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Blue Eyes
About Me
Age: Who Knows
Location: The Road Less Traveled
Profession: Rogue
Archive
last days
November 2014

Blue Eyes
A journal of dogeared pages, with a pair of flowers - one blue, one violet - pressed between the cover and the first page.
Tuesday, 04 November 2014
Stories are passed around often, of things that once were. Even the recent past is dipped in shadow of lore for me, though I do so attempt to learn of it.

Sometimes my pondering stretches beyond the recent past, to that so distant time has started to forget it. The Golden Age. Surely so different from our own. What trials beset them in their last days; What golden resolve? Do we know even half of them? What resounding echoes of that time beset us even now? Are our new foes old? Ancient?

Or new?

Somehow I doubt the latter.

We gather to arms, friends... / In an eve not yet o'er...
Restless 'til daybreak... / Golden skies breached by storms...
Sword and stave rise in war-cries soon to break free...
Someday to know this... / As eve of vict'ry...

Billow your heart's fervor... / For soon comes the marc...
To hold fast to the courage burned bright from the start...

For we were torn in battle... / And we were forged anew...
We were razed by windswept seas... / And when the seas fled pulled through...

Gather at ready, kin... / The wait draws soon closed...
Breathless in waiting... / And brief in repose...
Flightful host at our backs... / When rest ends for deciding...
Sands of Gold to the wind as an era dawns defining...


Fall Fest has come and gone - my first, as an adventurer. Days, turns of rushed excitement for treats and things. Moreso than Summerfaire ever did, things spun from one day to the next in a dreamlike fashion, no signs of normality or of slowing.

That is, I think perhaps I'm glad Fall Fest only comes once a year, for all its delights. My mind is tuckered by it all.

In the last wake of the festival, I finally came to a decision. A choice of robes made, after cycles of considering. Robes of a Warbringer. Of Kane. But...only partly in name of faith, whatever weight it may have had. Robes of shadow, a contrast to robes of milk-white. And an echo of my own mind, shadow-cast in midst of all the uncertainties of our age.

Many shades, between light and dark. And no cast of surety to either.
Cenny posted @ 01:26 - Link - comments



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