Canter (old)

Canter is the god of music, and patron of the arts. He is youngest among the elder gods, and though he does not demand or care for worship, he is nonetheless held in high regard among bards and artists across The Mortal Realm. He sojourns across the world taking the shape of men and women, and mortals lucky enough to chance upon him are gifted with song and tales. Though Canter is happy to stay with mortal folk for a time, drinking and making merry, he must always return to the solace of the wilderness, to craft yet more song and story.

## Canter's Gifts

It is said that near the end of the olden times, a Fae had entered The Mortal Realm without permission. Unlike other Fae, who would claw their way in by tooth and nail, Canter simply wandered in, entirely unnoticed by the immortal Hrafnir guarding the world. It was Lys who happened upon him, sitting in the woods and whistling to the birds. She flew at once to Tyrgar in his forge, and told him of the stranger. But when they returned to confront Canter, he simply smiled, and bade them sit with him. Baffled, the gods did as he asked - and he began to hum. Wol and Lyra came then, for Canter's voice was such that it made the very earth rumble along with him.

"Come, sit," said Canter, "and I shall give generously to each of you." "What could you give", argued Wol, "of which we should be wont to have? All of this realm we have made, and all in it is ours already." But Canter simply smiled, and began to sing. With him, the birds sang too, and at once it was as if the whole forest had come to life around them. The gods had not heard song before, for it was Canter's doing, and had no place in The Mortal Realm.

"That sound, what is it called?" asked Lys. "It is music," said Canter, "and it is your gift." And happily she accepted. But Tyrgar was not impressed. "Your music means nothing. Anyone can make sound. You will take back your music, and give us something else."

"I cannot take it back. It is your to keep, but I shall give you another gift." Then he added words to the melody, and sang of all things, great and little alike.

"Those words, what do they mean?" asked Lyra. "It is poetry," said Canter, "and it is your gift." And happily she acceted. But again Tyrgar was not impressed. "Your poetry means nothing. Anyone can speak, and that is our doing. You will take back your poetry, and give us something else."

"I cannot take it back. It is your to keep, but I shall give you another gift." He ceased his song, and so did the birds. Suddenly, the forest had grown very quiet, and very empty. He spake, then, and told tales of great journeys. He described in detail the people he had met, the places he'd been. He told of sights he had seen, sights he could not have seen, for of the things of which he spake, there was none to be found in all the world. Yet, to the gods, it felt as real as the ground beneath them and the sky above them.

"Lies!" bellowed Tyrgar, fuming from his mouth. "There are no such people, no such places, no such sights in all the world. Your tongue is forked and you speak in lies, begone!" But Canter did not rise. Calmly, he spake, "It is true, there are no such people. And it is true, there are no such places. It is true there are no such sights, but I speak no lies. Do you not know these people? Have you not been to these places? Those sights you have not seen, you have. For I have made them all, not of earth and stone, not of thread and cloth, but of thoughts and will. You say it is not enough that I give you that which the world has to offer, so I give that which it does not. It is a story, and it is your gift."

As Tyrgar went calm, though grudgingly, Canter turned to Wol. "You have been quiet so far. To your friends I have given gifts, each in turn, but you sit empty-handed. What would you ask of me?" Wol took his time to think before he gave an answer, for he is not one to rush - "You are true to your word. You have given generously. I ask for no gift, but I do ask this - let mortal men sing your songs, speak your poetry, tell your tales. Bring them comfort and joy, and let no Man lay still to wallow in quiet despair. In turn you shall walk freely among us, to come and go as you please."

And so it came to be that Canter brought art to The Mortal Realm.