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A SILENT EGRESS

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Spoiler

 



 

 

A certain breeze blustered through the Silver City that day.


Finally released from the point of swords, the pale elf stepped through the doorway of the Dagre’sae Manor, a dust off of his just-before shackled wrists. His eyes took on a peculiar sheen, the forlorn, blank gaze of one in either utter disconnect from reality, or far too aware of the dreaded realism that surrounded them.
For some time did he merely sit, sit and stare at the pillars of the Silver City, ears silenced to the distant shouting, the people busy in bustling spree about’; the elf found himself at an utter loss of words, mind shrouded in the rose-tinted memory of what once was. It seemed the only tint of rose in recent days was the threat of bloodshed which loomed over him. And there, he fell into a deep slumber of mind, though not of closed eyes, til drips of water like daggers did fall upon his brow.

Rain wept from the skies above this early morning, the sun yet to truly rise, and the elf slowly shuffled towards his ‘home’ : though, in reality, it was not often that he took his rest in such an abode. Despite his prior vigour for such ideals of bountiful harvest and shining, washed-clean cihi after downpour, it seemed the only seeds sown that year in the Silver Fields were those of chaos, lacking in both sense and remorse. The destructive flood that he had so readily protested against only mere elven hours earlier had indeed come to its summit - the Silver City he once knew, that once was new, that once was his, filled with the anguished cries of those who claimed themselves Its people.
 

A creak open of the manor door, the elf trailed in. He shifted to his room, a quiet, half-hearted murmur of a whistle. Yet - as sorrowfully as their owner - the small, white cat plodded into the room. The Silver Elf peered into his closet, a quiet sight emanating from parted lips. Silently combing through, mere rustles of the incredibly few items of clothing stored there trickled through his hands. Eventually, the elf lay eyes upon a certain fabric hung limply at the back. This, he curled into a roll, tucking beneath his arm. A second of such a nature joined it, of similar colouration, yet longer, a hood-like fold peeking out from the bundle.

With this seen to, his frail, thin fingers curled around the creature which sat, with all the confusion an animal might muster, upon his terribly unused bed. The elf spoke in quiet shushing, whispers of cooing, as he only-half gracefully lowered her into his now mostly-empty satchel ; contents strewn about the bed.
A final glance upon the room, his expression remained unchanged,  yet his thoughts jumped back - a next destination solely in mind.

The assumed ‘Laethezoid Cell’ had certainly done its work in splintering the blessed citizenry, splintering them from sense, diverging thoughts to force - it seemed the only ones lacking in tears were those who had stationed themselves as a faux-silver military, a crude contrast to the honourable Weeping Blades.
And, at such a barracks of his comrades did he next find himself, the colourless elf running a fingertip down the side of a crimson banner - the Haelun’orian symbol, one ought to inspire pride and joy, printed in brilliant white upon it.
Even this, now, seemed faded - yet, with a held mindset, he staunched himself from any further tears; it had been proven that such were no longer welcome within the home he used to know so well.

In the silence of this dimmed morning, grey clouds looming above the similarly grey-seeming state, the elf saw no others in his passing. He looked to his prior office - he had been on the verge of vacating it prior, though for far different reasons than those that now came to call. Secured, as safe as an elf could hope in this room, he stripped his uniform and folded such to a degree of neatness likely in excess of what was needed; this, at least, had not changed. In its place, an old friend draped over his thin limbs - no longer in official service, there was no more uniform to be worn. A soft, simple crimson robe hung from his frame, the elf touching pale fingertips no longer masked by leathery gloves to his rather-gaunt cheeks - pale lips pursing as ever, though no sparkle of intrigue shone in his gaze.

A careful snuff out of each candle, he’d douse the hearth, dropping a large ring of keys just atop the piled clothes. The second bundle was drawn from beneath his arm, a slow unfurl of a mahogany cloak. He curled it around him, wrapped with a tight, clutching squeeze, before loosening it - a simple tie of the ribbon which held against his neck to a bow, fastening the mantle in place. His crown yet remained unshrouded, pale blue iris’ flecked with nought at all.
He left the darkened room; finally, it sat free of his presence.

Cloak enveloping his thin figure, a feline-filled satchel slung across a narrow shoulder, he placed but a few last trinkets into the inner pockets of the cloak. Upon this matter only could he perhaps be accused of ‘stealing’; a singular dagger carefully stowed away, slipped into a pocket close to reach. The fine blade he once held had been taken away and, for the journey that he wished to embark upon, some form of protection he found to be a necessity.

The elf left the barracks with no further touch, no further investigation of what had occurred. His frosted gaze changed not, as he slipped, at the creak of dawn, through the Silver Gates and out of the ‘Silver’ Walls - with each gaze, the foundations that he took part in lovingly placing seemed to lose their lustre. He reached the bottom of the lift - the Morvael Elevator, its true name, to him.  In this act, in this step, did he most harshly restrain the urgent longing to glance back. A sharpened bite of his lip, the elfs gaze sparked for but a single moment - worried thoughts to the cared few left behind. Yet, he could only bid them silent farewell, a wish of a better future; he pleaded for their overcoming of this period, a hope that they might succeed where he had failed to do so, in restoring the Silver State.


Such is how an elf and his cat, relevance dropped as swiftly as the pale elf’s priorly-appointed roles, departed the only city which they had truly ever known, at heart. Digits reached up, a wispy pinch of the scrunched fabric behind his neck to draw a scarlet hood over his head.

The sun rose at the edge of the horizon.
A hazy set of orbs peered upon the brilliant light.
The smallest flickering hope of restoration kept stored in a sunken heart.
The road, as the maehr’sae hiylun’ehya, he followed.

And down the path of the unknown he went.
 


 

 

[[ Haelun’or. You will be missed, til the day that I may return.
Just wanted to wrap up this arc with this small narrative [ not a pk post !!] , and give my appreciation here for all. It’s been a good run, and I’m ever-thankful for all the people who made my experience here so very enjoyable, even though many of such have moved on for now also - the few who still remain, ily more than you could know ❤️
Wish you guys the best going forth - Haelun’or has, and will always have,  a place in my heart.
Someday, I suppose I shall return - whether in weeks, months or years -  though for now my journey takes me elsewhere. Much love.
~ puff ❤️ ]] 

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    ikXpF6Q8gqa3qX1U-hS4fI-g2j1x2az_Gz9O792NhR58y55bZV4dL4fjo4kgg8sLkPODZol5L-cTdHC42B9on36W-IkjGDvzcg7hqjPCPtZad4yGl6YwgpysVeZ9a8d49zUYZnmH       


 

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Spoiler

Best of wishes.

 

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[[Good luck in your feature endeavours 😉 ]]

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We love you Puffs, as well as everyone else that is choosing to move on. I know the recent events have been hard on us all, but I can say for sure that you all will always have a home in Haelun’or, and you will always be welcomed back with open arms. I wish you all the best in whatever journeys you take and wherever they may lead you, and I hope that I can see you guys again in the next chapter. Until then, Maehr’sae hiylun’ehya, and take care of yourself, Puffs. Thank you for being such a wholesome, loving member of the community! 

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[[Love you puffs <3]]

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