Post by Meirielle on Nov 6, 2008 8:15:11 GMT -7
So this is now home, Meirielle marveled in silence as she gazed up at the magnificent Florendyl Keep. She slowly dropped her ivory-skinned hand away from the brooch she had been given by Rihdan when she had joined the Order. She used it to fasten her cloak about her slender shoulders, displaying it proudly for any to see.
Feeling rather diminutive standing in front of the massive keep doors, she strode forward and entered, not bothering to hide how impressed she was by the castle-like grandeur both in structure and furnishings.
“Hello?” she called out, announcing her presence. Met with only silence, she shrugged. The Dragonblades were rebuilding their numbers. And thus far, she had met none of them that would trade castle walls for the love of the road and pull of adventure. She wondered if she had the place to herself for the evening.
She spent a great deal of time wandering the vacant halls, admiring the art and craftsmanship before she finally stumbled into what she assumed to be the sleeping quarters. A row of neatly made up beds with fresh linens lined a wall. Dropping her bags and gear at the first, she sat on the bed’s edge and rummaged through one of her packs. Within a moment, she produced a small ink pot and quill as well as her travel-worn journal.
“You and I have seen some dark times, my old friend,” she sighed, gently parting the pages. “But I think this moment is one of the brighter.” Careful to not spill the ink, she began her newest entry.
Or tried to.
Quill hovering over the blank parchment, she began thinking about the past and all of the misery this little journal contained. Without hesitating again, she abruptly tore the written upon pages from the book. Had there been a fire burning, she would have impulsively tossed them in, erasing a past she no longer cared to revisit. Not all of it, anyway. Instead, she tucked the torn pages into her backpack, planning to dispose of them later.
Now then…
{Date}
My name is Meirielle. My surname is of no consequence. Not anymore.
She smiled as she wrote, finding freedom in such a simple thought. A simple admittance.
It has been months since I last saw my Sisters, but soon I will send for them. The Dragonblades have proven to be what they claimed, and I desire to share this brotherhood of honor and friendship with them. Aura and Laesha will fit in well from the start. Cybella I worry for, but if the Dragonblades can befriend an Orc as I have seen, then I no longer fear that my dark skinned companion will be so spurned for her heritage. I will write Cybella soon, and ask that she meet with Rihdan. His understanding of tolerance seems to run deep. I trust he will see Cybella for who she is.
As for me? I have been keeping busy. I have returned to Tanvu, something I once vowed never to do. I see now that it was my own loathing and paranoia that kept me away. Tanvu has embraced me again, with few questions. It helps that father is now dead.
I have been studying with the Lao’Jin masters and have achieved the rank of “knight” for whatever that means. I still feel I have little grasp on the mysteries of Jin. But I am fascinated and desire to continue my pursuit of such study, which has led me also to the art of diplomacy. In this I have excelled and have been awarded with the coveted Red Sash. Were it up to me, I would spend most of my time now studying such things and practicing my wit upon the poets of Tanvu.
But it is not up to me.
I have pledged my skills to the Dragonblades and have been called upon frequently. I have just returned, this eve in fact, from the depths of Lord Tsang’s Tomb. This was supposed to be a holy place…a tomb built upon consecrated grounds deep in the Jin’ka Forest to honor Lord Tsang, who fought with faith and steel to unite the people of Kojan into one kingdom under Jin. He never lived to see this come to pass, but his son did and became our first true Emperor. Nevertheless, we have all been raised to honor Lord Tsang and the memory of what he put into motion.
And it is him that the Kojani have always evoked when our nation is faced with doom, so it has been always told. Stories of such were not rare when I served in the Emperor’s army. It is said that whenever the empire is on the brink of annihilation, the spirit of Lord Tsang will rise from his grave and carry his legendary weapons into battle to defend his people.
But now the Ulvari have come. And I hear the people of Kojan crying out for their savior. There is no answer.
Perhaps it was only a legend after all. Or perhaps his spirit is trapped, for the tomb itself seems now a prison of horror. There the dead walk along side monstrous animations and guardians. I do not think they serve Lord Tsang.
But there is hope.
I have seen evidence there of his sacred weapons as well as clues for restoring them to their former powerful enchantment. That part of the legend seems to ring true. We will return again. We will have these weapons for ourselves, for in our hands they will be better used. Kojan is in danger, as is much of the world. If such powerful relics are buried in that tomb, we will find them – restore them – and use them against these plagues upon our lands.
Stifling a yawn, Meirielle waited for the ink to dry and then softly closed the book. After methodically placing everything – quill, ink and journal – neatly back into her backpack, she laid down and closed her eyes. It took not long at all for the weary half-elf to drift into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Feeling rather diminutive standing in front of the massive keep doors, she strode forward and entered, not bothering to hide how impressed she was by the castle-like grandeur both in structure and furnishings.
“Hello?” she called out, announcing her presence. Met with only silence, she shrugged. The Dragonblades were rebuilding their numbers. And thus far, she had met none of them that would trade castle walls for the love of the road and pull of adventure. She wondered if she had the place to herself for the evening.
She spent a great deal of time wandering the vacant halls, admiring the art and craftsmanship before she finally stumbled into what she assumed to be the sleeping quarters. A row of neatly made up beds with fresh linens lined a wall. Dropping her bags and gear at the first, she sat on the bed’s edge and rummaged through one of her packs. Within a moment, she produced a small ink pot and quill as well as her travel-worn journal.
“You and I have seen some dark times, my old friend,” she sighed, gently parting the pages. “But I think this moment is one of the brighter.” Careful to not spill the ink, she began her newest entry.
Or tried to.
Quill hovering over the blank parchment, she began thinking about the past and all of the misery this little journal contained. Without hesitating again, she abruptly tore the written upon pages from the book. Had there been a fire burning, she would have impulsively tossed them in, erasing a past she no longer cared to revisit. Not all of it, anyway. Instead, she tucked the torn pages into her backpack, planning to dispose of them later.
Now then…
{Date}
My name is Meirielle. My surname is of no consequence. Not anymore.
She smiled as she wrote, finding freedom in such a simple thought. A simple admittance.
It has been months since I last saw my Sisters, but soon I will send for them. The Dragonblades have proven to be what they claimed, and I desire to share this brotherhood of honor and friendship with them. Aura and Laesha will fit in well from the start. Cybella I worry for, but if the Dragonblades can befriend an Orc as I have seen, then I no longer fear that my dark skinned companion will be so spurned for her heritage. I will write Cybella soon, and ask that she meet with Rihdan. His understanding of tolerance seems to run deep. I trust he will see Cybella for who she is.
As for me? I have been keeping busy. I have returned to Tanvu, something I once vowed never to do. I see now that it was my own loathing and paranoia that kept me away. Tanvu has embraced me again, with few questions. It helps that father is now dead.
I have been studying with the Lao’Jin masters and have achieved the rank of “knight” for whatever that means. I still feel I have little grasp on the mysteries of Jin. But I am fascinated and desire to continue my pursuit of such study, which has led me also to the art of diplomacy. In this I have excelled and have been awarded with the coveted Red Sash. Were it up to me, I would spend most of my time now studying such things and practicing my wit upon the poets of Tanvu.
But it is not up to me.
I have pledged my skills to the Dragonblades and have been called upon frequently. I have just returned, this eve in fact, from the depths of Lord Tsang’s Tomb. This was supposed to be a holy place…a tomb built upon consecrated grounds deep in the Jin’ka Forest to honor Lord Tsang, who fought with faith and steel to unite the people of Kojan into one kingdom under Jin. He never lived to see this come to pass, but his son did and became our first true Emperor. Nevertheless, we have all been raised to honor Lord Tsang and the memory of what he put into motion.
And it is him that the Kojani have always evoked when our nation is faced with doom, so it has been always told. Stories of such were not rare when I served in the Emperor’s army. It is said that whenever the empire is on the brink of annihilation, the spirit of Lord Tsang will rise from his grave and carry his legendary weapons into battle to defend his people.
But now the Ulvari have come. And I hear the people of Kojan crying out for their savior. There is no answer.
Perhaps it was only a legend after all. Or perhaps his spirit is trapped, for the tomb itself seems now a prison of horror. There the dead walk along side monstrous animations and guardians. I do not think they serve Lord Tsang.
But there is hope.
I have seen evidence there of his sacred weapons as well as clues for restoring them to their former powerful enchantment. That part of the legend seems to ring true. We will return again. We will have these weapons for ourselves, for in our hands they will be better used. Kojan is in danger, as is much of the world. If such powerful relics are buried in that tomb, we will find them – restore them – and use them against these plagues upon our lands.
Stifling a yawn, Meirielle waited for the ink to dry and then softly closed the book. After methodically placing everything – quill, ink and journal – neatly back into her backpack, she laid down and closed her eyes. It took not long at all for the weary half-elf to drift into a deep, dreamless sleep.
