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An Errant Omen


Valannor
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[!] Across the breadth of the continent, a plethora of parchments would be found clinging to trees of birch, within areas of particular tranquility, and along errant riverbanks seldom visited. Below each missive would hang an aurum censer of simple make, unlit and filled with dry coals, incense sticks, and chips of  wood. Such notices had seemingly been sired by a nameless author, the only method of possible identification being that which lay in the center of the parchment; An eye, drawn in cobalt ink. 

 

Ave_Tahariae.png

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In some distant land an archaic figure shudders at the omen. "Not again." She'd huff as she took another sip of her tea. "I hate holy orders." Lily would grumble. "Just die out already. But." She'd give pause as she read the notice further. "At least it isn't the nuns." With that a small giggle escapes her, dropping her tea cup and pressing her hands to either side of her nose, as though to ensure it was still there. "At least it isn't the nuns." She'd echo to herself before rocking back and forth in her rocking chair. Absent-mindedly she'd call for her owl, sending him off with one of the notices, off further into that ancient, dangerous land.  

Edited by rukio
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An errant Aureon narrowed his eyes at the missive as he read through it with great interest, Glorian then wrapping it up as he proceeded his way through Elvenesse.

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A withered, old goblin hums lowly, reading over the tattered paper that made its way into the far reaches of Krugmar. He hummed lowly, before casting the paper aside with a yawn "Diz bettuh nub be more Aengul zkah.....zwear tuh zkahin Krug......"

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Young woman at heart and even younger at mind read it over, raised eyebrows as she had no clue what it was. "Doesn't sound good nor bad, least what I can guess." She shrugged, leaving it on the tree inside of the Haense walls as she moved along through to a woody area.

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Who knows how old this parchment is by now? Has it truly stood the test of time hanging 'gainst this branch, so divorced from the rest of the world? How? And, if it truly is so aged, how has it gone so relatively undisturbed? Have so few truly ventured that far off the beaten path to find it? Perhaps it was just that he, of all people, was more likely to see it- avoiding the roads, avoiding being seen, followed, known. Or, perhaps, he had been fated to see it - an omen for what was to come...

 

"...She would be here, then..."

And he'd march into Karosgrad.

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