The lost ballad of Corvin

                          The lost ballad of Corvin

There are some stories that are only understood in the waning faux-clarity of dreams.  Such a tale settled like a heavy mist on the head of a bard, fast asleep in the back of a hay cart heading north.  He hoped to find a place that would inspire him, but since the incident he hadn’t found anything that would bring the free flowing words back.  The same tune ran over and over, but the words were lost to him.  Then it struck him.  He needed a muse to bring back the flow of creativity.  But alas, he had left the only person that could be his muse behind in Waterdeep.  Could he find a new woman to replace her?

He settled back into the hay, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of straw.  He had always written what he felt and experienced.  This was too recent and painful to put to paper.  But every time he thought about her the music flowed like a wind through a forest, stirring him and making him feel alive.  But what words could do her justice, what meter could express the a grand adventure?  How could a simple hard put such a beauty, power and love to music?  Corvin stood up and walked out of the barn overlooking the valley below and to the mountains.  The snow capped mountains seemed to speak the words he longed for through the wind, their striking beauty and silence reached out to his heart, like the muse that brought him so much joy.

In the wind, Corvin heard a voice which spoke calmly.

“You need to let me go, the accident wasn’t your fault.”

Corvin turned, only finding empty air, as empty as his heart.  “Mystra, you know I can’t let you go.  Not after everything we were to each other, and then there are the children…”

“Children?!?!” The wind exclaimed, “I didn’t know we-”

“The orphans!”  Corvin exclaimed.  “I’m talking about the orphans.”  The wind seemed to sigh with relief, “they need our help.”  He paused in thought, then began writing with the fury of a storm on his parchment.  An hour later, his hand cramping from the stress of writing, Corvin looked up and smiled.  “Mystra!” He called out to the wind.  “I’ve written a ballad about the orphans!  You must hear it!”  The wind picked up, but as it did so, it blew Corvin’s balled away and it was lost forever.  And that is the story of the lost Ballad of Corvin.