THE BUREVIY HOST

[MunaZaldrizoti 8037]

From a salt-sprayed galley, a lone Crow held in her hand word from her second son, with news of this assembly of Raevir whom had gathered in the southern reaches of Aevos. Her lips pulled into a solemn smile, as feelings of pride and grief washed over her in  a wave. Her father had left their people to die, whilst her cousins of Ghaestenwald had endured by a strength of will the refugees of Karoslund had never wished to even entertain. It was a worthy thing, even something that perhaps she felt a pull to lend her aid to. But that wayward Bihar knew her presence, as always, only complicated matters further.

 

Her stormy gaze, instead, forth and toward the horizon. Her heart held within it an anticipation, for a reunion with that sister who had long awaited her return.

[Piov 2643]

"A quite interesting state of affairs," a woman says.

[Xarkly 17299]

 

In his study, where he kept only old chronicles and freshly-inked studies for company, word of the Host reached a scholar named Arrolt.

 

" ... Is that so?" he hummed to himself, and glanced to his wide-set writing desk, where his volumes of Imperial history sat unfinished.

[Nectorist 12869]

An old Barrow, too aged to do much else than write, lay in bed, and be doted over by his dark elven wife, sputters happily as he sees news of this host in the morning paper.

[Dyl 2088]

Marus Galahar receives word of the new body. He grinned as he read over the missive, taking pride in the work of his kin and fellow Highlanders. It was time they started to make something of themselves, and hopefully this would prove fruitful. 

[Lortime 1153]

The Martyred Last Patriarch of Jorenus gave a slight grin and a big thumbs-up to the carrionism of his peoples from the Skies. He was pleased they hadn't forgotten about his sacrifice and duty to the Raev.

[Chimeraof1999 1191]

"Yay! More religious extremists!"

The Specter said, almost sarcastically.

[Luto 439]

Though happy of potential new kin to get to know, Noiye dreads the re-emergence of a horrible accent. She holds steady.

[ivery 591]

Far to the north, in snow so deep that even the pale parchment that holds the news is out of place, a lone figure feels long-buried memories stir. The paper crinkles before she thinks to be gentler with it, to treasure it as she treasures the news itself. She pictures generation after generation that carry the kind eyes of the People's Queen once more, and a part of her heart heals.