View source for Of Sirens and Satyrs - A Creation Myth

[[Category:Bardic Runners Up]][[Category:2005 Bardics]]
By: Demetrios
Posted on: November 13, 2005


Our story begins before our beginning, before some events and after others,
which is a common way for events to begin. These were sad ages for Sapience,
for no jovial Satyrs traveled the land bringing their cheer and song, nor did
any Siren grace the world with her beauty. Yet, people found what joy they
could in such desperate times, yea, in friend, family, and lover. It is to
people such as this that we now direct our attention.


In the fair city of Cyrene where the vineyards now stand and unfinished
construction doth dominate the view, there were at this time a group of farms.
The farmers there raised produce and livestock, selling them in the nascent
markets of the growing town nearby. One of these farms was the Ocken farm.
'Twas not the largest farm, but 'twas of great import nonetheless, for the
Ockens were goatherds, and the fabric, dairy, and at times even meat kept them,
their neighbors, and the town well-supplied with food and clothing.


John Ocken provided work to a few farmhands. One of these farmhands was an
older boy named Willas. His father and the Ockens were fast friends, and he
had worked on their farm since he had been a child. Willas was a simple boy in
various senses of the word, but he was full of passion for life. Whatever he
did, he did with gusto. When he ate, he ate prodigiously. When he drank, he
drank as if all wine would vanish from the world on the morrow. When he spied
a graceful, womanly curve, ne'er did you see a farm boy wax so poetic. And
when he sang the old songs, his joy was contagious.


Also working this farm was a young lady named Carinne. Carinne did tend to the
goats as if they were her own children. When they fell ill, she would grind
powerful medicines from herbs, and more often than not, they would be cured on
the morrow. When they were injured, she did bind their hurts with bandages and
poultices of her own make. She delivered their young, and did also grant them
painless mercy when the situation did call for it. And ne'er was a woman OR
man for that matter so intent on their duties as Carinne. She rose early to
care for the herd and did so until she was exhausted. Ne'er did she seek for
company amongst her own kind, and ne'er did she desire it, truth be told.


Well, such was a crime of sorts, for Carinne's beauty was legendary throughout
Cyrene and beyond. There was not a man in town that did not try to catch her
eye. Even those gentle born would make their suit, but Carinne had nay a
hopeful word for any of them. Indeed, she was oft cold and rude to the
questing hearts, dismissing them as quickly as possible so that she might
return to her work.


Needless to say, Willas did love Carinne, and I use not the word lightly, for
unlike many who came to call on her, Willas had spent countless hours watching
her from a distance. He had seen the tenderness with which she cared for her
charges and the selflessness of her service. Aye, so loved her he did, for
when a powerful shaft of noble character is bound to the arrowhead of great
beauty, the wound is often fatal, nay?


And yet, Willas knew that he had no hope, for he knew her rede well by this
point. Carinne would have nothing to do with love or e'en friendship. Yet, he
could not command his heart, which spun crazily about the Isle of Carinne like a
rudderless ship. The days grew long, his spirit grew heavier, and his hours in
her presence were silent torture. 'Twas bearable at first, but love weakens
with distance, not proximity. And as he saw her day by day, the pain grew in
his heart.


One night, Willas could not sleep for the desperate aching in his chest. He
tossed and turned like a man in the throes of fever. He e'en began to rake his
own chest with his fingernails. In a fit, he cast himself from the bed and
threw open his window. "Whate'er gods are in this place," he gasped, "I will
do anything for the love of Carinne. Take this pain from me, and grant joy in
its place."


Then did the wind pick up in his room. The lamp on the nearby table guttered,
and he found himself alone in the dark with only the faint starlight framed in
his small window to guide him. He fumbled about the floor looking for his
tinder, and when he found it, he lit the lamp, placed the tinder box on the
table, and turned to get back into bed.


But Willas was no longer alone.


In the middle of his small room stood a cowled figure dressed in a ragged robe
of sackcloth. Dark, beady eyes glinted in the low light of the flickering
lantern, and a long, twisted nose protruded from the depths of the cowl. The
figure spoke to Willas in a low rasp.


"The gods have heard thy prayer, mortal. Well, one of them hath taken an
interest, anyway. Is it true what thou hast said? Is there nothing thou
wouldst not give for the love of this woman?"


Hope did drive out Willas' fear. "There is nothing, er... sir. Nothing would
I withhold, save of course my own life that I might enjoy the riches of her
love."


"Family?" the figure rasped. "Friends? A future with another wife, perhaps
many children? You would trade this all?"


The passion rose in Willas' breast, and he gave his answer quickly, "Aye.
There is no price I would not pay."


"Very well then. The god I serve grants thy wish. When next thou art in
Carinne's presence, she will behold thee as what she loves above all else."


Relief flooded Willas, and he almost wept. He lept forward and embraced the
hideous figure. "Thank you. Thank you, and thank thy lord, whoever he might
be. Carinne and I shall dedicate our first child to him!"


A horrible laugh escaped the cowl. "Enough of this. Go now to thy love. She
waits for thee."


Willas released the figure, bolted across the room, and threw open the door.
He ran down the hall to Carinne's room and stopped before her door. Lamplight
flickered from underneath, which was not uncommon. Carinne often stayed up
late updating her texts and journals. Running a hand quickly through his hair
to smooth it, Willas opened the door and strode into the room.


Carinne's head whipped up at the intrusion, and their eyes met.

Willas' body was filled with fiery lances of pain.


He felt as though his bones would burst from his skin as they grew and warped.
His feet felt as though they were being crushed under a boulder. Worst of all,
great spears of pain shot through the top of his head. He shrieked and
shrieked until he could bear himself no longer and collapsed to the ground.


As the pain began to ebb, Willas saw himself through tear-dimmed eyes. His
legs were bulky, misshapen, and covered with hair. His feet ended in heavy
hooves. As he reached up to rub his head, he felt two, large horns protruding
there. It was then that he understood the price he paid and the gift he
received. He had indeed become what Carinne loved most.


And Willas wept.


Then was the room filled with blazing light, and a figure covered with white
flame did appear, and when it spoke, its voice was of many trumpets.

"I am the Logos and I have heard of thy trangression - thy unholy pact made for
the sake of thy passion. Hear now thy doom."

"You, Willas, shall keep this new form of thine. It shall ever remind thee of
the price of unchecked passion and the double edge of the sword of love."

"As for thee, Carinne. 'Tis every being's right to decide whether or not to
love another, but 'tis no one's right to be cruel to an honest heart. Thou
shalt retain thy beauty, but from this day forward, thou wilt ever draw the
advances of men, and thou shalt long for them in thine own way."


"And I lay a final doom upon the both of ye. The descendants of Willas shall
always be man, and the descendants of Carinne shall always be woman. In this
manner, for those whose hearts are moved to unite with another in love to
produce offspring, you will always be searching for it from another, and never
will you find fulfillment of this amongst your own kind, but perhaps you might
find it in each other. Now, leave my sight."


Then, in great fear did Willas take Carinne's hand, and she who knew the touch
of no man did take it up, and they ran together from the room, the house, and
the town of Cyrene into the night.


Back in the room, the Logos grew thoughtful. The flames that wreathed his body
died down. The shining light of his countenance did recede. He idly scratched
his arm. How this sackcloth robe did itch even a Divine! From a pocket, he
drew a child's goblin mask, and looked into its beady eyes and tweaked its
malformed nose. With a raspy chuckle, he placed it on Carinne's bed and
vanished once more from the world of men.