Variations of reality. A multiverse. The enigma that bore before them all. It was finally as clear as Lyranth’s last sunset.
“Obliged to and by your wisdom.”
Witnessing the prompt exodus of the Green Man, the former elvish sage, after restoring the jewel of the Seeker of Knowledge to her staff, stepped and stooped forth to haphazardly aid the ministry of cleanliness, round about the reliquary. Her lips parted to address those within earshot, with hearts of Urd and Mimir, unencumbered by the limbo of the paladin’s neutrality.
“In the known antiquity of the Great Wheel, rarely have any contracted the responsibility of securing the Planes’ sovereignty in such an epoch of supreme jeopardy.”
Wick continued upon her quiet quest of sanitation to the shrine, alongside the bard, while bellowing the interpretative subpoena.
“Their existence and ours are suffering, diseased by imbalance. Let us not shrink from this charge, but welcome it.”
Quickly, the not yet abated unseen servant heralding the snowy familiar marched into the relay, swiftly helping and tidying the vicinity as their summoner stopped to ponder. Of the three tomes shackled to her plated armor, her fingers began to flesh out the pages of Shujaat’s diary, striving to strike the chord of a forgotten memory, concurrently glancing at the pious Templar. Massaging the ancient papyrus bound to the discarded volume gratified the piqued curiosity of the ancient librarian, quelling slightly the automaticity for her unquenched thirst of arcana. The lingering tendrils of dusk, falsely stemming from the adopted and bolstered panoply of fabrication, mistily traced the dorsum of her ghastly hand as it turned amongst and betwixt entries, both dated oddly into the future and past, without a mentioned place to grant context. His recalcitrant writing purposely alternated within a myriad of languages, almost always in the same stanza or paragraph, to ward off the prying pupils of the uneducated.
“None of us would exchange this mead of gods with any other generation. The energy. The faith. The devotion, which wells from giants, we bring to this endeavor will illuminate our path and all who tread the infinite staircase spiraling before us. The glow from that Fire can truly illuminate the deepest Abyss and consume the brightest of Heavens. If nothing is neglected, we must ride the storm of war, outlive the menace of unprovoked tyranny, and branch out from the World Ash, if compulsory, for years.”
Her eyes stole an abrupt gaze from her Beloved.
“If necessary, alone.”
She returned to scrutinize the memoires of her master, barking plainly as if she was by herself, rehearsing a soliloquy.
“The resolve. The will. The need. To link together in this cause to defend lands lost to this plague. Many have fallen into the grip of Darkness, yet not all have succumb to the odious apparatus of shadows, for the wardens of Light will not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end, until, in good time, the dawn of the New, with all its power and might, trots forward to the rescue and the liberation of the Old.”
Closing the covers and simultaneously raising her wooden fang into the daft air, heralding the illustrious gem above her, she explained further.
“With this anchor rooted in this realm, death will never stop to rest. And neither shall we.”
@Cu Chulainn@JBRam2002@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Hekazu
“Obliged to and by your wisdom.”
Witnessing the prompt exodus of the Green Man, the former elvish sage, after restoring the jewel of the Seeker of Knowledge to her staff, stepped and stooped forth to haphazardly aid the ministry of cleanliness, round about the reliquary. Her lips parted to address those within earshot, with hearts of Urd and Mimir, unencumbered by the limbo of the paladin’s neutrality.
“In the known antiquity of the Great Wheel, rarely have any contracted the responsibility of securing the Planes’ sovereignty in such an epoch of supreme jeopardy.”
Wick continued upon her quiet quest of sanitation to the shrine, alongside the bard, while bellowing the interpretative subpoena.
“Their existence and ours are suffering, diseased by imbalance. Let us not shrink from this charge, but welcome it.”
Quickly, the not yet abated unseen servant heralding the snowy familiar marched into the relay, swiftly helping and tidying the vicinity as their summoner stopped to ponder. Of the three tomes shackled to her plated armor, her fingers began to flesh out the pages of Shujaat’s diary, striving to strike the chord of a forgotten memory, concurrently glancing at the pious Templar. Massaging the ancient papyrus bound to the discarded volume gratified the piqued curiosity of the ancient librarian, quelling slightly the automaticity for her unquenched thirst of arcana. The lingering tendrils of dusk, falsely stemming from the adopted and bolstered panoply of fabrication, mistily traced the dorsum of her ghastly hand as it turned amongst and betwixt entries, both dated oddly into the future and past, without a mentioned place to grant context. His recalcitrant writing purposely alternated within a myriad of languages, almost always in the same stanza or paragraph, to ward off the prying pupils of the uneducated.
“None of us would exchange this mead of gods with any other generation. The energy. The faith. The devotion, which wells from giants, we bring to this endeavor will illuminate our path and all who tread the infinite staircase spiraling before us. The glow from that Fire can truly illuminate the deepest Abyss and consume the brightest of Heavens. If nothing is neglected, we must ride the storm of war, outlive the menace of unprovoked tyranny, and branch out from the World Ash, if compulsory, for years.”
Her eyes stole an abrupt gaze from her Beloved.
“If necessary, alone.”
She returned to scrutinize the memoires of her master, barking plainly as if she was by herself, rehearsing a soliloquy.
“The resolve. The will. The need. To link together in this cause to defend lands lost to this plague. Many have fallen into the grip of Darkness, yet not all have succumb to the odious apparatus of shadows, for the wardens of Light will not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end, until, in good time, the dawn of the New, with all its power and might, trots forward to the rescue and the liberation of the Old.”
Closing the covers and simultaneously raising her wooden fang into the daft air, heralding the illustrious gem above her, she explained further.
“With this anchor rooted in this realm, death will never stop to rest. And neither shall we.”
@Cu Chulainn@JBRam2002@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Hekazu