The Vessels Of Providence

[Fid 566]

And for those with a healthy appreciation for the Village People:

 

 

 

 

The snows of winter had been lazily drifting down upon Haelun’or for hours, long enough to cover the roofs and paths of the Blessed Nation in a thick, fluffy blanket. The temperatures, which had been steadily sinking for weeks, were frigid… and the city had felt the grip of the wintry cold. Icicles were draped from nearly every roof, and every now and then the path was obscured by an updraft of powdery snow, blown in the wind like confetti at a festival.

 

None of this deterred the mounted Orrariran who galloped along the path, five of them astride dark horses, black as pitch. Each stared dead ahead despite the bumpy ride, wearing the instantly-recognisable armour of their order and a generous helping of snow upon each shoulder. The gates clattered skyward, breaking the thin layer of ice that had formed upon them with a thin crackling sound; the mounted soldiers passed beneath without a sound.

 

The leader dismounted with a single fluid motion, landing in the thick white blanket with a thump. Gesturing for one to take his horse, he turned to make his way towards the cell-block… and paused to remove his helmet, resting it on his hip. His cold green eyes rose to gaze uneasily at the falling snow, which issued down upon them all from the slate-grey clouds above.

 

The mind of the Okarir’tir had been uneasy of late. The raids of the infamous bandit Corbett Van Cleef, Della’s persistent kidnappings from the Dark Elven quarter, the precarious relations with Norithel; the issues swirled throughout the elf’s nimble mind like vultures, picking at his resolve and wearing away at his tolerance of idle speech… but above them all, like a monolith, stood the most pressing obstacle of all. Whispers from all sides were pressing upon him a growing tide of unknown proportions… a dream, a nightmare of relocation.

 

The loudest whisper, and the one which Durion’s mind sprang to most often, were the words of one of his own Orrariran, Avenel Synalli. They had spoken a fortnight past, but Synalli’s words rang like bells in his head even now… words that he dreaded to repeat lest they come true.

 

“Thales will soon meet its end,” his Orrarir had told him as they stood watching the thoroughfare, “The sun will wane as the clouds will grow, and the air will grow numb as the first flakes of snow touch the grass, and then...” There the other elf had paused, thoughtfully, before continuing, as if unsure how Elokarir’tir would receive his information. “The snow will fall in unprecedented amounts, bringing with it a hyperborean cold. The grounds will be encased in ice and snow, the freeze permeating deep into the very loam of Thales. Plants and live-stock shall wither and fade, leaving behind their slender and lifeless husks…”

 

And at last, the words that Durion repeated to himself every night before he slept, the ones he knew by heart.

 

“A false hope shall be given to the Aheral, and their fate shall be sealed but for one chance at redemption…. I saw ships, Okarir’tir. Great ships to carry us all across the sea, as was done by the elders in times long gone. That is the only way.”

 

Then Synalli had gone quiet, and the Okarir had thanked him for his words and sent him upon his way. At the time he had been dismissive; not caring, as always, for words of prophecy and foretold doom...

 

… but then, the snows came, like they had never come before. The livestock grew sick and thin in the cold, and the crops froze in the ground without bearing fruit. The thaw did come that year… but the summer was a short one, and when the winter came again it came with a vengeance of howling winds and frigid temperatures.

 

It was these snows that whirled around the Okarir as he stood alone in the cold stone courtyard of the Citadel, his silver helmet rested at his hip, and these thoughts that whirled within his mind. Heavy-hearted, he raised his face to the cold sky, a hand protracted to catch a single massive flake. If there was to be a winter without end, and if Thales was indeed to meet its fate in a frozen hellscape, then he would not allow elaheral’lye to meet their fate there as well. His thoughts turned to the lessers then… the populaces of Dark and Wood Elves which had bound themselves to Haelun’or through the Concordats. Did it stand to save them too?

 

His thoughts went to the principled fallacies of Elorna, the conditional loyalty of Dak’ir… and his mind was made up.

 

“Summon the Hunters to assemble before the gate!” he barked, gesturing to Vallei’sul as his brisk gait kicked up whorls of fluffy snow. “and order Des’Nox and his finest to fell the birch forest in the east, all of it if you must. Take my horse and go, Vallei.”

 

“Lyu’maehr!”

 

The exclamation caused the mouse-like Aheral to lift his head and peer at the Okarir’tir through his nose-bound spectacles. “... Yes?”

 

“Look through the files.” Durion called quickly. “See if Elaheral’lye have anyone with knowledge of shiplore… if not, seek within the lesser files. We must have a collection of ships large enough to hold the entirety of our race and theirs. Send our fastest hawk to Norithel with a message for Signus, I want him to start looking into a food-source that will not rot during a long journey.” The orders came as the Okarir’s mind leapt from thought to thought with urgent need. He passed the Orrarir without stopping to acknowledge the laconic reply, “Noted.”

 

His walk had taken him to the snowy garden overlooking the main city square. The flakes fell harder upon his cloaked shoulders as he replaced the iconic helmet of the Orrariran.

 

“Ay’Haelun’or.” he stated firmly, more to himself than to the attending, but his words were echoed nonetheless. "Ay'mali'lye."

 

 

((An OOC note: Tying up the ship construction in a neat little bow. Cheers, and I hope that you will all join me in enjoying our transition events to 4.0!))

[SodaiKamikaze 652]

Lyu'Maehr Report 3:2

Overview
In compliance with the Okarir's wishes, documents pertaining to the construction of multiple ships have been amassed, along with instructions of  various methods of navigating upon the waters, including compass and astrolabe positions. 

Resources Obtained

More than three dozen trees have been felled and processed into ship building materials, along with 16 kiloliters of dyes and sail making material. Potted plants, chests, and other useless items have also been obtained in order to give the passengers a more relaxing time.

[hex37 737]

Nienna scratches her head.

 

"Weird. I was pretty sure we'd be leaving via gate again..."

[Dakirennis 959]

Dak'ir yawns as he finally wakes from his nap. He turns his head lazily to a piece of paper that Lain must have left for him in his sleep. He sits up in his chair, looking at the sprawling mess of paper that was his desk, and beings to read over the letter. Rubbing his eyes as he reads it's contents. He slowly stands making his way out of the room, leaving the letter behind. Taking his axe that lay against the door way, he steps out into the hollow of Ker'lomi. 

 

"Arveldir! Lenden! Alakagh! Get your logging gear, we have work to do!"

 

They quickly follow along. Dak'ir grinning as he listens to Arveldir and Alakagh bicker as they climb the steps, Lenden chuckling as well.

 

"I've always wanted a boat." He muses as the gate rises.

[Birdwhisperer 1174]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.