SireRav3n
The Noble
There is a noise that can be heard in all taverns. This noise can be heard drowning out all around it in a bustleing room filled with drunkards and oppertunists. this noise consists of reacuring beats followed by an instrument that rests very breifly in its melody to strike notes consistantly. they call this man who is ''singing'' a bard and he is paid to make this noise everyone seems intertained by. though for me and a few others unlike I, seem to care little for it.
I am told by those willing to give me an audience that this is called music and is seen as entertainment. for those who distance them selves from me and there are too many that do, they seem unnerved by my intrest in petty things. As if I conspire towards their bard and plan out decisive acts of violence towards those listening. I've noticed all who call them selves a birth rite as ignorant as the one before them.
They fear first before rationality. Resolve violence before diplomacy. They see my kind as plauge barrers and conquerers and often lack pitty for those suffering that just so happen to be an Elven Con. Their fear of us stems from the idea of where we came from. Yet it is a story that seems to sister that of their own. This is apparently an insult to them. Though we are identical in meaning and reugard it is clear a line will always be drawn before reason. I pitty them all and for what it is worth perhalps I too deserve what has befallen me and into this world that will never see me as an equal. The elven con lifts her sleeve up to see an Etch that glows from her hand. I was marked as a traitor by my own. my crime was simply abandoning the leigon I fought for. all of my kind serve a leigon amongst many. It is a sort of ''state'' as they around me call it. its more of one in many that withstands against those that wish to end what we are. At least I saw it this way until I was beckoned to test faith. Our leigons are governed by one elven con and his law dictates and governs. our leigons rarely fight each other over power however my lord general sought more then he held. Our kind cannot bare offspring nor can we summon our brothers and sisters from nei'wrath. for us each soul lost is one that can never be recovered. though my lord general cared little for this truth and turned his army against our own. my crime though for the greater cause is one that could never to be forgiven. for each Elven con that left the portal which was opened for us by our greatest amongst us, swore an oath. An oath of unwavering loyaltys to the leigons that covet us. when one abandons their brothers and sisters what is to say he will not do so again. this mark apon my hand is a reminder of what path I have chosen. Though, for those like me. Cursed like me. our only solice is in that of these filthy keepings by the Birth rites. to them my sigil is a sign of- sanity. a sort of acceptance that I unlike my kin will not act upon urges of devistation. As though I could'int see reason before my shame. I find my self bothered most by how these beings call them selves civilized when-. she nods towards the corner of the tavern where a group of five are gambling with dice and a cup. They all result to wasteful talents. The man hooded underneath a dark cloak with all sorts of gadgets putting shape from beneath his cloak responds back to the Elven con. I care little for your sob story. I come to you however, with a propsition. One that I feel is best for the talents you hold. She scoffs at the man as though she was expecting the answer. Let me guess. you assume I hold talents to the arcane magics? the cloaked man chuckles and pulls from his cloak a coin purse as big as his hand and tosses it before the Elven con. You all do. The elven con glances at the gold and smirks. The man then asks. The price for accompanying me to Sigilsfall. That land holds great perils, human. she said. Besides Sigilsfall is four moons from here. I tend to care little for the petty necromancers that linger past Tare. The man sits in momentary silence before unveiling his hood. he is an Eliden blind in both eyes and his k-9s are metalic. as though replaced from awhile ago. his face is scuffed and scared from years of battle. I understand your hate truely I do. But I have been through too much to squabble any further. you speak heavily of how your people are above what we are. Why refuse a heafty some of Human marcs? The Elven con studys the Eliden up and down as though to test his remarks. For what reason do you hide what you carry? of course, if you are as helpless as you claim. The Eliden assures the Con. As you said. these roads are quiet testing. After a good minute in thought she looks at the Eliden and takes the coin. You have my skills beastmen. (to be added)
I am told by those willing to give me an audience that this is called music and is seen as entertainment. for those who distance them selves from me and there are too many that do, they seem unnerved by my intrest in petty things. As if I conspire towards their bard and plan out decisive acts of violence towards those listening. I've noticed all who call them selves a birth rite as ignorant as the one before them.
They fear first before rationality. Resolve violence before diplomacy. They see my kind as plauge barrers and conquerers and often lack pitty for those suffering that just so happen to be an Elven Con. Their fear of us stems from the idea of where we came from. Yet it is a story that seems to sister that of their own. This is apparently an insult to them. Though we are identical in meaning and reugard it is clear a line will always be drawn before reason. I pitty them all and for what it is worth perhalps I too deserve what has befallen me and into this world that will never see me as an equal. The elven con lifts her sleeve up to see an Etch that glows from her hand. I was marked as a traitor by my own. my crime was simply abandoning the leigon I fought for. all of my kind serve a leigon amongst many. It is a sort of ''state'' as they around me call it. its more of one in many that withstands against those that wish to end what we are. At least I saw it this way until I was beckoned to test faith. Our leigons are governed by one elven con and his law dictates and governs. our leigons rarely fight each other over power however my lord general sought more then he held. Our kind cannot bare offspring nor can we summon our brothers and sisters from nei'wrath. for us each soul lost is one that can never be recovered. though my lord general cared little for this truth and turned his army against our own. my crime though for the greater cause is one that could never to be forgiven. for each Elven con that left the portal which was opened for us by our greatest amongst us, swore an oath. An oath of unwavering loyaltys to the leigons that covet us. when one abandons their brothers and sisters what is to say he will not do so again. this mark apon my hand is a reminder of what path I have chosen. Though, for those like me. Cursed like me. our only solice is in that of these filthy keepings by the Birth rites. to them my sigil is a sign of- sanity. a sort of acceptance that I unlike my kin will not act upon urges of devistation. As though I could'int see reason before my shame. I find my self bothered most by how these beings call them selves civilized when-. she nods towards the corner of the tavern where a group of five are gambling with dice and a cup. They all result to wasteful talents. The man hooded underneath a dark cloak with all sorts of gadgets putting shape from beneath his cloak responds back to the Elven con. I care little for your sob story. I come to you however, with a propsition. One that I feel is best for the talents you hold. She scoffs at the man as though she was expecting the answer. Let me guess. you assume I hold talents to the arcane magics? the cloaked man chuckles and pulls from his cloak a coin purse as big as his hand and tosses it before the Elven con. You all do. The elven con glances at the gold and smirks. The man then asks. The price for accompanying me to Sigilsfall. That land holds great perils, human. she said. Besides Sigilsfall is four moons from here. I tend to care little for the petty necromancers that linger past Tare. The man sits in momentary silence before unveiling his hood. he is an Eliden blind in both eyes and his k-9s are metalic. as though replaced from awhile ago. his face is scuffed and scared from years of battle. I understand your hate truely I do. But I have been through too much to squabble any further. you speak heavily of how your people are above what we are. Why refuse a heafty some of Human marcs? The Elven con studys the Eliden up and down as though to test his remarks. For what reason do you hide what you carry? of course, if you are as helpless as you claim. The Eliden assures the Con. As you said. these roads are quiet testing. After a good minute in thought she looks at the Eliden and takes the coin. You have my skills beastmen. (to be added)
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