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Thread: Dawn on a Funeral Day

  1. #1
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    Erirag the Poet's Avatar

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    Dawn on a Funeral Day

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    Erirag Songcrafter did not have a hero's funeral. She didn't even have a casket. The elves leave pageantry for their own, after all. She was laid to rest deep within the very forest she'd fought to save. In a copse where the red boughs above had already started to lighten to colors of gold and lime, the fragrant ashes of incense smeared across her forehead, her grave was dug.

    The birds sang hymns and if Erirag hadn't been still and quiet on the ground waiting for the shuffle and crunch of shovels in the dirt to stop she may have written something lovely. As it stood, not a word was spoken as pale, tall strangers lowered her into the pit. It was dark and cool there, where the sunlight filtering in a glow through the canopy couldn't reach.

    One bladesinger paused over the hole and started to mutter a prayer. Another sighed and rolled his eyes, shoveling dirt down on the fallen orc. Nothing had risen in the forest since the Red Witch had died. The first singer let the incantation fade away, unsung, before he started helping to cover the corpse.

    Under the watchful shadows of the trees, Erirag's last rites were lost to apathy.
    the only good orc is a dead orc

  2. #2
    Junior Member

    EXP: 4,856, Level: 2
    Level completed: 96%, EXP required for next Level: 144
    Level completed: 96%,
    EXP required for next Level: 144


    Erirag the Poet's Avatar

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    “Korua! Feitha ten'amin!” The elven girl called. The path before her was shaded in soft pink light, the leaves above her like the stained glass of a cathedral. Here and there patches shone in crimson, gold, and emerald. Red was slowly seeping away, leaving the forest less and less like its common name. Still, corruption took time to release hold and here and there traces of dark flowers and thorny vines remained.

    Arvanna Dirthmitore, a young elf of no more than twelve summers, darted between the gnarled twists of old branches, her booted feet stomping through ferns as she ran after her friend. She hadn’t quite come into the grace her people were known for, though her steps were not nearly as heavy as those of her companion ahead of her. Her sharp blue eyes could see clearly where Korua had gone, the broken stems of plants and thin branches leaving a wake of destruction any fool could follow.

    The girl grinned, her wide smile splitting her thin face. “Amin caela lle sii'!” she shrieked through laugher. I’ve got you now. Her small fists clenched and she burst forward, pushing until her lungs were burning with the effort. One leap over a rotting log and suddenly she came out of the brush with Korua just ahead of her.

    The other girl was bigger, despite being younger, a full foot taller than Arvanna was and built like a horse. Still, the elven girl grabbed her friend behind her knees and in a tumble of flailing juvenile limbs and raucious laughter, they tumbled through the grass. Arvanna rolleda way, coming to a rest at the bottom of a tree, her grin even wider.

    She watched with heaving breath as her prey jumped to her feet. Korua was dressed much the same as she was - in the simple daily elvish style of a light airy blouse and hide pants tucked into boots. Somehow the same cut didn’t quite look the same on Kor’s wide, muscular frame but the light tan and pale blue embroidery on the blouse looked even more intricate in a wider pattern and contrasted against the girls well-tanned skin.

    “Lle naa i'lakil,” Korua conceded the victory. “I’ll not be faster than you even if my legs grow a mile long,” she joked. The elvish tongue was as thick as the lips that spoke it, the orc of her ancestry standing in the way of any true grace she might have had.

    “You’re still pretty fast,” Arvanna said helpfully. She started to say something else with she stopped, turning her head towards the breeze that blew gently between the trees. “Do you feel that?” she asked.

    The half-orc furrowed her brow and thrust an arm out, trying to decipher the riddle. “Getting a little cold,” she said.

    “It’s more chilly than it should be,” the elf said.

    “Maybe an early snow?” They were on the northern edge of the forest, and Korua remembered last year watching her breath make clouds as she gathered acorns. It would be time for autumn foraging soon enough.

    “N’uma….” she said, shaking her head. “It’s not all the wind.”

    “Mani?” the younger asked. She stood, and walked around the other side of a tall oak, ignoring the decaying vines that still clung to the trunk like stiff lengths of dirty wool. Arvanna was right, the wind here was still the temperate breeze that had graced their game of chase.

    Wordlessly, the girls stood together and began to follow the icy draft further into the reach of the woods.
    the only good orc is a dead orc

  3. #3
    Junior Member

    EXP: 4,856, Level: 2
    Level completed: 96%, EXP required for next Level: 144
    Level completed: 96%,
    EXP required for next Level: 144


    Erirag the Poet's Avatar

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    Name
    Erirag
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    Moss-burdened trees and lush ferns soon gave way to thin copses of trees sprouting along rocky trails. Grey stone erupted out of the earth, wreathed in gravel that crunched and slipped under their feet as the two girls continued along the cold breeze. By the time the ground was split, the stone revealing where the high ground curved away, Arvanna was shivering, clutching her arms as they walked. Korua wished she’d remembered to bring a scarf. The thick, warm cloths she liked to tie her hair in always draped so beautifully over her friend’s dainty shoulders.

    The wind had taken them along the lower path, hugging the high ravine walls until they caught sight of a small cave ahead. The saplings growing near the entrance shuddered, a clue that the path the followed came from within. Korua felt the hair on the back of her neck bristle. The half orc looked warily to her blonde companion, trying to scry meaning in the frown on the elven girl’s face.

    “It’s nothing for a cave to be windy,” she said, trying to lighten the tension.

    It didn’t work.

    “Not like that, and listen,” Arvanna replied, hushing her voice as she spoke, as if she worried her small tone was too loud. Korua narrowed her eyes, and stared towards the cave. Her hearing wasn’t so good as her friend’s, but if she stilled her breath she thought she could just barely make out a sweet tone on the gale.

    Korua squared her jaw, her teeth grinding together. There was a song there, and it left the hair on her arms raised and her muscles tight. The unsettling sound was pretty, but somehow it sounded like a warning.

    “My Uncle’s funeral had music like this,” Arvanna spoke of the Bladesinger who had fallen in the Red Forest back when they were smaller. It didn’t’ help to ease the half-orcs concern. Why would a dirge be playing here? Weren’t they alone?

    Together, the girls stepped into the shadow of the rocks and took each other’s hand as they moved deeper into the dark cavern. The wind was more insistent, teasing their hair away from their faces. Arvanna held her arms and shivered, her light clothes seemed to invite the breeze to chill her straight through to the bone. Korua drew closer to her, hoping that an arm around her shoulder would help her friend to be warmer. The even girl gave a grateful smile and together they moved on.

    Somehow the darkness never truly enveloped them. As they walk the path seemed to glow just enough to avoid the divots in the stone. Eventually they turned a corner and the music swelled even louder, echoing around them. Ahead, they could see the cavern open up and a small stone temple carved from the wall sitting silently.

    “What is that?” Korua asked. It was familiar, an elven style that felt like home. She’d never been to a funeral before, so when Arvanna answered quietly, “a crypt,” she turned her eyes back on it and stared in awe. To be buried here, she thought, would truly be an honor.
    the only good orc is a dead orc

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