Small tragedies can happen to anyone in the Corners of Khorvaire.
Nestled between the southern edge of the Towering Wood, the western shore of Silver Lake, and the foothills of the Byeshk Mountains, Sylbaran offers lush farmland that would normally offer great bounty to those who make their life here. Normally, that is, except for the constant incursions by flocks of harpies that occasionally descend from the foothills to harrow the many homesteads on the southern tip of the Eldeen Reaches.
As I sat in the common room of the inn in which I was staying, I saw a shepherd sitting alone in a corner booth. His crook was sitting discarded on the floor next to him and a few empty ale cups sat on the table before him. His eyes were bloodshot and red from tears that had long stopped flowing, though the pain that brought them forth remained. I rose from my seat and began to cross the room to offer him condolences and to hear his story when a small group of his fellows at a nearby table stopped me.
As they urged me to leave the poor man alone in his grief, they invited me to their table. "Naddy's been through enough today, little sir." they said. "He just needs a little time to get hisself together and get back to what's left of his flock."
When I asked what had happened, they explained that a trio of harpies had flown down from the Byeshk mountains and either killed or flown off with a full third of his flock.
"The hardest part being, of course, that Naddy stood there and watched the whole thing happen." Seeing the surprise on my face, they went on. "It's the singing, ya see? The harpies start singing and it just sort of fills your head and all you can do is stand there agape while they have their way with whatever they want. Only the strongest of minds can resist them, and none of us around here are exactly deep thinkers, you know?"
"When they sing of their hunger, you feel their emptiness. When they sing of the blood, you feel their thirst. When they sing of the flesh, you taste their longing. They sing, they kill, they feed, and they steal. All you can do is stand there and see it all, and feel it all, happening in front of you. You scream at them inside your own head, but your voice is silent."
I suddenly understood the shepherd's need for solitude. I asked what was being done for the poor man.
"Well, today we have a couple of our young ones out keeping an eye on his flock. Fortunately, those damnable harpies are too smart to hit the same farm more than once a season. But tomorrow? Tomorrow Naddy will wake up hungover and watch over his sheep again until he brings them to market for shearing."
One farmer at the table took off his cap and silently laid it on the table. They all reached into their pockets and together they left a small pile of Crowns (to which I helpfully added). Silently they rose and went out the door and back to their work, leaving Naddy and the coins behind.
Spare a thought for those who persevere in the Corners of Khorvaire.
Genbo Santor d'Sivis.
