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TheFlowerBandit

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About TheFlowerBandit

  • Rank
    Tree Puncher

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    changes monthly
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    Male
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    begging for upvotes
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    The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
    Of the big lake they called Gitche Gumee
    The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
    When the skies of November turn gloomy
    With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more
    Than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty
    That good ship and true was a bone to be chewed
    When the gales of November came early
    The ship was the pride of the American side
    Coming back from some mill in Wisconsin
    As the big freighters go, it was bigger than most
    With a crew and good captain well seasoned
    Concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms
    When they left fully loaded for Cleveland
    And later that night when the ship's bell rang
    Could it be the north wind they'd been feelin'?
    The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound
    And a wave broke over the railing
    And every man knew, as the captain did too,
    T'was the witch of November come stealin'
    The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait
    When the gales of November came slashin'
    When afternoon came it was freezin' rain
    In the face of a hurricane west wind
    When suppertime came, the old cook came on deck sayin'
    Fellas, it's too rough to feed ya
    At seven p.m., a main hatchway caved in, he said
    Fellas, it's been good to know ya
    The captain wired in he had water comin' in
    And the good ship and crew was in peril
    And later that night when 'is lights went outta sight
    Came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald
    Does any one know where the love of God goes
    When the waves turn the minutes to hours?
    The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay
    If they'd put fifteen more miles behind 'er
    They might have split up or they might have capsized
    They may have broke deep and took water
    And all that remains is the faces and the names
    Of the wives and the sons and the daughters
    Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings
    In the rooms of her ice-water mansion
    Old Michigan steams like a young man's dreams
    The islands and bays are for sportsmen
    And farther below Lake Ontario
    Takes in what Lake Erie can send her
    And the iron boats go as the mariners all know
    With the gales of November remembered
    In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed,
    In the maritime sailors' cathedral
    The church bell chimed till it rang twenty-nine times
    For each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald
    The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
    Of the big lake they called Gitche Gumee
    Superior, they said, never gives up her dead
    When the gales of November come early

Character Profile

  • Character Name
    Ayred | Kariv | Navi
  • Character Race
    Elf™

Recent Profile Visitors

926 profile views
  1. Ayred can’t help but smirk as he reads over the paper, how he got his hands on it? Not important. ”Only reliable source of news” The former Mali’Fenn comments, rolling his shoulders before returning to his forge.
  2. Well **** guess I can go into Haelun’or now... That’s lame.
  3. O-oh hey hey look hey look there I am hey look! Mom look hey mom look I’m on TV!
  4. Days puncuated by pain, headaches and restless nights seem to follow the once well known Kharajyr. Living the remainder of his life in the wilds, thinking, meditating, raising his last son, and wondering... Such was one of these days, the Booze Cat as he was known in his youth. . . Chopping wood. An aura of peace, calmness, almost eerily so. Now in his 50s, and still in his physical prime. All the chaos of his youth has left him, now just another old man, a list of ideas, and a list of names. Names from his youth, friends, enemies, all alike. They ramble on, and so does he. Telling stories to anyone who’d pass by his home, or visit him on occasion in Asimu’lei, if he could be caught there. He wonders the fates of Tantalus, Rhaella, and the others who’d been such close friends to him. They’d simply disappeared in his mind that’s just how things are it seems. Answers will show themselves in time. Months pass, close to a year until one faithful afternoon. The Kha is splitting wood, his head begins to ache more then usual, he finds himself unable to work any further. He turns, returning to his cabbin calling: ”Chicahu! My Per’ come to me son.” The Tigrasi who he’d rescued, and raised exist from the cabin. Barely an adult, even by Kharajyr standards, just 13. ”Some wood over there I need splitting, if you’d be so willing my giant.” Chicahu smiles, taking the axe from his father and beginning to split the wood with a few mighty grunts. ”Put your back into it!” Xinan calls from the cabin ”Okay Patta!” The shout is returned with a heavy emphasis of sarcasm, a tease. The Leparda lays down, unable to sleep it seems. He takes deep, steady breaths. These would be his last. As his mind drifts, he ponders, and thinks. Where did his life go all wrong? Was it in Asimu’lei? Asamel? None of this matters now. Whatever you’d think of the Kha, hero and reformer, an open mind and sympathetic ear. Or a monster that only sought to destroy and ancient culture, and way of life worthy a death much worse the one he got, or some middle ground. Perhaps a moment would be taken to consider that of the Kha, and both sides. In his final moments he begins to cry, thinking of all he’d done, all the suffering, the pain, the joy. Lenora, Gusiam, Qudlia, Asamel, Ari, Araene, Umi, Savie, Tantalus, Rhaella... Pep... Would they know? Would they care? Drifting off... into a eternal sleep, dying of Brain Cancer at the age of 52. His son returns, a day passes as he goes to wake his father, finding him dead, he sends off the bird with the note as instructed by his father before passing, not bothering a peak at it. He mourns the loss of his Patta, cremating him, along with the house they live in. Starting a small forest fire in his anger, slaughtering many an animal with his bear hands in his rage. He arrives at the Gates of Stargush’Stroh... Spending his life a dedicated worshiper of Isuz. The Message To Lenora: (Please don’t meta, but feel free to read if you wish.)
  5. Ayred Avandi looks left, then right, then back at the news muttering a simple ”F-ck.”
  6. Ayred silently glances over the missive, a smile cracking across his face... ”Now I will finally get the action I’ve been seeking with the Inferi... Finally...” The ‘Fenn reminisces of his recent service with Norland. He hands the letter off to the pair waiting out the rain with him, after it gets handed off to him by a courier!
  7. thanks for making this post, I agree.
  8. party time party time (also good rep-post ratio gang assemble)
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