- Messages
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- Character Biography
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A silvery halo like moonlight encompassed the druid’s form, like the silvery mist within her eyes, and she seemed once again to stare beyond the present as if she was somewhere else entirely.
For but the briefest of moments, she soared up into the highest branches of the eldest oak in Falwood, swam through the rushing waters, felt the roots beneath the earth twist and rise as if they were merely extensions of a greater being. She sensed, distant as the rumble of thunder on the horizon, the battle before her; the rage of bear; the fall of a jealous effigy, its blood sacrificed upon the ground like the kings of old.
It wasn’t until Arnor said something that Elinyra felt the earth beneath her feet again and the coolness of the night air around them. The roots receded back into their subterranean realm, and she felt suddenly spent. Considering the state of her arm, she'd probably lost a sum of blood as well. She blinked, finally seeing the bloodied warrior – and a severed head at her feet.
She recoiled with a grimace of disgust at the morbid… gift?
He was correct, however. There remained a depth of grief around them, a wailing emptiness that bit at their souls beneath a bone-white moon.
“The sickness is gone, but the wound has not yet been healed,” she thought aloud, gazing out at the quiet village past the field. The leader of those who had murdered the merchants was gone. But nothing had truly been reconciled, because only two strangers had deigned to see this village's ghosts and hear their story.
“I believe those who died here wish to be remembered. To no longer lie silent and forgotten beneath the ground,” she said softly, as if reflecting on some private thought.
The Cycle keeps turning and turning again, but memories flow like water through the ages.
For but the briefest of moments, she soared up into the highest branches of the eldest oak in Falwood, swam through the rushing waters, felt the roots beneath the earth twist and rise as if they were merely extensions of a greater being. She sensed, distant as the rumble of thunder on the horizon, the battle before her; the rage of bear; the fall of a jealous effigy, its blood sacrificed upon the ground like the kings of old.
It wasn’t until Arnor said something that Elinyra felt the earth beneath her feet again and the coolness of the night air around them. The roots receded back into their subterranean realm, and she felt suddenly spent. Considering the state of her arm, she'd probably lost a sum of blood as well. She blinked, finally seeing the bloodied warrior – and a severed head at her feet.
She recoiled with a grimace of disgust at the morbid… gift?
He was correct, however. There remained a depth of grief around them, a wailing emptiness that bit at their souls beneath a bone-white moon.
“The sickness is gone, but the wound has not yet been healed,” she thought aloud, gazing out at the quiet village past the field. The leader of those who had murdered the merchants was gone. But nothing had truly been reconciled, because only two strangers had deigned to see this village's ghosts and hear their story.
“I believe those who died here wish to be remembered. To no longer lie silent and forgotten beneath the ground,” she said softly, as if reflecting on some private thought.
The Cycle keeps turning and turning again, but memories flow like water through the ages.
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