Submitted: 17 March 1999

Three Years from Faenella's Keep,
Three Years from Sorrow's Spring

by Dreamheart Delaevan

And from the dreams of a young bardess, Wren, we knew that the Temple, the Lute, and possibly even the Chalice on the altar of Urrem'tier were all in danger.

Evidence mounted to support these things, and the warriors and adventurers in the city of the Crossing mounted a plan to defend the Temple and the shrines. Clerics, fearful of the loss of the chalice, kept a watch over the holy spot outside of Riverhaven.

And we organized a round the clock watch of the Lute which used to sit in a cavity under the Crossing.

It was not a pleasant duty, for as the Gorbesh laid seige upon the city during Sorrow's Spring, we waited, standing guard. We heard the engines of war, we heard the screams of death of companions and defenders, and we felt the horror of helplessness. But this was Faenella's Keep, and Her touch kept us from despair those awful sleepless days, and the escapes made into the darkness both in and out of occupied areas.

When it was over, Sorrow's Spring (eyewitness accounts are still powerful) had taken as terrible toll on defenders as the Red Winter (more eyewitness accounts and journal entries) had, on the resources of the cities of all the Provinces, on the Crossing's Temple, and most of all, on an innocent young bardess who was kidnapped and taken by force.

But the Lute was safe.

A year went by. We gathered there again, in the cavity of the Crossing's Sewers, to give thanks for all that we still had, and to offer our heartfelt prayers and songs for the one of us still gone and in the fell hands of the Gorbesh.

But on that Spring, the last shoe dropped, and the Lute was taken by force as people gave their lives trying to prevent it.

Another Spring came and went last year. Wren was still gone, the Temple was still in ruins, and some cities still bear the remnants of the Gorbesh seige near them.

This year, we have much to be thankful for because the bardess Wren is rescued.

Let us everyone and everywhere, take a moment to pause in quiet memory at those who fell to the Gorbesh, and those who paid prices so high words cannot even be spoken.

Then let us rejoice for what we have.

And forget never, the cost of Sorrow's Spring.