Doron Amar Role-Play

[Oarthias]

The soft rhythm of hooves upon the forest floor broke through the hush of the Glimmerwood trail long before she appeared. The gentle clinking of heavy bags of gear followed, muted as best as the Glimmerlady could, but there was still a jostle of supplies lashed to Horseshoe's flanks.

Vanira guided the horse's reins in hand... her face though solemn, carried the quiet steel the elves had come to know, resolve tempered by care. The watch at the gate were already opening the way to her as she raised her hand in greeting. Horseshoe snorted and tossed his mane as they entered the village and the Glimmerlady's lip curled into a soft smile... a gift, meant for them... for smiles bring strength, they bring hope, and they remind that light still lingers... even in darkened times.

[Sundown]

Glimmerwood / Sharp-Teeth

The first rays of morning warmed the golden tree. Dew still clung to the leaves as the first birds began to sing their songs to the wind. The leaves rustled in a gentle breeze. Their whispered words heralded the approach of winter and the last dance in the amber glow of the old sun.
A wooden plate found its way beyond the circle of mushrooms that surrounded the golden tree. The plate was laden with fresh cinnamon buns and garnished with selected nuts.

Two elven-looking ladys with hair that glowed like the red leaves of autumn could perhaps be glimpsed shortly beforehand. With gentle steps, they moved between the trees before seemingly being swallowed up by the forest

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Hidden: show

OOC: Happend a day or two before

[Aspect of Sorrow]

Within the Glimmerwood upon eve of Marpenoth 15, three starlit lithe things stir soundlessly as they make their way close to wounded earth, pausing near clearance untouched. The wood held its breath as the silver haired Teu'tel'quess, flanked by her sister and Simlacrum, called to Arcadia's cold perfection of law and judgement. The air split at unspoken word, bleeding faint azure to illuminate the immediate environ and the symbols of the Seldarine pantheon drawn upon the earth between. The conversation was held to the mind of the caller, and as the fabric of the translucent azure shuttered, the illuminative violet ring of broken spell focus upon right eye intensified before the three figures vanished without a trace.

The diviner of Vandria Gilmadrith listens now to the faint life clawing beneath the surface.

[Labradorit]

*And so they came. Ally, friend and aid.
Sounds of steps of so many and more. Elves from the north and Dwarves of the Mountains. Friends and Companions from Guilds and Foundations. Movement and omens of act are clearly in the air, vibrating in the very ground. Shared with stance, place and care.
Tramahstas would be seen here and there, but he would not hurdle into the front-line nor spotlight rather helping behind or "downstage". As long as he would be around, his main would be the temple of Angharradh, of his Patron, lending aid and hand to Priestess Sylvara and all in this domain. And then, while others drink or eat, because no resting breath might be loitered, but certainly needed to stay energized for the grand fight, there would be a moment of music.

A song would be played by a strange string instrument. Tramahstas Voice would fill the air at dusk, as fire and light illuminate the village of event's center. Echoeing gently in the river beds flanks. There is quiet courage in his voice and it is clear that the punishment is not for the people gathered, but for the enemy's that dare to approach. A lifting of spirit and mood to the village and its protectors for the time he still can dwell he invokes the spirits of protection and justice.*

Yearning of the fearless


What awaits the one, once fearless in deed?
Dared to dream, stepped ahead, even on bare feet.
Order and law, defied or stood in, now defiled deep.
Longings and dreams, now and forever, in winds scattered indeed.

(Refrain)

“Punishment haunts every misdeed, equality for every figure.
No one can flee shackle and chain, caught by the hands of vigor.
Before the two we stand the same, now: fate‘s wheel turns in flow.
Like gem and juwel perfectly cut, as master’s craft does show.”

What was their aim - of the fools, the darer.
Lured by greed, or f’llowed their orders,
Never again shall laughter escape the throat of the wayfarer.
When caught in crime, justice by law, having left the good-deeds borders.

(Refrain)

“Punishment haunts every misdeed, equality for every figure.
No one can flee shackle and chain, caught by hands of vigor.
Before the two we stand the same, now: fate‘s wheel turns in flow.
Like gem and juwel perfectly cut, as master’s craft does show.”

Longing for coin or even for revenge? A tomfool sheds tear.
Blinded their gaze, darkend their heart, shadowed even the sun.
The hangman‘s noose tightens, sharp gets the blade, thus more as price paid: their head.
Beware, you, beware. ‘Cause one thing is clear: win and loss are tightly spun.

(Refrain)

“Punishment haunts every misdeed, equality for every figure.
No one can flee shackle and chain, caught by hands of vigor.
Before the two we stand the same, now: fate‘s wheel turns in flow.
Like gem and juwel perfectly cut, as master’s craft does show.”

Remember close, keep in your minds lair, what ever you might await.
If you dared such a deed, knocking sounds soon at your door: because punishments are broken laws core trade.

(Refrain)

“Punishment haunts every misdeed, equality for every figure.
No one can flee shackle and chain, caught by hands of vigor.
Before the two we stand the same, now: fate‘s wheel turns in flow.
Like gem and juwel perfectly cut, as master’s craft does show.”