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A Message - TO MY SIBLINGS


thequeennadine
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Notices have been pinned about the land by crooked nail. They are written by a decisive hand, with scrawling script and wounds left by too-harsh punctuation. At the bottom of each, something wretched is nailed...

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TO MY SIBLINGS

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“... And so, in the interest of righting things, They took action. Bestowed in secret to each creation of the Mother, and the Father, was a third blessing: cunning.”

The Woven Way [Excerpt]


 

     This writing will be plain. It is directed to the scattered sects of druids across the land- as well as any sworn onto the mission of the Aspects three- and further still, any that live amidst, or under the persecution of these siblings, mine.

     I have settled on myself a self-exile from the Vale of Nevaehlen, home of the Father Circle. The simplest explanation is found in my dissatisfaction with your leaders, and your treatment of those that err against these too-rigid rules. It was a message left unread, an honest plea, written off by an insular people as sacrilege- or worse, gossip. This is ultimately of little concern.

     But now it has begun to encroach on my freedoms, and purpose, in tending to nature’s balance.

     I speak with a singular man, who is cursed by the draconic brood, for the sole purpose of learning. He has taught me well of how to defeat his wretched kin, and likewise how the influence of their corruption can be abated. I associate with others that your denizens rightfully shun. These too, for the express purpose of learning. 

     They despoil my name with accusations of collusion with the Titan, and its chosen servants. They use these dreaded things as a reason to bare their fangs, and ward me away from my work. From cooperation with others of our same creed.

     It is the way of those twilight-kin to sit huddled close, and recluse. To venture out only in a readiness to hunt, and destroy the malefic things of this world when they deem it necessary

     It is the way of our dayward-bound brethren to raise spirits and nourish new generations. With song, celebration, and ancient rite.

     It is my way, night-woven as I am, to reach out to the unseen dark. To know all I might, and work as a socialite, a teacher, without regard for nation, nor name. Ultimately, the balance cannot be wholly tended by those that rely on dated-texts and frightful tales to inform their fledgling few.

     We are splintered and disorganized as an Order; yet, it is my suspicion that, were we not, this message still would not call some rise to moot and meeting. I will seclude myself with my Work with this in mind. Let this be a message to those that vilify me now- and those that might, should my name ever be associated with something more than crazed, meaningless posts.

     If you cannot realize the wealth of goodness, and prosperity this will lend in the centuries to come, I implore you to live up to your threats: 

 

UNATTUNE ME. Kill me. Prove you are slaves to your hate, and that it is your prejudice that speaks for the Aspects in these trying times.

 

SIGNED,

SISTER DREAD

 

A cow's tongue, ripped to be forked and charred black, has been nailed to the bottom of each post. The eerie 'address' still oozes with some foul ichor, and may induce a hiss of unnatural anxiety in onlookers.

[WARNING: GRAPHIC ART, 'BLOOD' (by me)]

Spoiler

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Edited by thequeennadine
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An 'ame would be travelling down the road when a page posted on a board caught his eye. He stared at it for a few seconds reading it over before he reached and drew a dagger. A dagger he had recently held against the writer herself. "Should have stabbed her when I had the chance." he mumbled to himself as he impaled the post with his dagger ripping the page off and letting it fall to the floor. He looked at the tongue in disgust and with a final step on the ripped page, simply walked off.

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A sister of Dread came to peer upon one of these notes in her usual travels. 


Her heels came to a halt against the path, reading it for maybe what someone would consider a bit too long. .  . and she nods, to what who'd know? In acknowledgement of the information? Or something else?
Whatever it would be, that note was shoved deep into her pocket. Staggering steps continued onward with their life, whatever purpose drove her that particular day.

 

Something to be kept in mind.

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24 minutes ago, thequeennadine said:

 I speak with a singular man, who is cursed by the draconic brood, for the sole purpose of learning. He has taught me well of how to defeat his wretched kin, and likewise how the influence of their corruption can be abated. I associate with others that your denizens rightfully shun. These too, for the express purpose of learning. 

 

 

Do you now? The Page wondered on this, deciding to speak to the Prince soon.

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Somewhere in the world, Spring would crackle like a madness amidst  the chaotic natures as she'd read upon the massive... resting a hand upon her face as she'd took a deep breath in... Sighed... An a troubled frown formed upon her face.

"
Oh you sweet spring child, who had that conversation with you?" Knowing for a fact a lot of people were in for a ride.

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Vine - attuned not long before Dread herself, and who perhaps might have once called her Sister - found the missive on one of her increasingly rare rides beyond the Vale's own walls, and stopped long enough in her journey to read it; to stare at it; to crumple it in hand, and ignite it with a spark, then tear off the cow's desecrated tongue and give it much the same swift ending.

 

"Funny," she informed the ashes through gritted teeth as she wiped them furiously down her breeches, melodrama hindered by the grime and mess of reality. "How two paths diverge."

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Malus Corin simply uttered to the Druid Ainmhí within the cave dwellings of Dark Hollow, "Those who coyly rip down the posters are but reenacting the trivial behavior of their Irrinite and Aegrothondi forefathers. Perhaps, these slaves to the yoke of their intrepid leader's plow ought to be as bashful to you as they would be to their own chieftains, lest they seek instead to once longer find themselves supplanted, their lands stolen, fertile and lush lands razed and salted as done by the great kings of old.

"This would not be the first time, in their hubris, that they have shunned and killed other elves under the mere pretense of 'bad affiliation'. Trivial, really."

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Evar'tir, retired ecoterrorist, regards the missive on an evening stroll. "I hope whatever supplied all these tongues is okay." Pondered the man aloud, shuddering at the prospect of the arduous task of detonguing multiple birds just to prove a point, before returning to tend to his vegetable garden. 

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A aging man and friend of those that live and thrive with nature looks at the message with a perplexed expression resting on his features as he looked from the words upon it...and then down, down to the tongue of a cow. That had been severed from the beast and was still dripping ichor, blacked with some substance and then cut in a way that framed the tongue as something else. 

"Aye have ne idea who this lass is, but for someone talking about caring for the path of nature, its aye bit odd for them to torment aye animal and butcher their tongue just for aye message....what is this tongue meant to be anyway?"

Still perplexed on whatever all of this was he grabbed his bottle of Taynei breathe brew, pouring another thick glass as he removed his apron from his work at the tavern and began to enjoy the smooth beverage. Just - perplexed. But enjoying a nice drink like the rising alcoholic that he was becoming more and more. Its all his nieces fault. 

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