Harmonic Commotion

[Ilikefooddude 430]

The Isle of the Spirits, Frum'Harna, was awoken in an uncharacteristic

hush. The usual alarms of morning birds, beasts and worship were muted
to the Farseer as he rose from his bed.  Alarmed, Thurak'Yar

spluttered into consciousness, pushing aside the flaps of his tent to duck outside.

His vision flickered, once into blackness and then into brilliant resurgence, like a sunbeam through the autumn leaves.

The vision subsided with a warping pull on the Motsham's reality; time returned to the

present, and the voices of a thousand children, speaking in droned synchronisation,

echoed into oblivion as Thurak struggled to his feet. Slowly letting his tusks

rise from their bowed position, he tried to compose himself with a strange grunt and shudder.

Try as he might, though, there was no shaking the worry which had wrapped itself around Thurak's thoughts,

sprouting as so many goosebumps on his bare skin.
Something was coming.

[CosmicWhaleShark 2488]

In the forge of Laureh'lin, Phaedrus toils away at the anvil, hammering the blade of a greatsword into shape. The clanging that rings from the forge suddenly comes to a stop however, followed by the shuffling of armor, the clatter of fallen tools, and the thud of a slumped over body upon the stone bricks.

 

He felt nothing. He smelled nothing. He saw nothing.

 

However from the blackness a chorus was heard.

 

Origins all but absolute

 

What?

 

Weave not past my own dispute

 

Who is this?

 

Strands of fate now do entwine

 

. . .

 

Both Mind and Soul are my design

 

Is it now?

 

Safeguard not my children near

 

Curious.

 

Mine is a vessel of love and fear

 

. . .

 

Pity not the weight of strain

 

Strain...

 

I do this time and time again

 

Pulled back into reality, Phaedrus finally comes into consciousness. The blade he was working upon long cooled into a dull grey, the furnace smoldering in dying embers. Brushing away a small layer of dust and leaves that had settled upon him from the breezes outside, he brings himself to his feet, releasing a slow exhale.

 

"Where is some parchment..."

[Travista 1361]

(( OOOOOOOO IT'S CAPPENING

[Angmarzku 1251]

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