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.