Twofeather

do you live on a farm?

+1 long read and well written, gives a lot of utility over basic combat abilities

Ashkii, the glorious grey kha begins to roll around on the ground in laughter. He rose his head to look at the poster, before losing himself once again.

"These past few days, have been a waking nightmare. but what of the ideals? they have left you barren, void of anything worthwhile. but, a greater purpose? all of your work has been for naught." The Chronicler, Prodayo, sat by the road staring down it. what was that in the distance? he could see... a figure. one he hadn't seen since he started out on the roads. she called to him now louder then ever. He looked down at his hands, callused and worn from constant use, his clothes worn and threadbare from the road. "has this really been, for nothing?" he looked up at the road again, the figure was closer. He looked down at his worn boots. they were well taken care, and yet the road had still taken the toll on them. slowly reaching into his jacket he retrieved his book. It was a small sheaf of papers bound with leather. he sat there by the road and stared at his life's work. And he saw. He walked into Haense, a small town at the time in Axios. he spoke with Otto, and the Marshall, who's name had long since left his mind. They asked who he was, and he told them. They asked if he would join the guard, and he said he didn't. "I don't kill anymore and besides, I made a promise." what if he had said yes? what would have happened then? "it is not the destination, but the journey," Prodayo shook his head. why did the ideals still come to his mind, they had done nothing but ruined him, anything he could have amounted to, lost. Perhaps he was being too hard on himself. he looked back up the road, and saw her standing there. he felt so weak. his wounds were healed though? "Blood hemorrhage son, should a person loose too much blood the last thing that can save them is a cleric, if you can't get one, then say your prayers and leave them behind," the voice of Prodayo's father came unbidden to him. He'd chuckle weakly, seeing that death was finally going to reunite him with his wife. he looked back up at the road, and he saw her face. A weak smile appeared on his face, as he raised a hand towards her. He could see her smile, and reaching her hand out to take his. His vision began to darken at the edges, and he started. He shook his head and brought his hand to his mouth, whistling. He waited for a few minutes, his vision beginning to fade as his head began to slump. "Please.. Prodayo.. just rest, you've worked so hard.." her voice rang in his his ear. he looked up and saw her kneeling next to him. "there, is but one thing I have to do." he whispered. she smiled at him, waiting patiently. he looked up at the sky, now a stark blue color. A few moments more and a flurry of feathers signaled his companions arrival. He reached for the book in his lap, and held it out to the large raven "Take this.. to Hareven, old friend." The raven tilted it's head slightly but complied, grabbing the book by it's spine and flapping off. He let his arm fall to his side, he was just too tired to keep it up. he looked around him one last time, relishing the open road, and the clear sky. Before he closed his eyes, and ran with the wind.

we, are the Chroniclers -- x -- ~ Chronicler Order ~ Founded on axios circa 1637 -- x -- ~Purpose~ The order is based around the collection of knowledge and distributing them to the populace via story telling. Imagine a bards guild of sorts. -- x -- ~Lore~ -- x -- ~Rules~ -- X -- ~Ideals~ -- x -- ~OOC~ -- X -- ~ways of sign up~ If you want more information or have questions, contact The Chronicler at Twofeather#9468 *these rules are subject to change or be modified in the future, and the ideals are subject to be expanded on or added to.