Side Story: The Weaver


This Vignette Takes Place shortly after the party met the King of Cloudstone

In the palace of the King, there is a weaver.  She is a squat dwarf, her eyes sunken and her face a blur of wrinkles that reveal a lifetime of smiling.  She hums energetically while she waves, her strong delicate hands moving without effort.  Back and forth the shuttle moves, as long thin threads of silk are drawn taut, to be twisted and shaped.

"Delicate work," the King says in a fading voice, "making sure that these fine threads are not broken while weaving a fabric tight enough to hold water."

You look now at the 4 large spools of silk.  Red, Yellow, Blue, and White.

The king continues.  "The caves beneath the Scarred Ridge are the perfect climate for silkworms.  Some think Dwarves are only good for digging, but silks are our largest export outside of iron ore."  

You study the tapestry and you see a very elaborate scene.  A landscape of orange leaves, green grasses, azure blue skies and cold white mountains.  It is real enough to be a window to another world.

"These four colors are enough to make anything your eyes can see, and this thread is fine enough to hide the weave from even the sharpest eyes."

An audible "shuck" as the shuttle reaches the far end of the loom.

"They say the world is built the same way, with threads of fire, water, air, and earth.  These threads are twisted and mingled to form the tangible world we live in."

The lady at the loom hums happily, as inch by inch, the threads are drawn to the tapestry.

"I've lived a long 827 years, and I have thought a lot upon the nature of the world. What we know of as the gods are merely spools of thread in our world's tapestry.  Embra, the fire, the burning, the bright red thread of flame that gives heat and light and passion.  Ekkrak, the feeder, the mountain maker, giving us form and strength strength.  Elerrio, the phantom, who gave us language and intelligence, and the beauty of a sunset.    And, of course, Estra, the mother to all, whose cold blue strands are wet and life-giving.  These gods are well known and their powers are undeniable.  We are all part of the tapestry of the gods."

The shuttle makes its way to the near side as a new microscopic row is laid down.

"But, in my 827 years, this I could not figure: If the gods are the threads, and the world a tapestry, then who, my friends, is the weaver?"