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Screen Shots & Obituaries / Re: Linden Blanque - The Blanque Slate
« on: February 03, 2023, 08:19:16 PM »
Thanks for all the hours of fun!
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Lord Sunpurse the Unconquered, the Tenth and the Last, led the ritual. His last command was the disbanding of House Sunpurse, a gift of our freedom to walk our own path, and the end of our oaths of duty to him.
Bid by his merciful heart, he chose to save the ungrateful people of the Peerage Ward, among many others who did not realize that they needed to be saved.
A terrible cycle of darkness and suffering has been sundered.
When the End comes, when the King turns his face away from this place and leaves us to die forgotten in the shadow of his contempt.
Then will the prophecy of Crowsong be fulfilled, for in his arms we will find salvation, a hearth unbroken, a Garden of Unconquered Hope.
A chance to survive. A door of sunlight. A place that will defy the sorrow of the coming void and the hate of the coming winter.
His are the hands of Spring.
-- The echos of three voices, made one, breathe into the open air of rings 99, 98, and 97 as though whispers upon the winds. They are warm, they are sudden, and they invade your thoughts with no resistance. --
Thus the curse is broken! Ten, the final time. Nine the last sacrifice.
In absolute resolve and finite determination have we sundered the final hold upon your freedoms.
A key is left with you. A path forward curved from Auld Stones.
By aspects stolen were these gifts delivered: By Unmeasured Growth, by Protection and Life, by Transformation, by Sacrifice, by breaking of Cycles; and by Purification of Blood.
We leave with you a Hearth for the long Winter.
Bereft of the Willow, the Curse, and given life by paths upon the Oldways.
Flourish and survive.
-- All the Count's rubies and all the Count's men couldn't put Orianna back together again. In a dark tomb turned viridian, a boy is attended by hints of horror and shadows that slither but shouldn't. His hands gingerly hold an instrument. Fiddling, while his soul burns. --
-- His magistrate attends him, offering the boy imperatives masqueraded as choices. The youth considers, soft in the face but hard in the eyes. The certain sense that something is about to transpire causes many a neck hair to tingle. And time, free again from illegality, inches on... --