Mestra
An Aspect of Ymir’s creative will, Mestra from conception has been a creative and energetic god. Known for their near constant spats of dramatics with most of the Pantheon, this eccentric deity is as much a trickster as they are an artist. Some believe Mestra to be the creator of written language within the region and contribute the record of early history to their efforts traveling Meranthe. They were absent of direct conflict during the wars of old, instead spending much of their time during the era meandering among mortals to collect, create, and perform various works and mediums of art, providing respite where they could. During the Pantheon's departure from the realm they strummed a song upon a lyre, singing of good luck, best wishes, and love towards the mortals they left behind alongside their siblings, and the first rainbow was cast across the world.
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The Troupe of Shimmer
A niche and eccentric religion, the Troupe of Shimmer is a largely nomadic and claimless faith that values individualism, poetry, dance, painting, song, and other forms of art. Most common within the confines of Delphina, many of the nation’s rituals have been at least partially influenced by the dance and artful expressions of Mestra’s Troupe. Beyond the nature loving country the faith is far reaching into all corners of Meranthe, usually present in traveling groups of performers, lone bards, and whimsical artists. By many, even outside the religion, tipping an artist of Mestra is a gesture of good luck and good graces. It is far from uncommon for individuals to visit a circus or tavern to give coins to one before events which may require such favor from the universe.
This belief they grant good luck is a genuine and factual one, the blessings of the faith largely revolving around increasing one’s luck, often in payment to mere appreciation or patronage to their art. Through the grace of Mestra contribution to art by inspiration, encouragement, or otherwise grants the individual a boon for a temporary period. This boon often leaves a glimmering aura around the individuals, hence the name ‘the Troupe of Shimmer’. Many who find themselves in favor of Mestra are known for being more charismatic than the average person, many politicians despite their lack of their own art, pay patronage to the Troupe regularly.
Acolytes of this faith are referred to as a ‘Bard’ with ranking leadership among the religion holding the title of ‘Scintillate.’ Given the nomadic and decentralized nature of the Troupe there is often a Scintillate in every major city. These bands of Shimmers are known for hosting cultural events, playing at taverns, maintaining theatres, and some even serving as court jesters among more archaic and stern settlements. To have a Scintillate within your country or city is viewed as having good fortune, settlements without them or on bad terms with the Troupe are usually considered cursed or omened with misfortune.
The Voyage of Summer
It was at the beginning of the Divine War that the lyre was first created.
In the midst of the battlefield, Messtra found exhaustion in the fighting and decided to stray from conflict and responsibility. From the depths of the Shadowlands, the Aspect of Creativity began to travel eastward humming a simple song.
The song began as a hum at first, a joyous tune to pick themself up despite the darkness and tragedy of the war and state of Meranthe. As their song continued, however, they realized that simple humming was not enough, so they began to collect supplies along their way.
First, it was the briarwood, the sturdiest piece of wood they could find yet oddly strange in its creation. Something that was supposed to be rotten and dead, but still so secure. The hollow inside allowed for the perfect echo, thus, Mestra began to use it as a drum as they continued along their way.
Still, it was not enough for the very first bard.
Second, it was the cyllion, a stringy and elastic herb. Shaping the wood itself, they were able to fashion the cyllion as string. They had a solid soundbox and some string but there was no frequency! No pitch!
It was still not enough.
The Aspect of Creativity continued, eventually traveling from the shadowlands, through the swamps, and into the forests themselves where life had begun to thrive after the great floods. It was there they fashioned tuning notches of acorns and were finally able to tune their strings to create a beautiful melody.
Slowly but surely, Mestra learned their strings, the notes that their lyre provided finally perfecting the hummed melody that started their path across Meranthe. Strumming this tune and singing along it was during this melody that they first encountered moralkind.
The mortals were in awe of Mestra and this strange instrument in their hands. A being of pure color and radiance emerging from the forest playing a melodic tune unlike anything they had ever heard.
It was Mestra’s very first song, the Voyage of Summer. Their travel from the Shadowlands to the people of this country where they would find their muses and spend the rest of their days upon the mortal plane.
Folly of the Bard
In the earliest years of the Divine War, each Primal had their purpose against the rising darkness. It was a serious affair, bloodshed and strategy a constant endeavor for the Aspects of Ymir and at this time the reckless Mesta thought it would be the perfect opportunity to write about the events of the war for their first ballad.
A woeful tale of destruction, of conflict and battle against all odds, a tale of the primals prevailing against this great oppressive darkness to save all of Mernathe and the mortalkind that had begun to call it home.
Chireus was the messenger of the wars, delivering important documents and battle strategies from one Primal and to another, and it was one of these documents that Mestra saw fit to turn into their ballad. It was the depths of the night that Chireus had stopped to rest before traveling the rest of the distance to deliver the newest of these missives when Mestra snuck to take a peak.
Assuming they could get the scroll back in time before Chireus left, they rolled up a piece of bark and put it in the scroll’s place, sneaking off to record the events of the war and the upcoming battle. When they went to return it, however, Chierus was gone!
Mischievous, but not malicious, Mestra sought to right their wrong with the assistance of Gala. Pleading with them, they came up with the plan to write the strategy within the night sky, constellations for the other Primals to see and to follow, a secret message only discerned to those who knew how to look for it. To this day, over the Shadowlands, such constellations can be seen all due to Gala’s quick wit and kindness, and Mestra’s mischief and the creation of the first ballad of war.
The Whimsy of Autumn
When the leaves began to change color upon the mortal plane, confusion and wonder began to arise within mortalkind. The primals had torn the world asunder and no one knew what this shift in the trees meant. Whether war and danger was coming or something else. The more time passed, the more the color changed.
Greens shifted to reds, orange, yellow, and brown hues, the leaves themselves dusting the grounds or held high in the trees to show radiantly within the sun. The crops changed, the temperature shifted, and as mortalkind grew in its concerns the Aspect of Creativity decided it was due time that worry be shed away and they embrace the changes to come.
A grand festival was planned, a celebration of prosperity to come, the love shared by the community, and to prepare for the chilling temperatures.
Mortals came from wherever word reached, tales of a celebration for union and the known in unknown times. Within this conglomerate of different races, rages, and backgrounds a massive bonfire was produced and standing before it the lyre was strummed by none other than Mesta themselves.
Within a time of uncertainty, Mortalkind discovered the Whimsy of Autumn, where food from each small settlement was brought to share, music was played and laughter to be had. Those who feared the future gathered around the bonfire and danced until they could dance no more heralding in the new season they had come to know.
It was only after the celebrations that Nemea’s confirmation came, not a trial nor a danger, merely a shift in the seasons. Yet even with this knowledge, whimsy was found every year as the mortals returned to join Mestra in the celebration of autumn.
The Grace of Winter
The first snowfall upon mortalkind brought about a sense of wonder and serenity. Steps were taken into the freshly fallen snow, footprints making their way out into the wonderland they had to behold. Where there was confusion for the cold, the function of snow, and many questions on when the temperature would rise again.
Yet despite the concerns those around them had, Mestra instead was enraptured by the beauty and the serenity of the scenery around them. The snow topped trees, icicles that hung from both forestry and building alike, and the strange consistency of the path they walked upon. Always the god of mischief, Mestra knew just how to break the concerns of the people.
From the ground the newly fallen snow was rolled, packed together by the god until finally it was cast. Hitting one of the Mortals initially there was shock, bemusement, and then laughter. Amidst the growing fears, the God of Mischief took it upon Themself to bring about joy through a bit of tomfoolery.
One by one the townsfolk joined together, fashioning their own snowballs and throwing them in a playful fight until all were worn from laughter and exertion. Gathering into the meeting hall, warm beverages were shared and in the peace that followed fun, the Aspect of Creativity began to play their song. A song of awe, a song of mystery, a song that highlighted the elegance of the gleaming wonderland of snow and ice around them.
Subduing the fears of the people and opening their eyes to the beauty that came after the storms, Mestra showed the people The Grace of Winter, something to look forward to and become inspired by in even the most cold of times.
The Voice of Spring
Years Mestra spent with the Mortals upon their plane. Every summer dances were held and music was aplenty, filling the forests as they galavant through the heat and the sun. Every fall when the leaves began to fall the people gathered for grand festivals, sharing food aplenty with bonfires at their centers. Every winter when the earth grew firm and the winds cold the people would play within the snows before retiring to admire its beauty and appreciate its elegance. The seasons shifted, yet nothing fulfilled spring, not until the final year that Mestra spent with Mortalkind.
In the final year, when Mestra was called to follow their brothers and sisters to Vanaheim, they decided to leave Mortalkind with one final gift. A traveling festival was held, Mortalkind followed Mestra on their journey to Mount Pavonis where with the very lyre they created their first summer with the Mortals, they placed a final song.
The Voice of Spring.
A sentiment to leave Mortalkind with love, well wishes, and good fortune. A song that would brighten the hearts of the Mortals so even in their absence they would remember the good, they would prosper, and they would continue to love one another.
Ascending with the other Primordials, they traveled upon the very first rainbow, painting the sky in vibrant color before disappearing from the Mortal Plane, leaving behind their gifts to the people who acted as his inspirational muses for so long.
A Gale’s Compromise
"It was Mestra's third season within the Mortalplane, already They had surpassed the heat of summer and the strange shift in the seasons that was autumn, but winter seemed to be the most frightening of the new seasons for Mortalkind.
Cold and unpredictable, Mestra did what they could to bring joy to the season, but many of mankind found the circumstances too unsettling. It was this reason that Mestra went to Nemea to plead Their case.
What neither Mestra nor the mortals understood was the purpose of winter. Why make the ground harden so they could not harvest? Why make the wind a bitter chill they could not endure? And thus, Mestra went to discover the purpose behind such an unforgiving season.
It was on the edge of the battlefields that Mestra found Nemea in a state of anguish and grief. Together they sat and shared a tea as Nemea expressed her distress and sadness over the lives lost within the Divine War. Violence that grew senseless and no longer followed the natural order itself. It was these emotions, this bitterness and grief, that brought about winter.
Where hardship was to be endured and grief to be reflected upon, the land itself seemed to freeze over in stagnant silence. Looking over the landscape, Mestra began to understand. It was not to punish Mortalkind but to make them appreciative. To reflect on what might be lost, to give them time to contemplate, and to ensure that when spring came it would be all the more lively. A time for celebration at mournings end.
It was then that Mestra requested to make a compromise with Nemea, that after every bitter storm, every harsh gale, they be permitted to work with her and add some wonder to what was left in its wake. Shimmering and sparkling icicles, beautiful fields of blanketed snow, and together they painted the sky. Beautiful and bright lights that would dance only in the coldest of weather. The northern lights.
Mestra returned from the battlefield with a promise for the mortals both from Themselves and Nemea, that there was purpose to such quiet and such conditions, but that their time in contemplation would not go without reward.
The next storm came and went, and as each person left their homes they were greeted with the beautiful sight of the northern lights painted out in greens, blues, purples, and pinks. A beautiful blessing from a wonderful compromise."
