The walls of the stronghold were silent, stone and wood stretched in natural embrace of the land as the guarians of this place stood stoic, unmoving. A lone figure stepped through the halls, darkened leathers of a tall being, yet his footfalls made no sound as he step. The inner room of the Lore's chambers was quiet, a great table in its midst. Sound finally broke the silence, a gentle shuffle of cloth as a tabard was laid to rest upon its surface.
Fingers pressed on the deep red silk. "Blood, honor, what we pay to uphold such tenants we represent. Family by choice, not by birth, blood runs thick, but what we hold runs deeper." The words spoken to no one, simple musings as his fingers stretched over to the golden pages of the tome crest. "Knowledge, wisdom. What we seek, what we protect. Life, represented in pages, each future each fate comes ever closer with the turning of the page, yet they are stories written by our own hands."
Swift solemn movements as the tabard was folded perfectly, the crest prominant at the center, the border framing it with its golden glory. Thumb pressed to the edges, the chain, as if touch spurred the memories. "Linked by common place, common purpose. Each link as strong as the one before, as strong as the one after. A binding upon beings." His thoughts trailed off into silence as he looked over the tabard.
From under his cloak he drew a dagger, ceremonial of design, laying it accross the tabard, using it as a bed. Patting it softly as the figure turned, stepping to the exit of the room, voice a whisper in the dark. "I am sorry brothers, sisters. This is where our paths pass from each others sights, though I pray for forgiveness, my heart hopes that our paths will cross again."
No being moved in the halls of Feathermoon, no warrior, no shadow, all was silence again.
The walls of the stronghold were silent, stone and wood stretched in natural embrace of the land as the guarians of this place stood stoic, unmoving. A lone figure stepped through the halls, darkened leathers of a tall being, yet his footfalls made no sound as he step. The inner room of the Lore's chambers was quiet, a great table in its midst. Sound finally broke the silence, a gentle shuffle of cloth as a tabard was laid to rest upon its surface.
Fingers pressed on the deep red silk. "Blood, honor, what we pay to uphold such tenants we represent. Family by choice, not by birth, blood runs thick, but what we hold runs deeper." The words spoken to no one, simple musings as his fingers stretched over to the golden pages of the tome crest. "Knowledge, wisdom. What we seek, what we protect. Life, represented in pages, each future each fate comes ever closer with the turning of the page, yet they are stories written by our own hands."
Swift solemn movements as the tabard was folded perfectly, the crest prominant at the center, the border framing it with its golden glory. Thumb pressed to the edges, the chain, as if touch spurred the memories. "Linked by common place, common purpose. Each link as strong as the one before, as strong as the one after. A binding upon beings." His thoughts trailed off into silence as he looked over the tabard.
From under his cloak he drew a dagger, ceremonial of design, laying it accross the tabard, using it as a bed. Patting it softly as the figure turned, stepping to the exit of the room, voice a whisper in the dark. "I am sorry brothers, sisters. This is where our paths pass from each others sights, though I pray for forgiveness, my heart hopes that our paths will cross again."
No being moved in the halls of Feathermoon, no warrior, no shadow, all was silence again.