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Birdsong & Snowfall, Vol. I


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Penned and printed by Osta Kol

c. 515 E.S.

The following collection of poems is a testament to growth as a person and thoughts about those near and far, in land and heart. 


Flaxen Hair, 511 E.S.
I look into the mirror,
To face my reflection,
And find something Raevir.


Her, the girl looking back at me,
Does not show it easily.
She has flaxen hair that some agree,
Looks beautiful with her eyes taiga green.


But I ponder, would it be better if her hair was like her mother’s?
If it were like a ripe chestnut, fallen from the tree and peeled for all to see.
Or if it was like her grandmother's, dark as the crows that perch on Haeseni crests.
Perhaps, with crow or mud-like hair, she'd find some kind of glee.


Every passing glance I give the girl with flaxen hair,
In windows, or puddles, I feel a burden she struggles to bear.


Each light lock on her head is another reminder,
She stands in someone else’s stead,
Someone who's face grows a little uncertain,
For his portrait is kept carefully under drawn curtains.


“Woe is me,” the flaxen and green-eyed girl could say,
Carrying a weight that should not be hers,
But sometimes as evening goes to swallow day,
There’s a different feeling that soon spurs.


Where every strand looks less like flax,
And closer to thin and moving gold.
A new feeling sets in, seeping through the cracks,
Where the girl’s hair is special, and beautiful to behold.



Lady-Bard, 513 E.S.
Oh Lady-Bard of Haense, your voice sounds so sweet as you sing,
But the words are pains still fresh to the people.


Do you ache too, lady-bard?
I can't help but wonder, beyond your redwood locks,
If there is a woman war-torn and scarred.


I hope you can hold peace close to your chest,
Like how your hands keep their grasp on the lute,
I know at least, Haense will be well-blessed,
When peace comes and you may have more songs we can hoot.



Stellarbound Scholar, 513 E.S.
The Saint of Ves must bless our steps,
As your venture to the woods brought me into view,
I must confess, it was not something to expect
Tell me what good comes from drifting out Valdev?


You met me with words on the breeze, natural and gentle,
Like we were already friends for a lifetime,
You spoke to me of your interests among the ferns and lentil,
Such verve could make me forget we were not in peacetime.


Eventually, we parted ways, in the streets and snow,
Back to my lone home of pine and ink, while you likely sit at the windowsill to stare at the night,
I put my pen to paper, or ink to the woodblock and slam down on the press, to and fro,
While you likely sketch out new things I do not know and survey the stars like it is divine rite.


Again I saw you in the woods, though that time I was the one who stood tall,
While you were peacefully rested against that mighty tree in an evening sprawl.


I spoke to you again, as true friends that time,
I regaled you with what you missed in town, gemmed beauties and meaningful dances,
If you were there, I bet you would've tap your foot to the lady-bard’s chime,
It is not like that would be the last time, as the palace or tavern held many songs and prances.


Because of your absence, though, I gave you a token of the fair,
A ring of cerulean blue, akin to the river as we make our bridge passes,
I think the piece pairs well with your beloved, blue-toned wear,
Although you took interest in my bracelet made of the pearls the riverbed amasses.


Your eye is astute, though I should expect nothing less,
From the man that spends his hours awestruck with creations beyond the clouds,
The same man that will share that passion with me as he has worries to express,
And the only comfort I can assure him with is that I am no invasive nor gossiping crowds.


It seems to work, which makes me glad,
You are my friend, same in culture but more sage clad.


Although, as our talks become commonplace,
I wonder what shall become of our dynamic,
You spoke to me of beauty, not of a ring,
And it frankly sends my mind into a panic.


Oh stellarbound scholar, do your eyes trace over me like I'm one of your star charts?
How deep do I lay in that noble heart?



Golden-Browed, 513 E.S.
In a time where strife is king,
Great powers come together, 
The people expectantly cling, 
To the diplomatic tether.


They watch as the rope is taut,
Pulled either way by those in command,
But quickly it comes all for naught,
And every person feels the dread at hand.


He who is golden-browed,
Did not slack the rope, 
Before the judging crowd,
But instead fashioned it and dashed all hope.


Turned it into a noose,
It was all he thought to do, 
Condemnation turned loose,
And the smothering of war will turn him blue.


Tell me, good sir, 
As the siege engines spur, 
Will the wine be worth it? 
Even if it means your life is forfeit?



The War Is No More, 515 E.S.
In Valdev the winds did not howl but certain was the snow,
Citizens were gathered in the street, warmed by the fire,
Concerned friends huddled close, linked arms between belle or beau,
Then the queen of the people emerged, she who many admire.


Dark hair with silver slivers like moonlight, 
And icy eyes that rest upon crow’s feet,
She proclaimed that we were finished with the fight,
Fresh news that to many felt too soon or sweet.


War is no more, though, no longer at our worse,
With love in our hearts, the Haeseni disperse. 


To the taverns for drink, 
That is where the victorious Haeseni flock, 
‘Til the carrion is gone and our cheeks turn pink,
Where the men will stomp their boots and women swish their frocks.


Gleefully, we can say, the war is no more, 
Let such burdens and sorrow join the times of yore.



Good Men and Women of the Middenlan, 515 E.S.
He with the golden brow,
Brought dismay to the Midlands, 
Before kings and queens he could bow,
But those leaders were met with a backhand.


It would be a dreadful thing to die,
When there is so much more to do,
Righteous death they will firmly cry,
But who would be left when it's through?


He with the golden brow, 
Would not let that land fall, 
But as horses stormed the fields like a plow,
Fewer men and women of the eagle stood tall.


Sometime, either dawn or dusk,
Those royals and duke surely met,
With an absence of nature so brusque,
And they brokered a peace hard to forget.


He who is golden-browed,
Understood what wreckage they sowed. 


Ten winters of unrelenting pride,
For kings, for countries, for children and wives,
These reasons to fight waited on either side,
But with a war over, there is no more pause in our lives. 


Good men and women, both eagle and crow,
These are joyous times that our children may know. 


Two birds of a feather, we may well be, 
As those of Winburgh find new a home,
May they find our share of comradery, 
And dash all fears where folk solely roam.


Good men and women of the Middenlan,
Let this be our new opportunity, 
May you be greeted with a kind and gracious hand,
For your peace may bring us new unity.








if the format is messed up don't say anything i WILL cry 


thank you to my friends for encouraging me to not be a weenie and to post my stuff on the forums :) thank you to all the talented and wonderful roleplayers on lotc for giving me a whole war to write about <3

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(Can't write pretty while on my phone, will swoon over you once I'm home)

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As the rocks and stones of the road quietly crunched under his feet, the man carefully walked along the road. Aster's blue-grey eyes scanned over the pages of the volume, a smile appearing on his face.

"She finally went and published them! Gudi."

Though, when he read over the Stellarbound Scholar his smile was quickly accompanied by a flush of red upon his cheeks. He quietly thanked himself for traveling alone, so none would see his embarassed look.

"Ah, I did nejt expect her to publish that one.. Gudi, though, it is mik favorite."

With that, he carefully closed the journal, and continued on with his travels.

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"What a beautiful work of art this is..." The silvered haired man would gasp, seeming to get caught up in the middle of his servantry work as he was reading. His duties lie dormant for now, as he scans every line with intention on finding any sort of hidden meaning - a game for the usually busy man! That was until a prompt signal from his yellowed-hair fellow servant came along to get him back to work. 


"Cedomir - Deia! Have you seen this? It's wonderful!" He would rally all of the servantry in for a small break, enjoying the arts at the start of the era of peace. 


(OOC: LILY I AM SO PROUD OF YOU GIRLIE. Keep up with this writing and when you're a famous author one day don't forget to send a text once in a while <3)

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