Lossefion/Prose
Campaign Prose
Here follows some scene setting work, mostly used in-character to thoroughly confuse some of the players. - Lossefion
A dream on the journey home...
The steady thrum of the waves overtakes you as the Reachfar speeds towards home, and the motion rocks you to sleep in the spartan though not uncomfortable cabins you berth in....
She stands at the prow, weeping, weeping.
There is nothing you can do to console her, you know. You watch the flickering mocking light of the city burning and dancing behind you, waving an insulting goodbye.
In the shadow, in silence she is weeping, weeping.
All that you have ever known, is gone to ashes, gone to dust. You have taken ship, and fled East, the siren song of your ancient souls' home. There are those among you that have driven armies before, that have taken task with gods, monsters, and yet it is your fellow men and women that have cast you forth. There is a risen a pall of smoke cast across the heavens, and the stars are obscured. Touche, you think, for your ancient advisors are nowhere to be found. Your faithful, faithless retainers and majordomos, some whom you have raised since birth have cast off their oaths of loyalty and duty, and made their own play for the reins of authority. Some yet stood with you, dragons' blood being spilled on both sides. The dance was done 'ere the feast was yet over.
In the moonlight, over the waves, she is weeping, weeping.
The end of the five day feast was not yet come, but you had declined to partake in the City, choosing instead to renew older, more personal ties. There it was that you were caught in the echoes of screaming, that the sound caught you before the treachery did. You could not bear to face them, your fellows, it was not your way to war against those whom you had fought alongside - others played those games, not you. And so, you all fled...
Her salt tears stain the seas, her cheeks wet from weeping, weeping.
The gateway to the East perhaps yet stands open, Deheleshen and her towers, her might and her strength old friends. You join her at the prow to comfort her, putting a hand around her shoulders and squeezing lightly. It will be alright you say, hollow though the words sound. It is easy to think that there you may yet return, though it may be your last stand will be in the nexus of your own strength. You dismiss the dark thought with an angry toss of your head. You have allies that others do not, and therein lies your strength.
Even so, there will be pain, and blood, and death 'ere the end. You know this, and you see the fires that lick the underside of the skies ahead and behind, and know there will be
Weeping, weeping...
...and with the tears staining your cheeks, you waken, as though your heart should break.
