A CALL TO A MEETING

[Tulan 443]

 

The Denouncement of Diomé Indoren

[!]A private letter only shared with the current Matriarch of Clan Indoren, Velsyni Indoren[!]

 

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For too long we have been lenient in letting our dear cousin do as he pleases. I had hoped that in time he would cease his ways of needless bloodletting and come to his senses, alas he has continued to shame our ancestors. And as former Patriarch of our clan, I think we should convene on whether or not we wish to sit idly by and continue to let his actions diminish our clan’s reputation, with his current affiliations to the bandit group of the Ferrymen. I propose a civil meeting between all members of our clan in our new clanhall, where we can also discuss our future position within the Dual Principality. Whether or not Diomé will attend is entirely up to himself, but I will let it be known to you I would not hesitate to have his name stripped from history, as the kerir he has become.

@AstriaS

Signed, Ruathar Indoren

[AstriaS 4988]

Velsyni Indoren had been, at the time of the letter's arrival, attempting to determine the most amusing way to send out the invitations to her birthday party. She had just decided to have them written on the shells of boiled eggs (a most difficult feat to accomplish, mind you) when the note fell on her desk and distracted her completely. "I suppose something ought to be done..." The woman mumbled, assuming that it must be a very serious issue indeed if it warranted a letter be delivered to her during her birthday preparation. In reality, she hadn't actually read the note, so much as briefly scanned it.

 

But, to her credit, she did later take the time to actually read it, at which point she remarked, "Ah, well, I suppose this is a task that's needed addressing for some time now."

[Crevel 7557]

The forgotten Sanvyn Indoren, though one of the originals, would reside in a cabin in the middle of the Almarian wilderness. At the helm of his dinner table, the Indoren would be accompanied by a range of eating utensils varying from the traditional forks, spoons, knives, to the unconventional sporks, spives, and knorks, there would also be cultural utensils such as the Li-Ren chopsticks; all of which have been given a face by placing a few drops of ink on each utensil. Maddened by decades of isolation and trauma, Sanvyn would speak out amongst his homemade army of cutlery, "Luara has given me.. us.. all a chance at redemption. Together, with Luara.. we will become 'In-door-ins'. We protect all who are indoors. For Luara and maln wills it so." his face would twitch a little as he stared at a dishevelled spoon, "Why are you looking at me like that? Do you want to be a failure? Are you trying to sabotage us?" he would leap, almost as if he were a cat, against the other side of the table where the poor spoon had been awkwardly placed on a little makeshift chair. Sanvyn, in his rage, would grip the spoon, licking its inky face off with his foul tongue before bending it and throwing it against the rotting timber floor with a metal clatter. "You are with me, or against me! Be smart, lliran." he would glare at the cynical cutlery remaining on the table before making his way into his room to cry about his stinky toenails that are plotting to trip him over.