams on the plains and the fishermen followed them there, because fishermen go where the fish are. But some said the salmon were lazier and easier to catch, because they no longer were born with the spirit of the mountains inside of them.

The mill brought prosperity because that’s what the engineers and architects wanted it to do. Wealth was created. The wealthy realized that the lake was cool far into the summer, because it still held the chill from the snowmelt. People came from far and wide to live along the lake and enjoy a good life.

People were happy.

And then things changed.

Slowly at first, and then all at once.

Those crazy enough to still go up into the mountains, despite there being nothing but birds and trees and wild animals, reported seeing less snow than their grandfathers had told them. But who believes stories told by grandfathers?

The heavy storms that came up from the ocean full of warm rain came less frequently.

The lake kept less of its refreshing chill into the summer.

The engineers and architects who ran the mill wanted to prioritize releasing flows of water for the mill, because that created wealth.

Those that lived on the lake and enjoyed its good life were angry that the water would be wasted on the mill, even though they came after the mill.

Some of the engineers and architects even believed that more industry was the solution, that just as their forefathers had conquered the river, they could conquer the weather and force it to rain.

The fishermen saw salmon dying in the dried up riverbeds as the trickle of water released from the mill was insufficient to keep the rivers alive. They worried the salmon would stop returning.

People were not happy. They were angry.