A Mason's Song

A Mason's Song

Some fifteen years ago, I met a bard with the strangest of all stories to tell. Born an ashlander, his view to life was very different from mine and most of the surrounding mer folk as well. Perhaps that is why he fascinated me with such a great influence. Although old and withered now, Fainissibi had once traveled through all Tamriel, gathering a great many stories from the land's humble folk. After twenty elven years of living among commoners, earning one's bread by doing masonry in Imperial forts, near new-found ore deposits, and plowing the corkbulb fields of Morrowind and Black Marsh, he chose to settle down in one of the most beautiful cities of eastern Morrowind, Tear. There he still sings and entertains the visitors of the Crimson Cutlass tavern.

After many miles of traveling horseback from Alten Corimont to Tear, our party leader decided to make an expedition to the local taverns. We, being paid by following orders, had the opportunity of once again following, and perhaps saving him from a plethora of problems with the authorities. We began by drinking fine sujamma in the Hanging Argonian. Perhaps even too fine - Enhyn had gotten his "let us conquer the Black Marsh" drive on and promptly stated that if he should ever encounter a free Argonian of prosperous stature, the beast be slain on the spot. After another round in the Lizard Carcass, a rather shady trader inn underground, our master was already too lushed to think clearly, and was ready to conquer Elsweyr too. Then we finally arrived to the Crimson Cutlass.

There an elder Dark Elf sat, against the wall, with several tired journeymen 'round him on small stools. Enhyn had always been fond of heroic epics described and portrayed by poets who had seen it all, and this mer certainly had the looks. The man, whom people addressed as Fainissibi, sang:

"Laying tiles for days, 'side the abundant hills of Lainlyn

Working with an ogre's pace, amongst others there was Barin

A race of Redguard, strongest of the lot

Even he could not stand the burden of the job.

One day we were a'working on the eastern wall

for had our captain commanded us, "It shall cover the glade by nightfall"

So we toiled, toiled hard, from dusk till sunset glow

But as the darkness drew near, it seemed we could not finish the last row.

Thus Barin, eager and strong still, went to the captain's camp on the side of the hill.

He climbed down from the slight spire and to the stand

While descending down, he did not see the rope's other end and clung to it as he fell.

Rope attached to the ground and wall, freshly masoned, came crumbling apart.

For his faith to see mere twenty-five times of warmth, no more

Yet from life, he knew what to expect for

Dreams of a man, and past, struck down by the eastern wall of a mine

built to last.

So it went and the story was told on the taverns of Hammerfell

How a laborer was struck down hard, struck down like a spell

Though a man of little stature, Barin was no fool

And there he rests, in the pit of Lainlyn, bottomless and cruel."

Enhyn, as expected, had gotten very furious even before the fourth verse and had left the tavern swinging from side to side, apparently ending up back in the Hanging Argonian. I did not pay attention to him, though, being mesmerized by the story Fainissibi had told and those yet to come.

You might wonder, why is one measly bard so fascinating that he deserves to be praised in a book. It is exactly the same reason many others thought of Fain - why would a good-mooded patron want to hear a story of a laborer being grotesquely splashed by a ton of bricks?

It has been said by many, echoed by Fain among others, that every being is worth a song, and that is why the outcast bard of Erabenimsun tribe was so remarkable and struck to me as a gentle mind amongst the stressed and bad-habited people of these days. Sometimes, stories of one's failure give meaning and faith to others.