The Frewyn Herald: Home of the Haanta Series

Lunas calls her Faoili, to obviate difficulties. It is not pronounced how you think it is. Neither is Fethenshaugh. The morning marched on: Erdaidh and everyone in the kitchen quarreled over the arrangement of the green geese, the underservants complained of having to do the plate-laundry, the maids lamented over having to take out the arrases, Lord Cinnaide, in a flurry from having received his new knife, could not wait to show it to his friend and therefore went to town himself, to fetch him in the carriage and bring him back to the house, whether dinner should be ready in time for their arrival or not. Lunas, away from the bustle and confusion of formal visits, had begun his work for the day when Lady Faoiltiagherna approached, to wish him a good morning and cheat him out of productivity by reliving her heart of her domestic woes. She came on the wings of vexation, having spent the chief of her morning garlanding the house for a guest she was sure to disapprove. She was a sma...

Look to the garden. Another fit of coughing ensued, the physician marked the seconds on his watch, holding the face up to the light with one hand while holding his patient’s wrist with the other. She spluttered and flailed, the violent motion of the dry heaves overpowering her . Twenty, twenty-two, twenty-four, the physician’s lips sibilated. The coughing continued, increasing in severity as the fit went on . Forty, forty-two, forty-four… his eye on his watch, his patient in his peripheral view, and Warryn sitting in the corner behind him, remarking the sun spill over her mother’s face, the pallid features, the cruenated lips, the sanguined and serous eyes of putrid infection. She seemed bewildered and frantic once the coughing died away, leaving behind it a strained respiration, the punctured rasp of decay. Physician continued counting, her breathing quickened, but her pulse began fading under his grasp. Panic overspread Lady Anaruyd’s face, her limbs began shaking, her lips sh...

When the Gods made Farmers, or the Farmer's Prayer , is a speech that was made into a poem and then later turned into a regional prayer. It was written by Brave King Breian before he was king. The speech was given during a meeting held at the Tyfferim town hall about a failed harvest. All the farmers were gathered at the assembly hall to appeal to the regent, to ask him to plead to the then-king about giving aid to the farms on their behalf. Breian stood up and spoke for the farming community, his speech so poetic and powerful that he was asked to give it in front of the king. The speech was transcribed and repeated, and when Breian was made Regent of Tyfferim not long after, he wrote it down as a poem and titled it When the Gods Made Farmers, which he recited in honour of the farmers who kept the country fed during the Galleisian War. It was taken up by the churches in Tyfferim and Sethshire as a prayer.  You can listen to a reading of the poem HERE. Below is the piece ...

Legend in Frewyn tells of a Hallanys man named Mule, a strange and reclusive blacksmith who was said to make weapons imbued with magic. Though he lived before King Breian's time, Mule's legacy lives in a young smith from Galae named Lunas, one who not only bears a resemblance to Mule but also seems to have inherited some of his abilities... It is a terrible thing, to be born with the spirit of fondness, to be blessed with the currency of innate affection and have nowhere spend it. Lunas had fondness in abundance, and he gave it freely to every creature that approached him: he gave the birds the crumbs from his bannocks, was mindful of the ants and worms around the sward, and had a galaday watching the squirrels battle one another over who stole whose nuts from whom. He had a gentle heart, making him unfit for all the usual lamentations of estate maids and groundskeepers. He liked good news and therefore detached himself from anything condemnatory or disparaging. Company tha...