This, the first day of Spring. Old Whitebeak made his first appearance in the skies over town today, doing his dance for one of the small females – I think one of those hatched last year. Magog hides his joy at the first flowers just as well as he did a year ago; Dietrich has once more started his annual round of horseshoe-making in preparation for the plowhorses coming next week. Six births, two deaths, a small blizzard, and the every-second-noon eruptions of Crystal Pond.
Everything here moves like a heartbeat at rest, the same year after year.
My service to the Nine does bring me joy, my friend, and brings what little variety my life holds. Auril teaches that life is best with a regular rhythm; Pholtus, that justice comes in a roar but stays with peace. Yet Lir tells us to seek new experiences, the Raven Queen that the best preparation for the Final Passage is to take crossings from which there is no return.
I admit… I envy them sometimes. Eridne and Badger and that strange girl from the woods. They see so much more than I do, my friend. They touch the places far from the town, the wild places where things must change as much as the town stays the same. Magog takes Eridne to monster burrows and bandit camps; the girl from the woods goes wherever she wishes, and according to Halzad, Badger has even met the Emperor of Thyatia once.
Is it the place of some to simply remain where they are, while others see the glories of Mystara? Is that the will of the Nine? Is the fall of Tyranny a warning not to look too far past one’s place, or an invitation to freedom?
-A Note to my Paper Friend
On the First Day of the First Month of Spring, by Patera’s Reckoning