We closed out the last season with a look back at Fantasy Faire 2011, and we are opening this season with the first of two visits to this year’s Fantasy Faire!
The Fairelands have faded back into the Mists, but for many of us, they are still in our minds and imaginations.
Over the course of the Faire, many people were inspired to write stories and poems – and many of those have been shared with us. Over the coming days, we will be sharing those with you, through this blog, and also adding them to the LitFest area of the site.
But if you have written about the Fairelands, or have been inspired to write by the Faire, there is still time to submit your writing to be included on the website as we build an anthology of Faire writings.
How can you do this?
Anthem to the Worldmakers: A Special Broadcast on Fantasy Faire Radio
[Transcript of a special broadcast from Fantasy Faire Radio, May 12, 2020. You can hear the broadcast here.]
Fairelands don’t just happen. They are born of the talent, time and dedication of many people. The 18 Regions of this year’s Faire were built by some of the most brilliant, visionary artists in the virtual world or any other. Some of those have been part of the Faire for 12 years now. Some joined us in 2020 for the first time. Each played a vital role in making the 2020 Faire an experience that none of us will ever forget.
While Fantasy Faire Radio began this year with a tribute sets to the Regions, today we honor not the Fairelands that were created, but rather the creators of those Regions themselves. They are the reason why our One Vision found a home in Many Realms. They make us Stronger by giving us a place to be Together.
Fantasy Faire Radio is proud to present this special broadcast, “Anthem to Worldmakers.”
On Tuesday at 1pm SLT, Fantasy Faire Radio is proud to present a special broadcast entitled “Anthem to Worldmakers.”
The 18 Regions of this year’s Faire were built by some of the most brilliant, visionary artists in the virtual world or any other. Fairelands don’t just happen. They are born of the talent, time and dedication of many people. Some of those have been part of the Faire for 12 years now. Some joined us in 2020 for the first time. Each played a vital role in making the 2020 Faire an experience that none of us will ever forget.
While Fantasy Faire Radio began this year with a tribute sets to the Regions, this broadcast will honor not the Fairelands that were created, but rather the creators of those Regions themselves. They are the reason why our One Vision found a home in Many Realms. They make us Stronger by giving us a place to be Together.
Tune in for “Anthem to the Worldmakers.” Tuesday, May 12th at 1pm.
We came to the coast once more early on the morning, and even as the Sun rose we could see its light glittering off the blue domes of our destination even before it fell across the seas beyond.
It was said that Zodiac had been founded by a company of Royales who departed the fair city of Magnificat many years ago. I had once visited Magnificat as a traveller riding alone, and the memory of that journey remained never far from my thoughts.
As we left our mounts fed and watered on the outskirts of the city, so I was able to see a certain resemblance within these dome-topped halls and the spire-topped palaces of that ancient place. But more than that, this city brought to mind legends of the great temples and river of the Golden Delta, while the walls of water that fell straight and true down hand-made cliffs brought forth tales of the floating retreat of Sanctum, said to be held aloft on pillars of crystal waters.
From the high mountains around Auxentios’ Pass, we at length descended to warmer lands. For the first part of our journey down from that strange, steam-powered town nestled in its high pass, we were led by one of the clanking, hissing machines that so startled and amazed us on first seeing them.
Driven by man sitting in a closet-like space below the rounded belly of the mechanical beast, the machine walked with a clumsy, yet sure-footed grace in response to the levers he pulled and pushed. A second man seated before him in that iron closet used the long funnel extending before it to blast our path with steam that cleared away the frost and ice, allowing us safe passage over the smooth rock that might otherwise have been as treacherous as glass beneath feet and hooves.
Even after the machine had stood aside to let us continue down warmer slopes towards the tree line below, it was hard not to keep looking back up the hard rock path to try to catch sight of our strange companion, even though we all knew we had left it behind and the echoing sound of its heavy footfalls echoed down to us as it made its way back up to its home in the snows.
Renewed by the beauty of Agra Adara, we crossed the inland sea to arrive at Autumnium. Scarce could the change be greater; from the arid lands that washed around the golden domes and minarets of that now distant haven of peace and the golden lands of Autumnium, a place forever caught between the greens of summer and the white and grey of winter.
Here the the trees grew tall, rich in yellow and orange and ochre and red, boughs heavy with leaf even as the ground lay under a carpet of golden grass heavy with leaves that had already fallen. Through these trees the wind blew gently, stirring branches and rippling through the wheat-like grass with a gentle sigh of warmth.
We followed the paved road up from the docks and through the trees the were a small town raised steep blue roofs and taller round towers between the surrounding blanket of trees. here were throngs of people, laughing, happy, and moving freely from shop to store and back as music floated down from high towers.
At the centre of the town was a great throng laughing, singing dancing, with more up on the hill above, moving among standing stones. These stones stood apart from the golds and yellows of Autumnium, for they lay among a rich carpet of green grass looking like an emerald amongst the amber grass and trees. Nor were the people dancing between and around the stones, so to did swirls of light and colour, turning and twirling between the ancient stones. Then, as I watched, two magnificent winged horses swept down from the burnished blue sky, their riders tall and fair, to land on the grass. Riders and mounts bowed us as we passed along the road below them, and I found myself longing to once again stay our journey, but we had tarried enough along our path, and so we moved on.