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The Legend of the Werehare (art by suviridian at deviantart) by Breasal Nimblefoot Chapter 1 The Beast Lurks Once upon a time, long ago in the days of yore, there was a humble village of Halflings called Flowerburgh. There, the Halflings lived their lives peacefully in their close-knit community, isolated from the rest of the world. There were many great families that had influence over the village, these were the Bronzeberries, Strongbrands, Littlehills, Riverfeet and the Flinthills. Every great family had their specialty within the village. The Bronzeberries were notable for their crafts, be it woodcarving or metalsmithing, while the Littlehills were significant farmers and herbalists. The Riverfeet were known fishermen and merchants, in contrast to the Strongbrands who were excellent hunters and had many members in the Shirewatch. Last, but certainly not least, were the Flinthills; the greatest family of the village were many of their ancestors held the position of Thain. Here we find a notable lad called Liam Flinthill, somewhat short in stature for a Halfling with blonde hair and a clean-shaved face, he is the troublemaker of his family. Not wanting to partake in the village’s politics, he seeks for a peaceful life working in the fields and messing around in the tavern. As Liam finishes his breakfast and packs his lunch, on his way to the fields he is joined by Gardenia Littlehill, a fine lass of fair and red complexion. “Good mornin’ Liam, how’s that noggin of yars afta’ last nigh’? Ya drank like there was nae tomorrow” she cheerfully asked. “I’m fine Gar, I slept like a log when I got tae my burrow. Are ya ready for today’s field work?” he replied with a smile on his face. “Sure am! I hope Dill comes tae help us since he said he’s skippin’ huntin’ today” she exclaimed hopping along the way. As the two made their way to the fields, there they were greeted by Iris Littlehill. “Mornin’ folks, ready tae join us removin’ the weeds?” she asked the pair. As the two hummed in agreement, Dill Strongbrand arrived quickly in the scene “Ah... ah... ah... sorry for bein’ late” he said out of breath. “Ah... gimme a momen’... oof aight I’m ‘ere for the harvest” he said as he gathered his energy. “We’re nae doin’ any harvestin’ today silly, that’s for tomorrow, today we’re removin’ weeds!” Gardenia explained to him. After the trio took their sickles from the field equipment shed, they joined Iris and the rest of the farmers. As the hours passed the farmers removed the weeds from the crops and soil, by the afternoon they were all finished and tired from a hard day’s work. “So, are ya goin’ tae the tavern again Liam?” Gardenia asked as Liam was a quite known drinker. “Nae, I’ll pass this time, I’m goin’ tae my burrow tae sleep an’ wash myself. I’ll stay a’ home tonight.” Liam answered as he was spend from all the field work. Soon the trio had made their ways to their burrows, Gardenia and Dill went to the tavern later on, whilst Liam did exactly as he said. Spending the night reading a book by the fireplace. As Liam was reading the grandfather clock struck thrice, half-alseep he opened his eyes to see what was that noise he heard. “Huh wha- oh it’s just the clock” he said to himself as he got up from the club chair “Lord it’s midnight already? Welp, guess it’s time for bed then” he exclaimed with a yawn at the end. As he was getting ready to head downstairs, a red flash caught the corner of his eye. He stopped and looked at the window, where a small shining red dot was visible. Slowly approaching the window with caution he got closer and closer, to the point where his face was but a few inches away from touching the glass. There in the dark, the dot was still visible and as Liam gazed at it from afar, an outline from the dot was beginning to appear; that of a large humanoid creature. It’s head suddenly moved, and the creature was gazing back at Liam with its shining red eyes. Liam felt a life-threatening fear building up, and when he took a step back the creature ran swiftly into the darkness. Shocked by what he saw, he went to his bathroom to wash his face. After some time, Liam came to the conclusion that his mind was playing tricks or that it was some kind of prank. There, lying on his bed Liam fell asleep after ten minutes had passed. He dreamt of open grasslands, as far as the eye could see, then suddenly the sky turned black and the smell of ash and death reeked. Liam sprang up from his bed “Huh!? Oh, ‘twas just a nightmare” he said to himself after calming down. As Liam was making his way to the fields for the harvest, he saw almost the entire village gathered, shocked by something. When Liam climbed a nearby boulder he saw why the people were shocked; all of the fields were barren, every crop was either missing or half-eaten.
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HANSETI-RUSKAN WORKS: ART, LITERATURE, AND MUSIC TABLE OF CONTENTS Songs I. The Haeseni Soldier II. Deryzcz III. Home Across the Mountains IV. The Road to War V. Ode to The Fallen Artwork I. The Siege of Southbridge Poems I. Beneath the Willow Tree II. Gone III. The Perfect Flower IV. Desiring V. Palace of Haverlock SONGS I. The Haeseni Soldier (link) A farmer’s boy with little worth, goes to the army. He joins the soldiers on a march, as his mother prays at home. A farmer’s boy, a soldier boy, wields his long sword bravely. He trains and trains until he faints, and his brothers treat him gently. A farmer’s boy, a soldier boy, his head held high and mighty. He fights for those he loves at home, although it pains him greatly. A farmer’s boy, a soldier boy, is now an admired sergeant. He trains his fellow soldiers, and prays they come back home A farmer’s boy, a soldier boy fights the gruesome wars, And although his mother prays at home, her soldier boy is gone A farmer’s boy, a soldier boy, drifts into the skies. His life was worth so very much, and his brothers cries his name A farmer’s boy, a soldier boy, looks down upon the army. He hopes they keep on fighting, as their Koeng needs them greatly By Her Ladyship, Erika Renate Barclay II. Deryzcz (link) By His Highness, Gustaf Sigismund Morovar III. Home Across the Mountains (link) By Firr Feodor May IV. The Road to War (link) By Firr Feodor May V. Ode to the Fallen (link) By Firr Feodor May ARTWORK I. The Siege of Southbridge (link) By Her Ladyship, Sofiya Antonia vas Ruthern POEMS I. Beneath the Willow Tree (link) Come hither, my darling And join me upon the hill Battle rages across the ground Clashes of might and will Smoke and flame billows Up towards GODAN’s skies Watch as steel meets flashing steel Hear the orphan’s cries Come hither, my darling As we tread this bloodsoaked ground Find your heart and listen To the hallowed sound Deep in the wood Where meadow meets glade There, you shall find it Sitting beneath a willow’s shade Come hither, my darling What is it you hear? The sound of memories long faded Words once held dear Echoes of those long past Sit deep in your heart Gone but not forgotten Never truly apart Come hither, my darling And sit beneath the willow tree Is it not peaceful? Here, you are entirely free GODAN, save the Brotherhood Protect them from melancholy So they may dance forever Beneath the willow tree By Her Royal Highness, Klara Elizaveta, Duchess of Baranya II. Gone (link) It dipped into the depths, this last light of mine. Entrenched in this darkness, I waste away in this Gloom ridden tower. The skies floods with dark, Warm colors.. I shout, but I am consumed by The splashing of the waves upon rocks On the cliffside. Nothing remains for all shall Fall into ruin. Just as the sun disappears behind The sea, so too shall you disappear under the earth. By His Lordship, Borris Iver Kortrevich III. The Perfect Flower (link) You are a dream, a myth, a ghost Running through meadows in hopes Of finding the most perfect flower. A trophy to hold up, the greatest boast A shadow to be sung of only in odes The broken stem of a perfect flower By His Lordship, Borris Iver Kortrevich IV. Desiring (link) — Love is a poor actor Always forgetting his lines, Tripping over himself, But anyone who has ever loved Cannot say that He does not plunge Headfirst into his role — The yearning of the heart Is the most deepest of desires. Anyone can be The object of my yearning. Each one is always special, But desiring in itself Is the most desirable thing of all. — Have you ever walked out Amongst the fenland And seen the pale pink Fingers of the sunset Gently reach across the sky, So you can almost feel Them stroke your cheek And have you gone down To the dark, glass surface, And felt the waters Lap gently at the edges of Your face and smiled, Feeling drops trickle down And collect around your lips And sat down on the ridgeline Sighing softly to the horizon As the swans fly across, Smelt snowdrops and jasmine, then Twisted them into a little ring Of delicate and pretty petals, And drank all this in with your gaze — I draw my finger across his face Gently tracing every contour Along his cheek and chin, I pull his jaw close to me; He is a sculpture. His Black, curly hair, velvet lashes, Green eyes. Is this not bliss? But nothing lasts and This too cannot. Though My hate simmers for her, The heart yet cannot lie, and Time polishes all desires and Now I dream such golden dreams Of him. — Enough wine and There is little distinction Between a common harlot And a noble lady Wine tears off all veils And the blemish Becomes the beauty-spot And the latter the former And the former the latter — By Firress Ceciliya Smirnova V. Palace of Haverlock (link) You pull me into this wonderful place in which I do not recognize. Flawlessly, scrubbed, white walls And dustless dark oak floors. I could have sworn that I Saw little specks of twinkling around me as I moved past. What started as a maze, quickly became a game. We duck in and out of rooms, trying to open every Locked door. We run down hallways and spiraling stairs On which, often only leads us back to where we began. It is an Ironic thing, a place large enough to Awe at, yet close enough to barely stand Shoulder to shoulder within the hallways. It is a beautiful, confusing, complex work of art. By His Lordship, Borris Iver Kortrevich Should you wish to have your works published in Volume II, please contact HRH, Klara Elizaveta by bird. (pudding#7426) SIGNED, Her Royal Highness, Klara Elizaveta, Duchess of Baranya -
The Bards’ Guild “Quill supra laminae” “Trees are amongst us: some of nations, some of families, and some of.. nature. In common, they all blossom and fruit and shed and rest. They house creatures, of some sort, and sanguine nectar in the core of their well intent. For the nation, their coffers be the nectar. For the family, it be their blood. For the nature, its nectar is pure. The branches reach out, in our dear trees. The nation has its guilds and groups, with the family its ancestry, and the tree? Mere sticks. The fruit.. is where our trees diverge. One willow may weep its bitter ichor, and another sycamore its sour cherries. Yet, as of late, nations have bore little fruit of culture. The families refuse to let what fruit their branches hold fall. And nature? Well, it’s not apples this be writ for. Nay, friends. It be our culture. We are all of the same thicket.. and, as nature, in want of growth. Yet, there has been little fertile ground for our nimble tendrils to reach out and embrace Enlightenment! That very light which not only will see joy through, but our existence in itself. For too long has the darkness blighted the people: short wonder it has only been the glint of a crown’s ruby, or a blade’s gleam that had caught their attention.” It is our livelihood, and pleasure, as Bards of Enlightenment, to reach our branches further - enough to bask in the glory of open day, beyond what has been a dark age. It be Sol, and its nightly friends, which direct our path - by the faith of Urguan we reside within. The parallel shared is so close, it is more simpler to see us Bards as one to the Dwarves. Do not mistake this for blind loyalty, however. Us Bards only have our Curator as our superior: not even the King of the Urguan may dictate what is writ of them, or anyone, or anything - for that matter. It is the constitution we embody, and which allows us our rights - of arts, be they dramatic or fine, and literature. Music completes a ‘trinity’ of activity the Bards are expected to partake and progress upon. It is oft one strand of this trinity which a typical Bard would specialise upon (Arts, literature, or music). It is our Curator who assigns our overall vision, which Titania Hawksong currently holds the septum for. The route for Enlightenment is open for all, who reside in our realm. The Intelligentsia of Vailor, us Bards are not just the orators of tales and opera, but of the people themselves. To whom it may concern, the guild means to accept those well-versed in the ways of the nation they serve under, and those who abide by its laws. Thus, may their knowledge be prodded, in addition to receiving a collation of their general profile. The Intelligentsia are distinguished as a group of their own, for reason - of merit and respect - and this calls for individuals capable of being the greatest thinkers and visionaries Vailor has seen. ============================================== Deliver, by bird or otherwise, the following credentials and responses: those accepted will receive response from either the Co-Curator or the Curator themselves. If ye may not even wish to do this, how may ye muster the burdens of entire novels or play productions.. or even a single great work of sculpting? ============================================== Application If you'd rather do this in-game, please PM Ayevia. I) Name (in brackets, include ign): II) Race: III) Place of Origin: IV) Intention of desired strand, of the trinity (Arts, Literature, Music) for specialism: V) Reasoning in becoming of the Bards: VI) Potential projects you may aspire to do: ============================================== To those who have shown the will to become Bards, it is not only the velvet pouch of Mina they are to expect - but to be among the first to witness and pursue what wars have been fought for, and empires risen and fallen. The peace of a book. The joy of a tale. The advancement of a nation. You are now of the masons of culture, pride and Enlightenment.. and chisel away at governments, people and mortar all the same. From all three of them emerge great works, and it is your name bound in the scrolls of history (which even you writ!) which is the greatest reward for what service you will have. ============================================== THE MAP TO THE BARDS' GUILD Do not forget: Quill supra laminae.
