“The funny thing about myths, they have a way of adapting with the times.”

If Saima couldn’t testify to that, it was a mystery really who could. Although they would be the first to admit that it is the will of the people, the land and all these factors that allow myth to continue to flourish in unexpected ways.

These tales had been rumored to be constructed. A result of traditions lost with the ever-changing nature of who was in control of the land, who was in control of the people. Outside influences would mark their territory in an attempt to wipe out the nature of homegrown stories and heroes. History had a way of trying its best under a number of guises.

Despite all this, folklore and song had continued on – managing to survive well into the modern era. Shifting in order to continue. 

In the beginning, the very beginning – there had been many things. A large tree to which the sky is nailed, a bird hatching eggs – forming a trilogy – the sun, the moon and the earth. A crater into the ground forming the land and the features of it. Sky gods, and giants – great heroes whose adventures would live on forever and ever. Tricksters and demons, tales of outsmarting obstacles before you. The inherent value of wit in out tricking the trickery. All these things once were and in a way, still are. If only through reporting – if only through letting the songs of such tales continue.

Out of such a beginning, there comes a wandering spirit, someone imbued with the magic and soul of the mythos. Someone who was fated to have their memories bridge the early beginnings and the march of time ongoing. Someone all too close to the Old Wizard of songs, one trained, taught – inspired to keep a dedication to the art of song, literature, and folklore. What relation to dear Vanemuine they have is unknown – but a deep bond is there, that is what they can say for sure. They’ve already lived many a lifetime – only to take on yet another one, this time undertaking a number of roles. And for the first time, they would pursue a physical form in addition to the ethereal self that felt truer and cozier. There would be risks and sacrifices made in pursuing a physical form from time to time – but if it ensured the survival of their home, this spirit would figure it was worth it. And with that risk would come experience, the opportunity to learn more directly of what could have inspired the continuation of such lore. It turns out learning was such a passion of this spirit, that it motivated them to keep around for a while – letting themselves mature once more among others – not like them but vaguely similar in a distant way. It was through such learning that they picked up the ability to play at roles, to take on responsibilities for a time or two – just to ensure things would continue. It seemed like a useful ability to have. And besides, it allowed them to pursue interests, fascinations that would arise with the developments of their homeland. For all their restlessness, they did have a desire to help, a desire to encourage and inspire in any way that they could.

In surviving the impacts of history, this being would flit in and out the presence of their people – bringing a touch of the mythos with them. If only to keep everything ongoing, to inspire a will to survive – and if that meant direct intervention or playing a representative, so it would go. But the restlessness, the wandering nature of such a spirit could never be contained. For no manner how much they loved their people, their home – such a spirit could never be kept under anyone’s control. For all the lifetimes they had lived, the visions they had seen and seen spread among their homeland, those experiences have given them much more of a will than they’d otherwise imagine. A will that they would be foolish not to further act on if given the opportunity.

After all, one still has to keep wandering especially if that’s what they do best.