Sep 22, 2016 4:35 pm
This land, once full of song, has now settled into a dirge. Look at them, Father. They have forgotten who they used to be. Where is there pride? He looks down on his weathered robes. He sees reflected back the memory of armor glistening in the sun, playfully bouncing the rays back, somehow staying cool even in the desert sun.The sun tilts off a merchant selling mirrors to passerby, flashing into Erurainon's hood and interrupting the memory. He stood then where he stands now, looking at the elves in the marketplace ahead of the temple. He pulls his hood down tighter to hide his face. Where too is my pride? Looking down again he sees no armor is there to greet him. Just the sand-stained, wind-strained robes of a farmer. The only piece that stands out to the trained eyes of elves that would set him apart, aside from his doubly distinctive facial features, is the sword that hangs at his waist. A khopesh smithed in the finest forge, tempered with the waters of the Nile, quenched in the blood of a river crocodile, the blade was unmistakable to any who knew his order. He, like the finely-crafted metal, was a Sword of the White Tower.
It strikes him, as he looks around at these elves, if any would fight. If they, like him, had finally finished waiting for the time to strike. If they, like him, could feel that it was nigh. Sitting to the side of the square, Erurainon begins to sing a mundane Elven song, putting thoughts to words and striking up a simple harmony in a minor key. ♪♪ I saw a maiden come to fair, the golden sun bounced off her hair. The wind blew warm, the winds blew cold, and now my maiden's eyes are old. ♪♪ An old training song, Erurainon looks to see if there are any Swords of the White Tower in attendance that react or join into the song.
It strikes him, as he looks around at these elves, if any would fight. If they, like him, had finally finished waiting for the time to strike. If they, like him, could feel that it was nigh. Sitting to the side of the square, Erurainon begins to sing a mundane Elven song, putting thoughts to words and striking up a simple harmony in a minor key. ♪♪ I saw a maiden come to fair, the golden sun bounced off her hair. The wind blew warm, the winds blew cold, and now my maiden's eyes are old. ♪♪ An old training song, Erurainon looks to see if there are any Swords of the White Tower in attendance that react or join into the song.