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Come Sail Away


Areon

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YWE9LDIuA0M

 

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It was the night of The Great Tavern Raid of ‘89 and some figures were perched in the undergrowth and bushes that were scattered along the harbor. Their armor was black as stygian and lined with the aurum trim of conquerors. Blue linens draped from their shoulders, imprinted with the heraldry of Old Ker’nor. The onyx-clad leader of the posse bore a distinctly amber gaze from behind the confines of his helmet, unidentifiable except for his distinguished stride and pointed glare towards his men. Alas, the crouching ended and they began to encroach on the position they selected.

 

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The heraldry of Old Ker’nor.

 

One of the Div’cruan looked towards Ganzorig and questioned, “Is that one yours?” The Hierarch paused and his eyes crinkled as he stared past the horizon, the fog blanketing across the night sky in a splendid display of obscurity, though a mast was faintly visible -- and recognizable to the naked eyes of the Dark Elves gathered. “Aye,” Ganzorig answered, appearing relatively pleased all things considered. “It is time to go and take this thing back.” So the posse rounded about and met with a scarred man with bronze limbs at the gates to the harbor. The wood elfess who had walked by them was suspicious but uncertain of what exactly was transpiring. “Kairn,” Ganzorig greeted the man, a stubbly and tall man with the vague features of a crossbred elf. His hair was white as snow and streaked with grey, and blue tattoos covered his broad frame. The Prince of the Alders was typically a man of few words. His eyes scanned over the features of the Div’cruan gathered and he offered them a smile, though it was mirthless and reeked of self-confidence and poise.

 

“We will distract them. You take what’s rightfully yours, cousin.” And so they set to work. Amber Eyes, or Ganzorig, set to take the spare canoes that the Gladewynn Company had left behind amidst their quick re-entry to Caras Eldar. They climbed the boat and set mast so that they might finally escape the shackles of rotting Elvenesse.
 

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Evar'tir gazed across the growing treachous waters. The ship that once anchored in the bay, and rocked in the waves, was now gone. Sighing, he rolled his shoulders, pacing the docks, heading back towards Talareh'sae.

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Guyden ponders what happened to the days of officials calmly making statements and constructively discussing things, instead of partaking in shady habits. He then second guesses himself and reflects on past experience with political figures. Shivering with dread. “...Bah, and they say Druidism drives you bonkers.” Thus, he continues his fervent renovations to the Sparrow Grove. The sound of the pickax echoing throughout the cavern.

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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. 

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