A Father's Final Words

[Giga 357]

A cloaked figure pauses under the darkened shades of a distant wood, gnarled hands, bark-like in appearance, clutching a staff of centuries-old pinewood. The sound of croaking wood breaks the howling of the wind and the hushing of the trees as the elder Druid inclines his head slightly. A cluster of butterflies draw to him, swirling like a hurricane up and into the sky, dispersing on the breeze. "I know not who has passed, but may the Aspects forever watch over ye, for your service and your part in this dysfunctional family our gifts bond us together in. Blessed be." The elf exhales softly, the entirety of the forest seemingly mourning with him for a time. He raises his staff and strikes the earth with it, sending a resounding rumble through the trees to the edges of the forest, before the figure continues on his trek, almost merging with the backdrop of trees as his form disappears in shadow and shade.

[NomadGaia 930]

It was silent for her, at least in the way a druid would know it. Only the screams of nature accompanied the woman now, as she sat in the cold, gentle dark of the night. Thoughts sped through her head, like arrows. They stung just as sharply.

"We are not gods... we do not get to decide."

 

The woman gripped at the grasses around her, taken by a strange mix of anger and sorrow for her lost friend. She had been sitting there all night, thinking, praying. She had been there for hours, staring into the brazier, hoping for some answer. The girl was just getting angrier by the second, whether it was at the death of Toren, at the aspects themselves, or the mother circle, it could not be known.

 

"No more. I am sick of praying for things to get better."

 

And with that, the druidess withdrew her blade, reaching up to grip at the mass of hair that came down to the floor. With shaking hands, she gripped it and began to cut through the raven locks roughly, pulling away from her head into her hands. Awaiti felt a chill run down her spine as her neck was exposed to the cool air. She stood from the ground, marching over to the brazier. She held it above the fire, looking in.

 

"I will not be Sister Orison that prays and prays for peace. No more."

 

And so she dropped her locks of hair into the flames, burning them for the aspects, the embers of her last prayer lighting up the night sky.

[Vaynth 3005]

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

 

If you feel this is a mistake, please contact myself or any FM and we'll restore it.