#me scrawls out a small note on atop the others
New guilds, people becoming followers of Moshran, imprisonment and rehabilitation...
Looks like the tides of change have swept me up as well. Due to recent realizations (and a great deal of writers block) this bard is laying down her lute in pursuit of more simple and equally peaceful ways. ((ooc: hence the new signature))
Time of Change
Moderator: Gamemasters
Time of Change
A lonely figure watches from a distance as the heavy rain continues to beat on the rooftops and run down the sides of his wizard's hat.
She deserves better than this...
((It pains me to see such talented imagination rotting away in a decadent world))
She deserves better than this...
((It pains me to see such talented imagination rotting away in a decadent world))
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Telwathion
- Posts: 49
- Joined: Sun Jun 09, 2002 12:43 am
Time of Change
dear Hysenna,
if u wish to go the way of evil, talk to me, i can help u.
for blood and bone
Telwathion
if u wish to go the way of evil, talk to me, i can help u.
for blood and bone
Telwathion
Time of Change
#me sits at her familiar tavern table, her eyes drifting to the message she wrote days before. Her eyes flit to the storage box, she can almost hear the soft clear notes of the lute. The encounter with the stranger called Telwathion, the dreams of the stranger in the rain, the proposal... it was all too much. She wraps her hand around the key to the storage box, squeezing tightly.
She makes her way to the wall, wincing painfully as she sees her own writing, remembering the despair she felt when she wrote the words. She pulls the quill from behind her ear, and grips it firmly, dipping, and placing a large indigo slash over her old writing. She begins to write:
I am to be married on the morrow. I will not stand before the Gods while lying to myself.
I am a bard.
By Findari, Goddess of singers and poets, I will not continue this charade. It is easy to be caught up in the state of things. In the attacks, the theft, the loved ones lost, the comfort that gold and silver brings...
But as the sun rises each day, there is hope, and hope is all we need.
She sighs and looks to the flames of the fireplace. The key in her palm glitters and shines in the firelight. She cleans the quill with a cloth and places it back behind her ear, walking confidently towards the storage box.
She makes her way to the wall, wincing painfully as she sees her own writing, remembering the despair she felt when she wrote the words. She pulls the quill from behind her ear, and grips it firmly, dipping, and placing a large indigo slash over her old writing. She begins to write:
I am to be married on the morrow. I will not stand before the Gods while lying to myself.
I am a bard.
By Findari, Goddess of singers and poets, I will not continue this charade. It is easy to be caught up in the state of things. In the attacks, the theft, the loved ones lost, the comfort that gold and silver brings...
But as the sun rises each day, there is hope, and hope is all we need.
She sighs and looks to the flames of the fireplace. The key in her palm glitters and shines in the firelight. She cleans the quill with a cloth and places it back behind her ear, walking confidently towards the storage box.