Post by LucienMoonmist on Aug 6, 2004 21:04:42 GMT -5
*He sighed as he looked from his room overlooking the courtyard of Windstorm. How many days had it been since the Reveriee came to him? He stopped bothering to count after the third. He had decided to afford himself some quiet time within the castle now, entering using the passageways which his wolfen friends Lorded over. He had moved through the castle undetected and spent the better part of a day in his room here, watching those below, awaiting the healing trance of his blood. Yet, it did not come. Nor would it. He could nae rest while his kin fought, even if they were secure and under good leadership, he would not find the peace of mind he required, even on instinct. This new duty as a ruler seemed to weigh on him now, his slender shoulders bent lightly as an ironic grin graced his face. His first major decision as the new Scion, was to bring his people to a war they new nothing of to fight for people they new not, nor had reason to care for. Yet they came, they fought, and died, beside the people of this land. He was proud of them, each and everyone. Their bond of blood was strong, and through the actions of their enemy, a new blood bond was forming, one that hadn't existed for centuries. The good that would come from it would be great, hopefully enough to outweigh the bad of it all.
As the sun began it's skitterish descent, Lucien turned to regard his Spartan room. The few things he did have were of exquisite elven design, a chest, table, weapons along the wall, a fine rug, and his carving tools. Beside them sat his near finished sculpture of a Northern Orcid he saw once while travelling the snow bound country. As the unwelcome war had begun, he had ceased his work upon it. He had continued afore that only on the hope that it's intended recipiant would return before it's completion. That Andrea would arrive through the veil of night to accept the second gift of his love for her, to her. It seemed almost as an omen that this war halted his progress, an omen he nae held in favor.
Rising from the windowsill, he moved to open the chest at the foot of his bed, pulling from within a honeycloth wrapped package. Undoing it after laying the bundle upon the bed, he pulled forth the treasure within, a fine wrought suit of Mithral Mail. He grinned as the fading light of dusk caught and glimmered off of the armor. The way it looked, one would not guess it was nearly six hundred years old. Wrapping the bundle again, he moved out into the hallway, pulling the finely written scroll from his belt pouch. Moving into Agustin's study silently, he set the bundle upon his desk, the scroll over it. A few moemnts later, he was a shadow into the night, back to his kin, back to those whom he would die to protect. Back to that which made him wonder if Glendarin held some truth within his actions. He returned to his doubt.*
*scroll reads:
"Good sir Agustin,
As ye requested good sir, a finely wrought suit of Mithral. It is slightly old, a tad used, but in fine serviceable condition, and should be well past the times of yer reat grand children. May you nae have need the opportunity to test this good sir.
May your words be true as your heart,
Lucien Moonmist."*
As the sun began it's skitterish descent, Lucien turned to regard his Spartan room. The few things he did have were of exquisite elven design, a chest, table, weapons along the wall, a fine rug, and his carving tools. Beside them sat his near finished sculpture of a Northern Orcid he saw once while travelling the snow bound country. As the unwelcome war had begun, he had ceased his work upon it. He had continued afore that only on the hope that it's intended recipiant would return before it's completion. That Andrea would arrive through the veil of night to accept the second gift of his love for her, to her. It seemed almost as an omen that this war halted his progress, an omen he nae held in favor.
Rising from the windowsill, he moved to open the chest at the foot of his bed, pulling from within a honeycloth wrapped package. Undoing it after laying the bundle upon the bed, he pulled forth the treasure within, a fine wrought suit of Mithral Mail. He grinned as the fading light of dusk caught and glimmered off of the armor. The way it looked, one would not guess it was nearly six hundred years old. Wrapping the bundle again, he moved out into the hallway, pulling the finely written scroll from his belt pouch. Moving into Agustin's study silently, he set the bundle upon his desk, the scroll over it. A few moemnts later, he was a shadow into the night, back to his kin, back to those whom he would die to protect. Back to that which made him wonder if Glendarin held some truth within his actions. He returned to his doubt.*
*scroll reads:
"Good sir Agustin,
As ye requested good sir, a finely wrought suit of Mithral. It is slightly old, a tad used, but in fine serviceable condition, and should be well past the times of yer reat grand children. May you nae have need the opportunity to test this good sir.
May your words be true as your heart,
Lucien Moonmist."*