The tale of the first Bard. This is the first man to be blessed by a muse, and receive the blessing of music, song, dance, and tale. An adventure where the gods interact with man. A twist inspired by Greek Mythology.
Back during ancient times, when the gods walked among men and when the muses lived far from man, life was dull, colorless, and nearly pointless. Man had little if any talent, and pleasure was truly unknown and unrealized. It was a terrible time, a real dark age. The great mountain Olympus rose up from the Earth to the Heavens. It was from here that the only true light was to be found. As such the people of the world would make regular pilgrimage to the mountain, in an attempt to gain meaning.
Now the gods were still young, and had not grown deaf and mute as they are now. They ruled from Olympus, but they still walked among the people, among their creations. They would impart some knowledge and kindness to man, but not much. The gods feared man, and what he could possibly achieve. Looking at the way things are today, perhaps this fear was justified. Yet at this time it was not fully realized. So the gods continued to walk among man. Of course, with such a toilsome and terrible life, man soon grew very discontent. They began to learn and remember things, and go out on their own to accomplish things. Already some turned from the gods. This worried and angered the gods to no end, and they at once decided to act.
First, the muses were taken up out of the world, and settled on Olympus, high above man. No longer would they act as the voice of the gods. No longer would wisdom, talent, and joy be imparted from the divine to the mundane. The gods reasoned that because man had loss its source of knowledge and power, that they would soon grow blind and weak again. For a time, they did. However, it was not to last.
Man marched on Olympus, fighting to dethrone the gods of old and reclaim the knowledge and power that had been removed from them. It was to no avail. Man cannot stand against a god, let alone an army of them. No matter how many armies marched on Olympus, all were torn to shreds before the base of the great mountain. A few heroic individuals, whose names have been lost to time, did manage to make it through the gods, onto Olympus. There they found the muses, living in a small village at the side of a river in a deep valley. The water was clear and good, and the soil was rich and dark, good for crops. The nights were clear and every star shone brighter here than anywhere else in the world. There was shade abundant and the sound of wonderful music, different for each listener. A certain air of laziness hung about the village, and the heroes knew at once that this life was meant for man. Alas, it was not to be so.
The gods soon came upon them, and in a terrible thunder brought up their arms. The heroes stood bravely, gripping their weapons within death-grips and bringing up their shields to block the very force of destruction and creation itself. They knew they would die, but they knew also that they would die heroes. Yet just as the gods were about to strike, the muses came and pleaded for the men. They did not want the corruption of death and war and stench to touch the pristine valley that they lived in. They reasoned that there surely could be another way to deal with man's trespass. Not even the gods were free from the charm of the muses. They took pity on the humans, and they were turned into sentinels, soulless and mindless guardians of the muses. In this way were they saved from destruction, although they did lose everything else.
Before the gods had descended on the valley, one of the heroes, it is unknown who, managed to charm a muse. How this was done is also unknown, but what is known is that they were together the night before the final battle. The muse soon bore a child. She knew that if the gods became aware that the child was part human, that he would be destroyed. She also knew that if the humans discovered that the child was part muse, he would be used against the gods. She was at an impasse, and knew not what to do at first.
Soon however, she came upon an idea. She was quite intelligent, even by muse standards. She sent the child down the river through the mountain. He soon made it to the sea where he floated for a long while, before washing ashore in a small fishing village. He was taken in by a fisherman and his wife, who both agreed to raise the child as their own. The wife was barren, and could have no children of her own. The war with the gods had ended not long ago, and man revered and feared the gods. They had begged the gods for a child, and now it appears that they had delivered.
This was the beginning. The child is the man whom history has come to call The Bard. His story was just beginning, and what a story it is. For his story touches everything in this world. The beginning of his story is also the end of the gods' stories. The beginning of his story is the end of the dark age.
This is his story.