A belled and marked halfling with a belt of many keys cajoles and sings to passersby in the cities she passes through, beginning with Spellgard in the New Year. She playfully spins magic in melody with minor illusions for her stories, and summons all who would tell or listen to stories to travel to Leringard for Midwinter.
The wind told me a lie to give from me to you
I vow full solemn here that all I say is true
Once there was and wasn’t, in times known as Ago,
A City in the North, amidst the ice and snow
The waves and storms they crashed, and how the thunder growl’d
The People did not fear, no matter how wind howl’d
Some were the sea’s foundlings, or sons of frost wights cold,
Others had blood running with driven fire bold
Inside the City was a flame that never died,
It made lights on windows, shadows on stages wide
And in the best of days it thrived amidst a din
You see, about this hearth - ‘round it, there was an Inn.
Older than the City, if truths we’re telling now
Old as arms and armor, as old as that, I vow
Dreamt here into being by wand’ring restless souls
Blood of battlefields, the coin spent for its coals
And at its secret heart, a tyrant on his throne
A shifting bed of coals that warmed the coldest stone
When kept caged it granted warmth of the purest sort
But when unleashed - ashes, a rage that none could thwart
When fed high and roaring, the City was kept dark
It ate up their stories, made laughter in a spark.
The People feared no night, cheered through the waters rough
Safe they slept and they dreamed, and lo, it was enough
Then their hearts were taken, bitten by Winter cruel
And any hearth kept cold belonged then to a fool
The Inn’s undying flame, it shrank there small and weak
For all ‘cross the City, each flame was at its peak
Beneath the old Inn’s doors North Lords breathed their flurries
While the People huddled, clinging to their worries
None to see the warnings in the fading woodsmoke:
A People without songs is just a People broke
Whispers of danger came from the glowing embers
No crackle to its voice, but the flame remembers
If Midwinter passes without the Inn’s hearth bright
All across the City will burn only witch-light
For this wind was summoned, though it grumble and glare
To say warmth all alone is no proof ‘gainst despair
To Hearth-Regnant it's bound, and its words are all true
And so on its behalf, I’m here to summon you
Come Ozy to the Prime, come Aylas, Geirs, and Flynns
Come back to us Gypsy, shy Annas, Katriens
Come Owen with your hat, Cae is here a’calling
Come WitMissing, gotcha! There’s no need for brawling
Come Tambourine Lady, your songs are needed here
Andrew-In-The-Red-Coat, drink competition’s beer
Come Storm-Bringers, Chanters, come and tell a tale
Bring your weathered chestnuts, bring the pirate Gale
Come Spell-Singers, Harpers, sing for me a song there
Bring your own creations, bring them for all to share
Come Snake-Dancers, Jesters, to The Inn wearing bells!
Come tumble and poke fun, for mirth unlocks our cells
Come Bellowers, Forked Tongues, tell me another lie
So long as you keep on, this flame will never die
A few notices appear here and there once she is gone, words shining faintly on parchment.
The Leringard Arms Hosts Storytelling on the Longest Night
