A Lonely Whisper - Truth

[Gnomeh 470]

A Lonely Whisper - Truth

[!] Everything written before the image would not be known IRP.

 

Cold mists clung to the northern peaks like mourning veils, and atop their solemn heights knelt an elven woman, her long brown hair unfurling in the wind like strands of grief. Before a weathered shrine, she bowed in silent meditation, though a single tear betrayed her stillness, tracing her cheek as the breeze murmured of ruin. Her robes bore the blood of the fallen, soaked from the desperate hours spent ferrying survivors from the charred bones of Vjarngrad. The siege by Orsithiael, the Mountain incarnate, had scorched her memory with fire and screams, but worse still came the Ibleesians, the Empire, the Numendelians, who descended like carrion upon the wounded city, cleaving through its people with soulless precision. She had watched lambs led to slaughter, and heard the final prayers of the innocent. Now sat hollowed by sorrow, her voice cracking the silence with a scream that thundered through the crags like a storm unbound. Her gaze lifted to the shrine, eyes wide with dread, whispering broken questions to the sky. “Why?” “When will it end?” “What do I do?” The flames before her stirred, reaching toward her anguish, smoke curling from her lips with each utterance. And then, in the hush between sobs, came clarity, not from reason, but from revelation. Faith. The word bloomed in her chest like firelight in a cavern. She spoke in a draconic tongue, her voice trembling yet resolute: “Azdromoth, The King Who Is, Daemon of Fate and Conviction - hear my pleas, hear my cries - guide me, illuminate my path with your flame and wisdom.” The flames danced in response, her tears seared away, and her chant rose once more into the sky, not as lament, but as invocation.

 

 

[!] Parchment with scorned edges were hung around Aevos, often over shadowing others and tacked on almost every brick.

 

“Revina, Herald of Azdromoth. That is my name. And if you were here to hear me shout it, I would. Not for glory, but for pride. Not pride in self, but in the path I’ve carved from ash and silence. I was once a girl adrift, untouched by faith, for I had never been given reason to grasp it. But these days... these days have begun to break me. The realm fractures like ice beneath weight, and my faith, once a flicker, waned with every division. The Empire’s cruelty in the North shattered me. Rage took root, and I let it bloom. It blinded me. My emotions stiffened, cracked, and I stood paralyzed, unsure how to heal what had already bled dry. I was lost, lost in a mind tangled with weeping vines, mourning not just the dead, but the pieces of myself I could no longer find. But faith is not always found in light. Sometimes, it is born in the shadow of ruin. I did not stumble upon it. I forged it. In the silence after the rage, I heard whispers. Not divine proclamations, but echoes of my own will, reshaped. I saw the broken, the cast-aside, the ones who still stood despite the weight. And I stood with them. Not because I believed in gods, but because I believed in the fire that refuses to die. Azdromoth did not call me, I called to him. Not with prayer, but with purpose. I became his herald not through revelation, but through resolve. My faith is not blind. It is a blade, tempered in grief and wielded with clarity. I do not kneel, I walk. And with every step, I try to carve meaning into the world that once tried to erase mine.”

 

“I call out to the realm, not out of desperation but out of defiance. Let them hear me, not as a plea, but as a reckoning. The Empire has carved its cruelty into our soil, branding fear into the hearts of the meek and the bold alike. I have felt that fear. I have tasted its bitterness in sleepless nights and clenched fists. But I do not speak from fear, I speak through it. I am angry, yes. I am scared, yes. But I am not broken. I am the flame that learned to burn without permission. I am the voice that rose from silence, not to beg, but to declare: we are still here. And I will not let the Empire write our ending.”

 

“Norland will forever be spoken”

 

 

 

Signed,

 

Spoiler

OOC: This post is to primarily practice for myself as I try and get better at writing, so any feedback is welcomed. It was also written for a way to add more depth to my character and for her to let others know what she has been going through recently. Characters may reach out IRP.

 

[Ardory 2978]

An aging Oyashiman Ordained looks over the missive with weary eyes. He places it upon the desk and gives a singular slow nod.

 

“Revina, your love for Norland is clear and so is your conviction to help it. Although a herald ought to know to not attach to the chains of others’s words, your own words are from your own vessel, a fire within that burns forever bright.”

 

He lifts himself from the desk and looks before his gathered pages.

 

“You truly understand the nature of death, I thank you.”

[Jentos 9422]

"Remember, Revina.

 

Ours is the fire, 

 

Which does not go out."

[Neropolitan 108]

Somewhere upon northern roads, did the woman of another flock come across that missive. She had just that eve sojourned with another from whom she sought the opinion and sentiment of those northern men and women. Quietly she scanned the page as she snatched it from where it was pinned. An ash-hewn breath leaving her as she turned baleful gaze upon laden skies.

"You are a bold one, Revina.. to put your name so out there. But you do well to hold to your words and convictions. Do remember.. as they so like to say often here."

"Iron from Ice."

 

"They remain a people of spirit unbroken. And I both admire and envy their drive."

 

Without another word that Nephilim folded the sheet of paper and tucked it away. And began off once more to continue her solitary patrol. A favour asked of her by one she trusted. And a duty she would hold to in her mind. Imperial occupation be damned.