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Table of Contents
Poet of Mourning Collapse
Head: Poet's Dill Wreath
Before the Temple of Dusk in spring, the most outstanding of bards will receive a dill wreath bequeathed by Mnestia.
“Mnestia, we pray to you. For if the world had no song, there shall be no song-filled spring, and no forest will sprout blooms…”
After cleansing both hands by the stream, then scooping out chilled wine as an offering to the god, the bards gather before the temple, bickering over who would receive Mnestia's blessed wreath. The three sisters of Parthia, renowned for their poems of love, demonstrate their song first. They are followed by an old man, Lupes, the poet with myriad mesmerizing metaphors. Lyrics of honeyed elegance do not move the goddess, the wine cup before them unmoving.
Until a wandering poet plucks a seven-stringed lyre in her hands, playing a tale written on ancient papyrus. Sand and winds from a millennia ago sweep across, and the story starts thus — In an age when many cities still existed in the world, a city was attacked by an evil dragon.
“Lament for my homeland…
A monster dwells in its palatial hall, noble heirs becoming vile scoundrels,
All because of that giant dragon that breached the high tower,
Corrupting my ruler, devouring my kingdom's princess…”
The wine is imbibed fully by the goddess, and the wandering poet becomes the owner of their wreath.
Hands: Poet's Gilded Bracelet
A bracelet crafted from favored metal. The evil dragon in the story was once fettered in shackles made from this metal.
“People dug up gold from Georios' body, the first fearsome metal of its kind. And thus deceit and war were born.”
The origin of warfare has long since faded from time, and much of history has turned into legend. Yet, even as a legend, it is clear that arrogance, deceit, and avarice are the reasons for endless conflict among people, though gold takes the wrongful blame as its source. Just like those resplendent years untouched by strife, white iron and bronze were originally ritual offerings to gods. It was only later that they were cast off from altars and melted into armaments, becoming even more fearsome metals than gold.
The dragon in the story has been subjugated, right…? The wars among the cities are also near waning. The wandering poet's travels bring her to the holy city, where she plays the tale of the aftermath — After the evil dragon occupies the city, people rally dragon-hunting braves to rescue the princess.
“Lament for my homeland…
The courageous centurion, with shackles forged in heavy gold, finally subjugates the evil dragon.
The old ruler's cries can be heard from the tower-top…
From the dragon's belly, only scant parts of the devoured princess are found, where only bones remain.”
The metal bracelet's tassels run across the lyre, emitting a crisp sigh.
Body: Poet's Star-Studded Skirt
Dawn is the gentlest time of the day, her skirt is coincidentally also the colors of the last string of stars before dawn.
“When Aquila opens their eyes, all the stars are asleep. Only one squinting night star remains, being the most curious.”
The narrative poem continues till the second cycle of day and night. More listeners gather around the poet, among them Kremnoans with quivers clinking with arrows, and those from Janusopolis who cast divining rods for godly advice. Since the black tide's encroachment across cities, countless historical records have been scattered, and the Grove's scholars have had little time to collect all the documents — many lesser cities did not even get the chance to leave their names behind.
Only the wandering poet knows that the old city occupied by the evil dragon once possessed the esoteric method of alchemy: With flesh as the foundation, everything could be created, and miracles could be performed. The alchemists spoke as such to the king, heartbroken from the tragic loss of his beloved daughter.
“Lament for my homeland…
The silver-tongued alchemist was confident he could resurrect the princess from the dragon's flesh.
What is dead, yet undead. Another ten days pass.
The ritual is finally complete, alas…”
The final nighttime star reluctantly closes its eyes, hankering to listen to the incomplete story of the children of humankind.
Feet: Poet's Silver-Studded Shoes
Woven shoes inlaid with silver studs, pressing worded patterns across the sand she treads. On her mission to gather all the poems of the past, she has never once ceased her footsteps.