As I find myself laying on the most cushioned bed surrounded by those I am drawn to care, I have taken quill and ink to write about this past few months.
This have been troubling times for the people that dwell on the depths. What started as a mere trickle of water, pouring drop by drop like sweetened elven tears, suddenly burst into a flood that collapsed our most beloved home. Amidst a tempest of rocks and the screams of those that where trampled below, many sacrificed their health to drag their brethren out of such storm. Our White Hound, gifted her life away to bring forth a path for those that in any other way would surely have been squashed. Most noble deed she would dearly pay, dragged back into the pits of Hell to be tormented by her masters for an endless lapse. But shed no tears, if not of joy, for it was by blood and strife that her fate was reverted, trading a soul for life to bring our hound back. Alas, that is a tale for another night. The caves seemed lost, our nation expelled from safe harbour towards the blazing light, forced to aimlessly roam the surface under an unforgiving sun. To all of those that laugh at our fall, know that we are a blessed children of the Dark and mother Night will never let us out of sight. This was but a hiccup, a miserable one, and those that smiled at our demise will surely pay in full price. For the Cabbala stands once again, more wicked than before, firmly embedded in the depths of Sincadere as a poisoned thorn that you, light dwellers, will never get rid of. What better proof of it than the celebration of the first Court in the brand new halls of the keep. Where the Silver Terror, fluffiest tail of all, Archon of the Cabbala addressed her citizens imbuing them with new purpose and life. It was a night or rebirth, where the Frozen Forge Smith rose to the ranks of Conclave. Where the Dark Law Sentries made their presence felt as a bothersome tumour attached to your gullet. Where the Black Dragon of the Dark Merchants offered bounty for fair trade and precious information. It was a time to bask under the shadows of our new stronghold, to recall what has been lost and to set aims to a darker more vicious future. To those that expect me naming names, sadly you will be thoroughly disappointed, for I am not known to break the tenets of my Dark home. Be content with knowing the facts that transpired on that joyous eve. The Silver Terror showed magnanimous gratitude to the Red Wyrm for nesting the survivors of the collapse under his blazing ruby wings. Not an easy feat as whispers of his complaints came to my ears. Who can blame him, as Cabbalans are in fact an acquired taste, some may have been all too spicy for old dear "Grandpa" Wyrm. But our dear Archon was not done, not by far, she stood tall as her tiny self could next to her throne, and taller she did looked from the view of those gathered bellow. Eight names where called forth, one by one brought forward under her gaze. Four where given medals and honours for their acts during the fall, some for bravery and courage, others for duty and hard work. And the four named last where gifted a most devious prize; for recovering what was thought to be forever lost, fighting the hells to bring The White Hound back to our fold, each one received an engraved musket decorated with the faun's silver horns. The lesson to be learned... Nothing goes unnoticed by the Cabbala ever watchful eye. Be you a mighty dragon or a savage beast, devious demon or vicious soul-forge, human or not, your acts echo across the blackest dark. To whoever reads this account, allow me a word of caution. From this night on... you better sleep with one eye open. We are back, from the depths with razor sharp claws. - R. Hangfire Comments are closed.
|
EditorM. Noteworthy prefers to remain anonymous. You, dear reader, will never meet them. Categories
All
Archives
May 2024
|