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SilvertheGM

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    That Mistfinger
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    Stoner

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  1. The man, marred with the sapling of madness, would find himself within those cold and hallowed woods. With difficulty and pain, did he find himself carve into that flesh of his, flesh cold and blackened from frost. The crude and holy symbol of the Angel, his breathing grew ragged as he leaned himself up against a tree. "Praise be to the Ylk'Mesh! Let its blood act as the river, to guide us towards salvation!"
  2. The Mistfinger would begin his usual prayer upon that tall tower, before he began to do what he could, what with one only able to do so much with only one arm.
  3. The Blackfinger Captain would look down upon his stump of an arm that he now bore, a hand going to press the once whole arm. A mortal man, having fought side by side against the Maleficar worshippers. "GOD, has put trial and challenge for me this day and time, to test my will and strength. I pray that upon my next encounter, those of the Angul of Xan shall pay twicefold for the injuries they have done onto me." It was with that, he began his prayer in that slowly freezing tower, a prayer of repentance and failure for his actions that day. But with each utterance, did prayers of wroth and wrath, grace in between those lines. Prayers that asked for failure, of those who bore the Light of the Lion.
  4. [!] A missive would be sent across Almaris, to any cities that may house Adunians and to the known Bowie Villages hiding in the woods and hills at the fringes of civilization. On it would be a map with a spot marked, and some text scrawled on the parchment with black ink, stating: "Sons and Daughters of Harren and Sarai, From the days of the High Kingdom of old to the present day our people have been noted to aspire as Knights, Rangers, and Warriors of all sorts. Here in Cartref Mor we seek to continue that legacy with great Knights and Rangers of our people to defend our home in the Emyn Edrain and the world at large. If you bear interest in serving and defending your people, and wish to learn more of how you may do so in the future, then we implore you to come to Cartref Mor in a weeks time. May Elendil protect your journey, Maria grant you benevolence, and Braen guide your decisions with his counsel." Signed: ๐”๐”ฌ๐”ฏ๐”ก ๐”„๐”ฒ๐”ฏ๐”ข๐”ฉ๐”ฆ๐”ฌ๐”ซ ๐”๐”ž๐”ฏ๐”ฐ๐”ถ๐”ฏ ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ข ๐”‰๐”ž๐”ฆ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ฃ๐”ฒ๐”ฉ, ๐”๐”ฌ๐”ฏ๐”ก ๐”ฌ๐”ฃ โ„ญ๐”ž๐”ฏ๐”ฑ๐”ฏ๐”ข๐”ฃ ๐”๐”ฌ๐”ฏ ๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ก ๐”๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ž๐”ฐ ๐”„๐”ซ๐”ค๐”ฏ๐”ข๐”ซ, ๐”“๐”ž๐”ฑ๐”ฏ๐”ฆ๐”ž๐”ฏ๐” ๐”ฅ ๐”ฌ๐”ฃ โ„Œ๐”ฌ๐”ฒ๐”ฐ๐”ข ๐”๐”ž๐”ฏ๐”ฐ๐”ถ๐”ฏ ๐”ฌ๐”ฃ โ„ญ๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ช๐”ฌ๐”ฌ๐”ฏ, ๐”“๐”ฏ๐”ฌ๐”ฑ๐”ข๐” ๐”ฑ๐”ฌ๐”ฏ ๐”ฌ๐”ฃ ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ข โ„Œ๐”ž๐”ฏ๐”ฏ๐”ข๐”ซ'๐”ฅ๐”ฆ๐”ฉ ๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ก ๐”‰๐”ž๐”ข๐”ฏ'๐”ฅ๐”ฆ๐”ซ, ๐”“๐”ฏ๐”ฌ๐”ญ๐”ฅ๐”ข๐”ฑ ๐”ฌ๐”ฃ ๐”…๐”ฏ๐”ž๐”ข๐”ซ ๐”ˆ๐”ฉ๐”ข๐”ซ๐”ก๐”ฆ๐”ฉ ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ข ๐”š๐”ฆ๐”ฐ๐”ข
  5. Disclaimer: This is not public knowledge, merely an account of the first of many events happening within the adunians. ๐“ฃ๐“ฑ๐“ฎ ๐“—๐“ฎ๐“ป๐“ช๐“ต๐“ญ๐“ฒ๐“ท๐“ฐ ๐“ธ๐“ฏ ๐“ฝ๐“ฑ๐“ฎ ๐“ฃ๐“ฑ๐“ป๐“ฎ๐“ฎ Storms had raged around the Lordship of Cartref Mor for many a WIldwynn day, killing its crops, plaguing the cattle and beasts. An omen had made itself clear amongst the town, and in doing so, did it herald the arrival of an individual. For many days the Lord of Cartref Mor gained letters, written in an odd sanguine coloration, detailing trials to come. The storms were but the precursor, a taste of what was to truly come, and it was upon that third day. When the roaring winds died down, and the clattering of hooves on ice drew near, the people of that Lordship left those warm walls. Caution had always plagued the Adunian people, and it was that caution now that drove the Lord to find what was going on. โ€œSO THIS IS WHAT THE FOUNDINGS OF HARREN AND SARAI HAVE BEEN REDUCED TO! HIDING LIKE RATS INSIDE OF RICKETY WOODEN WALLS!โ€ A voice, dry and raspy like smoke, bellowed out in the winds. Mockery evident in their manner of speech, as the figure of a hooded crone could be seen amongst the snow laden foothills. The Lord made his way over to those wooden walls, his glowing gaze akin to that of the ice that rose from the peaks near the regions of Norland. Yet as he drew near, did that voice continue on, rising in volume and intensity. โ€œWho is that Lord, that has led you so, that rules amongst these lands!โ€ The glowing gaze of the lord found itself moving to the old crone, his feet moving for him as he descended down. As his people drew bows, and clutched swords. As their lips spoke threats, so did the Lord of Cartref Mor find his scarred maw opening to speak to the one that had arrived. โ€œI am Aurelion Marsyr, Lord of the lands of Cartref Mor. Who are you, to yell and mock my people?โ€ As his leather clad boots found that rough worn path, as he drew near, so did he find his gaze lingering upon the elden woman. His gaze found those familiar features, ears that held a slight point, and eyes that held a blue hue to them. Features that, despite old, held the look of someone far older than they appeared to be. So did he find himself continuing, fear filled him, yes. But not of her, rather, of the reasoning of why an old woman such as herself may be here. A look of shock spread across her withered features, almost as though such a statement of him being the lord was a joke. โ€œYou?!? You're the Lord of Cartref Mor?!?.....I expected someone more noteworthy!โ€ He found his words leaving his mouth for him, such a phrase, often leaving his mouth as he spoke to the traveler. His tone akin to the ice and cold that laid bare across Cartref, his demeanor was calm rather then brash or quick like his kin as of current. โ€œMost often are shocked to find me as the lord, yet still you do not answer my questions, what is your reasoning for being here. Who are you?โ€ The old crone seemed to grumble and mumble out of annoyance, before she stepped down closer to the lord. The woman looked over at him, before finally answering in that long drawn out tone. โ€œI am Tindromiel, High Priestess of the Trinity Priesthood, and I have come because I have seen a vision. Of ruin and flames to the adunic people, but also, of a reborn era. Of the days of old once more flourishing within our people, of the days of the High Kingdom!โ€ The lord's blood ran cold as he heard these words, his eyes widened as heard mention of these visions. Images that he himself had seen, of that dark and desolate day, of those fires that raged about the corpses of his people. Yet it was more shocking that she would mention such days, of the elden days of their people, of those days he had only ever heard legend about. His curiosity grew, like those roaring winds that had descended. The lord found himself speaking, before his thoughts had fully processed. โ€œI give you one hour within my halls, to explain what exactly you mean. One hour only, is that understood?โ€ That crone's blue eyes gleamed with mockery and mischief as she bellowed out in that loud tone once more. โ€œYou will be having me more then one hour, this will be a stay that will result in my leave. ONLY, when the Trinity deem it so!โ€ He found himself gritting his teeth for the first time since this encounter, the usually calm and unfazed man, being bothered by this entire encounter. Yet still, did he accept such terms, his feet guiding him down as those few who had come outside lowered their bows, and sheathed their blades. His people, finding their way back inside of that long and cold hall. Aurelion would take a seat, upon that raised dais. His gaze lowered to the crone, she, who had brought forth the cold and misery within recent months. She greedily took to the food, and drank the warm tea. Her harsh words, finding purchase in the few guests that had arrived. After some time, with rabid ramblings, did she begin to tell her tale. โ€œI have seen all your outcomes, I have seen the bodies of your families, of the flames of ruin spreading across the town of Cartref Mor. I have seen banners of white petaled flowers, risen high to claim those of our kin. Yet, Iโ€™ve also seen success, guidance finally in those willing to take it. Of our kingdom reborn, and of our people rebuilt. Yet such is not an easy task, for it requires you to be worthy of those Tools of the Trinity.โ€ Most within the hall, muttered in their seats, some fearful of such an outcome. Yet others, mocking. The occasional โ€˜farceโ€™ and โ€˜con-artistโ€™, thrown within the slew of comments that resounded about the table. One such individual, a man with darkened hair, and a child next to him. Spoke arrogantly and angrily at the woman. โ€œCartref Mor is more than just a place! It is a people, and a proud people at that! Weโ€™ve no fear, for even if our walls are broken and our home destroyed. We will thrive just as well, without worry!โ€ Next did a woman, silver haired and with a worried motherly expression. Chime in to add her thoughts, and concerns. โ€œCan we not wish for a better life for our children? For them to merely have greener fields, without worry of some trial or conflict?โ€ As these were spoken, so did that haggard voice shriek to those others huddled about the table. โ€œSo you are content to remain inside wooden walls and barren fields? Of a cramped keep and cold stone floors. You wish for this life for your kin and your kins future kin?โ€ The wise-woman's words spat out, similar to that of a snake spitting venom. Anger was building and rising, tensions growing as she spoke the names of those adunians who attempted to speak out or dissuade her thinking. Oliver, Aobh, and Arnarra. All whose visions and futures, if not done right, led to death and sickness. As more spoke, more was revealed, more was shown to that hold of adunians. Yet still, did the lord remain silent, his ears taking in those words and knowledge of wisdom. Yet his eyes, they searched about that keep. They looked at those wooden beams, of that old stone made in the hands of not them, rather a people prior. Of flags that had merely become strips of cloth, only recently gaining that meaning again. He turned to his people, and what he saw was not unity, rather a fear. A hopelessness, people willing to submit themselves for an ounce of so called freedom, of self respect. He saw, not a lively people, rather the ones mentioned in all those tomes. He saw people, still hiding, still reluctant in their ways of old. The true ways of old for them. Slowly, did he come to stand, his voice cutting through the crowd of people. His words, attempting to find purchase within the hearts and minds of his brothers and sisters. โ€œYou are right, we should be wishing for those green hills for our kin to roam in. You are right, Cartref Mor is a people, rather than a place. It is more than just a keep upon a shore, or a town bordering the sea. Yet, do you not wish to regain what was stolen from us all those centuries ago? To regain that respect that was once held for our people and kin? We were once proud and mighty, yet here we reside, roaming for scraps of food and our history. Some, bowing to people and beings that hold very little care for us. Here, do we hold a chance to regain something lost to us from ages past. Here do we hold the chance to unify as a people, to grow as a people. Some of you may be willing to submit, yet I as your leader will not allow you to! I refuse to allow you all to fall prey to those that would care little for your being, and for your health. I, as leader, refuse for you to give up on forgetting those that still guide you to this day. I refuse, for us to merely quiet. To stay sedentary and complacent in our actions, to fall prey to the chains of time. I REFUSE TO LET OUR PEOPLE WASTE AWAY!โ€ His words echoed through the halls, silence resounding through the dimly lit room, as the Lord of Cartref Mor began to walk down the dais. His speech, not yet finished, the elden fires within him only stirring and growing faster and faster. โ€œNo longer shall we stay merely subservient to our ways, to the ideology that was thrusted upon us as our youth. For now, is not the age of silence, of hiding. Now, it is the age of revitalization, of our freedom, of the WILL OF THE ADUNIANS!โ€ Silence bounced through the walls, emptiness resounding about, before a clap began to be heard. Followed by another, and another, soon like the choirs of a church. Did the hall erupt into a roar, both frightening yet true. A fire had been lit for the people, and it grew with every cheer and prayer. Many within the hall dipped their heads, and many pledged their blade and body to the cause. To the trials that the people ahead would face. So did the Adunic Lord look about, to his people, his kin. All who bore now, a look of new determination, of resolution. โ€œThere is the Lord of Cartref Mor I was expecting.โ€ The crone's voice echoed out, and as it did, so would he turn to face her. Cold determination within his gaze, as the leader of the adunians spoke to her. โ€œYou told us of trials, if such is the case, what shall be our first?โ€ Slowly did the crone's lips curve into a withered smile, her hunched form starting to make her way from the table to the door. Her voice echoing throughout the halls of the newly renewed adunic people. โ€œYour first trial shall be announced in the coming Wildwynn days, a trial for Maria, the Mother. Spend this time praying, and preparing. For these trials, will not be any easy thing.โ€ The lord nodded, his own scarred lips curving into a smile, one born from the readiness of doing his eternal duty to his kin. โ€œThen we shall speak in those coming days, may the Ancestors guide you but most certainly, may they guide us to our completion of this task.โ€
  6. Sucks to see you go man, you where pretty chill with the few encounters I did have, stay safe and have fun
  7. The Adunic Lord and Prophet would read the missive with vested interest, however he also read it in approval, upon the mans declaration of following the steps of his kin of old.
  8. ๐•ฌ๐–“ ๐•บ๐–—๐–‰๐–Š๐–— ๐–œ๐–Ž๐–™๐–๐–Ž๐–“ ๐–™๐–๐–Š ๐•ธ๐–Ž๐–˜๐–™ The Knight Commander about to lead the other knights and squires in a prayer to the Ancestors. Aurelion would kneel before that altar, eyes closed as he consumed from that chalice of twisted gold and silver. His tongue hung heavy with the herb mixture, honey and earth where two flavors shone through, as he let the twisted chalice rest upon the wooden altar. Slowly did he begin to take in deep breaths, that gray clouded mist of honey and sage, filling his nostrils as he knelt there. His fingers began to tingle, and his vision grew as hazed as the fresh morning time of Cartref. Slowly however, did his mind begin to fill with that ever familiar gray haze. He felt as though he could sense everything, see everything within this area, and yet could see nothing at all. He felt one within that clouded room, within that clouded mind of his. His gaze started to pan about the endless sea of clouds, an infinite expanse of cold blue-gray. He felt a pull, a tug even, drawing him closer to a spot within the clouds, scarred digits extending out only to clasp a bench. Cold stone graced those fingertips, as his glowing gaze lifted to find in front of him a blade. Not one of any mundane origin but instead one of a noble crafted blade. A hilt of bear bone, with veins and ripples of anorum rippling out to form a crossguard that looked akin to rippling waves. As that anorum traveled up, so would it find itself clouded. Shifting between a state of solidness and formlessness. As he outstretched a hand towards the theurgic blade, so would he find those fingers of him to brush through the handle, as though it was but a cold illusion. Yet as his hand passed further, so would he feel a tug, dragging him forwards as he began to spiral into a free fall. His gaze flicked about, frantically searching for that path, that direction to go. It was only upon the feeling of solid ground on his feet, that he lifted his head up. Finding himself surrounded by mist covered woods. His gaze lowered to his hands, finding clasped within it, that spear of bone and salium. Tilting his head forward ever so slightly, did he see an armored figure. Blade resting upon his lap, as he kneeled in front of the adunic lord, forehead recently bearing upon it a dot of frostbite. Slowly however, did that dot spiral, turning into a spiraling carving of the twin trees of Cartref. As he looked upon this carved sigil within the flesh, so did his gaze tilt back upwards. From the trees, did he begin to see more armored figures, all faceless and all who bore that same sigil upon their head. Their forms laced and drifted with that cold gray mist. Following that commander, that first chosen, did they all kneel in prayer. Noiseless words leaving those lips, yet still did their intention show clearly to the lord, their prayers offered for their kin. Yet that was not all, for behind their words, where prayers laced in zealotry. For glory to the Ancestors, and thus, glory for GOD. As the Lord peered further into the faces, so did those clouded features, start to clear. Faces he recognized, faces that held the potential to do many great things within Cartref, faces he knew would do good by the will of the Ancestors. Upon his further realization, did he begin to slip, his body tumbling back as though he held no control. Before his glowing gaze opened! He was once more within the room of prayer, his breathing labored as though he had been traversing those glacial peaks once more. He stumbled his way out of his room, his hands clutching the wooden railing of that lift as he descended down onto one of the lower balconies. Once he got to the door, did he find himself swinging it wide open. Where he had left the day at sunset, now was the sun just starting to peak over the horizon. Mist hung through the fields and lands of Cartref, as it usually did. โ€œCartref requires warriors, devout in their ways as much as they are protecting their own. Such as the mists form to cloud those unwanted gazes, so shall there be warriors prepared to guard from the unwanted gaze of those who would go after our kin. An order, perhaps, within the gray mists of Cartref Mor. โ€ The prophet sighed, knuckles tightening as he still felt a light sting upon his back. Taking a deep breath, did he move, walking away from that stone ledge. He had waited long enough, and it was time to find those few worthy, and begin their trials.
  9. I actually really enjoy this lore, pretty well written, love the more visceral and gritty vibes. Always a fun of the more shizo lore +1
  10. The Wisdom of Braen would give a proud and mighty smile.
  11. One of the scenes, depicted in the vision, of Braen meeting the Bear ๐’œ๐“ƒ ๐’ฐ๐“ƒ๐’น๐‘’๐“‡๐“ˆ๐“‰๐’ถ๐“ƒ๐’น๐’พ๐“ƒ๐‘” ๐‘œ๐’ป ๐น๐’ถ๐’พ๐“‰๐’ฝ โ€œO Doethion, O wise forebear of old, heed my call.โ€ The drink slid past his throat with relative ease as he sat there, his gaze resting upon the water. Waiting patiently to begin his prayer, however, he was soon interrupted as the Priest arrived into the Sanctuary. The elden Adunians voice, offering one last guided prayer with the Adunic Lord. Pondering it, he would nod, allowing the priest to take charge of this old and ancient ritual. As it began, so did his mind slowly begin to bubble and haze. The corners of his vision started to blur, as his mind started to thunder and cloud. With the voice of prayer, and the scent of sage. โ€œCome now, Braen, return from thy slumber and aid thy children, as is thine oath and duty!โ€ The powerful words left his scarred lips, and in doing so. His eyelids began to close, those orbs of his, rolling into the back of his head. That ever persistent smell of grass and sage, filling his nostrils. Illicting flashes of forest and brush. The sound of their chants, reverberating throughout the sanctum, sounded almost similar to the sound of roars bouncing against cave walls. The trickling water that fell into the pond behind him, starting to grow faster. His mind showed images of the cold sea water. It was only until the sharp sting of pain filled his back, that the images sharpened. His voice strained through the next words, as blood mixed with the earth and grass underneath him. โ€œCome now, Braen, grant us thy wisdom from ages past, to help our present plight! The first he saw was green forests around him. Herbs of all kinds, growing from underneath trees, as the scent of nature and woods hung heavy in this area. The image soon shifted, that pain, acting as guide for the adunic lord. Next, he saw the sea and a man, with a crown of silvered hair. Hands cupped, and rising to pour the seawater over his head. This scene swiftly melted away, to something final. Something far more ominous, and far more violent. A bear, with eyes like black voids, gazed towards a lone wandering figure. Mist trailed off the beast's form, as it lunged forward, claws seeming to rend into the man's flesh. Before it too, blood started to spill blood. The mixture of gore, meshing and melding into the mist laden grasses. As the blood mixed into the grass, whispers filled his mind, like a deathly choir it yelled true. โ€œCome now, Braen, speak to me, then return once more to thy watchful rest.โ€ Darkness soon embraced his vision, embraced that devout mind of his, and as it did. He could not help but feel peace in it, feel harmony within that which lay in front of him. Before slowly, a glowing blue ember started to form in front of him. โ€œSage, to bring mediation between blood and soul. To bring forth, Marias lightโ€ A hand would slowly be extended out, his blackened fingertip, slowly going to touch the glowing blue ember in front of him. โ€œSaltwater, to represent our strength in the sea, to show our father. Elendil.โ€ That final strike, that final slice, would give birth to him grasping the ember. His hand clutching it tightly, as he brought the cool blue light, to his visage. Staring into that ember, that ember of ancient knowledge. Before the final words, entered his mind. โ€œThe blood of a bear, to garner wisdom and protection, with our long lost Son. Braen. Let these three things mix, to bring forth protection from usโ€ Slowly, did his eyes open, no longer holding the mundane grace of man or mali. Instead they glowed, having gained enlightenment, through his own blood and being. Having gained understanding of what was to occur next. To chrstian those, in the protection of his ancestors. It was with that, he stood, blood dripping from his cut form. Eyes gazing to those stairs, as he slowly ascended up, to begin his true and proper Hunt.
  12. Missives would be sent through the northern region of Almaris after the coronation, informing everyone of the official news. โ€œI, Aurelion Marsyr, have in all official standing. Taken upon the mantle of Lord of Cartref Mor. Any matters that my late father, John Marsyr, might have had with you. I ask that you come, send a bird, so that we might discuss and resolve those matters. If any wish to learn more, or discuss the lordship of Cartref Mor. Whether you wish to discuss trade deals, or have something to present to the adunians of Cartref Mor, you need only come and speak with me.โ€ Signed ๐”๐”ฌ๐”ฏ๐”ก ๐”„๐”ฒ๐”ฏ๐”ข๐”ฉ๐”ฆ๐”ฌ๐”ซ ๐”๐”ž๐”ฏ๐”ฐ๐”ถ๐”ฏ ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ข ๐”‰๐”ž๐”ฆ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ฃ๐”ฒ๐”ฉ, โ„ญ๐”ฒ๐”ฏ๐”ฏ๐”ข๐”ซ๐”ฑ ๐”ฅ๐”ฌ๐”ฉ๐”ก๐”ข๐”ฏ ๐”ฌ๐”ฃ ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ข ๐”๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ก๐”ฐ ๐”ฌ๐”ฃ โ„ญ๐”ž๐”ฏ๐”ฑ๐”ฏ๐”ข๐”ฃ ๐”๐”ฌ๐”ฏ, ๐”๐”ฌ๐”ฏ๐”ก ๐”ฌ๐”ฃ ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ข ๐”„๐”ก๐”ฒ๐”ซ๐”ฆ๐”  ๐”“๐”ข๐”ฌ๐”ญ๐”ฉ๐”ข
  13. The Rising of a New Lord Aurelion Marsyr being crowned by the Mist Herald of Adunian Orthadox โ€œTherin, is your lordship willing to take this oath?โ€ โ€œI am willingโ€ โ€œBy the word of the Doethion, do you agree to uphold the law of your peopleโ€™ โ€œBy the word of the Doethion , I shall uphold the law.โ€ โ€œBy the word of your people do you agree to serve your subjects dutifully and without failure?โ€ โ€œBy the word of my people, I shall serve them.โ€ โ€œBy the word of your father, John Marsyr, do you agree to bear the crown as the leader of our kin and lord of this land?โ€ It was at this moment, he felt as though time froze. The cold harshness of reality struck down upon his mind, for he was to be the next Lord, truly and fully. There was no one else that had spoken interest, no one else who had shown ready or committed to the task of handling such an important status. With a cold and heavy breath, the words left his scarred lips once more, resolute and ready for the times ahead of him. By the word of my father, I take this crown. He arose now, a title now granted, Faithful was it? It felt surreal, felt forced, yet nevertheless did he recount the speech. Something he had considered, planned even, as he told his fellow people the ambitions and goals he held for them. Of the goals he wished to achieve for them, of the unity he held in mind. A settlement, which not only held onto their culture, but onto their faith. Indeed, a faith that would cement their strength as a people. By the end of the speech, his voice was tired, his legs feeling as though they where dragging bricks behind him. It was only after he sat down, in what would now be his office. That the tasks started to pile up once more. Meeting, after meeting, after meeting did the young adunic lord have. Each one, increasingly more draining than the last. Yet still, he remained awake, until the last of his people was finishing regaling their issues. Until he felt comfortable with leaving that office of his, and making his way to the bedroom. Only then, in the silence of his own room, did he truly pray. For the Ancestors to guide him with the will of God entwined, for he knew that he was still out there. Still listening, and still helping, via the guidance of the ancestors and helping them attain a blissful afterlife. Once he was done with his prayer, he would stand, making his way into his more private office. Grabbing an old quill, one gifted to him, from his late uncle Vesryn Delmar. A feather of northern origin, tinged blue and black with frostbite. Slowly he began to write his plans, write the next chapter, for the adunian people.
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