The Lorestones of Nyx

[Creya]

For a moment there was nothing to hear, or see, save the crows flying off in the distance. A gentle breeze stirred the tall grasses and the yellow and blue Geiltaithe that grew along the road. There forms periodically peaking out from the sea of green and brown. There was no telling what might be hidden within the ocean of grass, what slowly circling marauder could be out there waiting for the perfect time to strike?

A Lumëoi, or shadow cat, as they were called in the trade tongue, so named for their ability to alter there skin to blend in with their surroundings. Perhaps a Dur'Taigen, either living or undead, either was a possibility in this day and age, even if Raiaeran militias tried to kill every oone they spoteed. Maehaps it was something else spawned in the depths of the Lindequalmë, now freed by the death of Podë. There was no sign, nothing to indicate what, or where the threat was, or even if there was a threat.

“The wooling begins,
And the fall as at its end,
And the grain is in the barn…”

The voice had those qualities that were instantly identifiable as Soubrette, for those that had the ear for such things. Indeed, one knowledgeable in the art would no doubt classify her a soprano who sings best in middle voice with no strenuous vocal dynamics. The woman’s voice was warm, bright, sweet in vocal color, with a light vocal weight. It was a tone that at once expressed vitality and maturity, with hints of plenty else beneath.

“Come back to me, my darlings,
For you need no arms, but ours.”

Something flitted out of the grasses, off to their right, something that looked like a woman, with pink hair and skin the hue of a dark stone clad in a brown and green plad dress that looked at home on any farmer’s wife found anywhere.

“Good evening good sirs.”

This woman, who looked almost elvish – but obviously couldn’t be – who couldn’t have been more than a foot in height from crown to toe, was the singer.