The Last Hour Before The Rebirth

[TheBareSheet 194]

Arahael walks solemnly as she reaches the center of Malinor. She sits on a bench as she piles many books to reach her height and acts as a makeshift table. As she settles herself down, she reaches into her satchel, she produced a simply white quill, a pot of golden/yellow ink and a stack of papers. She sighs as she reaches for the paper on the top of the stack. It already had words on it. She stood up, still holding the paper, and pinned it on the other side of the makeshift table.

 

"Children of Malin, some incidents cannot be prevented.

Same as our current situation, where many nations have declared war on our Holy Princedom. No matter if you are living in fear or packing to leave or simply one who believes 'rebirth' shall happen, come to me, may I listen to your story, to write down your last words."

 

Arahael sits back down. Seemingly waiting, for something to happen. But as time passes she works up a chant, a poem of some sort.

 

"The time is near

The time has come

When the clock strikes night

The dark shall claim

Those who stood

Once in pride

Shall kneel

Shall fall

And meet their doom

They shall be judged

Then burden shall be placed on them

 

Who knows?

Will they fall?

One by one?
Or shall they

Loose

Everything

Once they had

Everything

That once they had more than needed?

 

The dark shall claim

As they meet their wrong

Begs will come

Defiance will come

Some will joy

As some will despair

 

Malin

Shall you bless their way

Show your mercy

Your love

Warm our hearts

 

Remember

We are children of Malin

We shall stand

As the fire spreads

It licks the wood

It turns everything

To ashes

Yet from the ashes

It shall rise

Once more

To our former glory"

 

 

 

 

((If you have your last words, feel free to post below, emoting you talk to me etc.., then make a private conversation, say what you need to say, do not worry if it is not fancy, I shall correct your grammar and make it sound interesting. Also please indicate if you wish it to be published, or after it is written handed in to whom and whom.))

[WuHanXianShi14 0]

Art walks into malinor looking grimly determined. He turns to the speaker, seemingly absent mindedly tossing an arrow in between his fingers, he then focuses and speaks.

I have something for you, Magescribe.

"When our race began, we were cursed.

As our race continued, we struggled.

With wisdom and lives exceeding that of all, but still hated by all.

The Mali have clung to their ways too long, change must come, and it shall.

But as our corrupt fall and new llight takes it's place, remember this.

We are the oldest and wisest race because we survived, and we shall continue to survive.

The Mali shall expel the council, then we will thrive, and survive."

Good day, Magescribe.

Art looks around with his cold, steely expression, examining the state of malinor's people, before promptly walking off into the shadows of the trees.

[TheBareSheet 194]

Arahael stops her chanting as she stares at the Mali whom she had seen before in her guild Arcane Delvers.

As he speaks, she immediately wrote it down.

 

"When our race began, we were cursed.
As our race continued, we struggled.
With wisdom and lives exceeding that of all, but still hated by all. 
The Mali have clung to their ways too long, change must come, and it shall.
But as our corrupt fall and new llight takes it's place, remember this.
We are the oldest and wisest race because we survived, and we shall continue to survive.
The Mali shall expel the council, then we will thrive, and survive."

 

Yet she forgot his name. She waves at the leaving Mali.

 

"My cousin! Please stop in your tracks. What is your name? Would you want your words published? In libraries?"

[WuHanXianShi14 0]

Art briefly turns around, speaking quickly.

"Artimec Akkaris. High Mageshield. Do what you will with my verse."

[SteelMarshall 190]

The center of Malinor. Beautiful, both in its coexistence with nature and its architecture. Yet the great trees that dominated the skyline and covered the sky in a leafy green canopy provided massive shadows, pools of darkness in which anything could stir. If someone had looked into one of these wells of shade, situated in a dark alley not far from where the elf Arahael sat, they would have seen nothing amiss. There was no movement, in this dark alley, but that did not mean that it was unoccupied.

"The talk that comes from Malinor,

Oh, of the wistful wishful words that come from Malinor.

All elves talk and yet they balk,

At thought of compromise or chore.

They do not see that they must agree,

Lest Malinor come upon death's door.

Their government derailed, decried and deplored

Yet still the elves think

Still the poor and pitiful elves think

That they are superior though they see not the interior

That is their rotting kingdom's core.

And despite their wiles, words and witnessed 'wisdom,'

They do not understand that they slap the wrong hand

and soon like rabbits will run from their warren

Before the might of the Empire of Oren.

And the home of the elves will be no more.

The home of the snobbish, seditious elves will be no more."

The bald man's expression was obscured by the shadowy sidestreet, though his malicious whispering was carried by the slight breeze that drifted through the city. His percing eyes shined like pieces of flint as he turned, silently making his way into the maze of alleys and roads. He was quickly lost in the crowds of people and the labyrinth of buildings. Yet his grim poem seemed to linger in the air.

[Moot 1719]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.