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Steel Dragon's "Tales of Orea"
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<blockquote data-quote="steeldragons" data-source="post: 5788425" data-attributes="member: 92511"><p>Evening fell over the Vale of the Dragonmage in the realm of Daenfrii on the world of Orea.</p><p></p><p>Bonfires were easily seen from the party's high vantage point in their chambers of Dragonwing Keep. Silhouettes of figures could be seen flickering before the large fires on the hilltops outside of the "town" proper. Within the town below the keep, several other fires had been lit in various squares. The streets were crowded with revelers celebrating the night of the "thinness" between the realms of the living and the dead. </p><p></p><p>There was some disagreement some disagreement among sages as to the purpose and origins of the "holy day." For some, the fires and reveling noise was a warning or defense against the return of spirits. To others, the light and noise was to be a beacon for the souls of the dearly departed, to come partake of the festivities. For most of the commonfolk, it was a holiday...a good reason for a party.</p><p></p><p>The party had decided, venturing off into the world beyond the Vale on the day of Darkveil would be foolish and open them up to potential attacks they had no desire to undertake.</p><p></p><p>Braddok was particularly at a noticeable unease. The idea that the veil between the living and the dead was at an annual thinness seemed to sseverely shake the man, who had just in the past few days gotten used to the fact that he was again in the lands of the Living.</p><p></p><p>Not that he believed he didn't deserve to be "here", in the Living Lands. He had an ever-present pressing on his mind...his soul...that he had "much to do." But he was consumed, throughout the afternoon and into the beginnings of the festival, by the idea that he might accidentally "slip" back into the Grey Lands of the goddess of Death.</p><p></p><p>Several flagons of ale later, with his friends Duor and Festus, alleviated this strange sensation, which Alaria and others had told him was "fear." </p><p></p><p>He did not like "fear", at all. he made a mental promise to expunge it from his mind forever...overcome it, as was only logical and he felt honorable, to a warrior of his caliber.</p><p></p><p>During the past week, he had acquired his new garb, a suitanle long-sleeved jacket of chainmail and a new helmet that was "plain" by many standards, but had a noseguard and a few strips of black leather flailing out from the tip. He felt a proper "soldier"....and it felt "right" to him.</p><p></p><p>The mages and priests had uncovered much information about the Fledmere in their week's research. </p><p></p><p>Alaria was sorely disheartened by the Lord Chamberlain's response to her request to the keep's library. </p><p></p><p>"You want access to<em> the </em>library? The Dragonwing<em> family </em>library?! No, my dear, I am afraid that will not be possible." the aged elf had said.</p><p></p><p>But the Witch-priests of Manat in the temple below the keep had been more than accommodating...after their "tribute fee" had been paid.</p><p></p><p>The time in research had not allowed her any time for transcribing spells...but then, she had not had opportunity to utilize those she had gained in Bridgetower. Erevan, however, did take some time to add to his spellbook, noticeably thinner than Alaria's own.</p><p></p><p>The greatest resource of information had been her meeting (with Haelan and Erevan in tow) with the keep's archivist, Felton.</p><p></p><p>"About the mage, Tresahd, as my lord-prince had requested, I can not tell you anything...as of yet." apologized the festitiously groomed and garbed grey-bearded man.</p><p></p><p>"But of the Feldmere! Oh, that's a horse of a different color." he smiled in self-appreciation.</p><p> </p><p>"Are you familiar with the <em>Ballad of the Swan Prince</em>?" Felton asked.</p><p></p><p>"I know the rhyme." Haelan interjected.</p><p></p><p>From the questioning looks he received, the daelvar began chanting what he claimed to be a child's rhyme in his homeland of the Free Hollows.</p><p style="margin-left: 20px">"The swan of white will do what's right</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px">The swan of black will stab yer back.</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px">Around the lake the white swans flow.</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px">Around the lake the black swans grow.</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px">Ev'ry swan in ev'ry lake</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px">A daelvar foot is sure to take."</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"></p><p>"You never heard that? It's a children's song? Ev'ry daelvar child knows that rhyme from the first sprouts of hair on their feet!" Haelan protested in surprise that he knew something these other "bigfolk" didn't.</p><p> </p><p>"Hmmm. No doubt a folkloric bastardization of the Ballad." Felton nodded in sincere curiosity.</p><p></p><p>"The Ballad, itself, was composed, of course, by the great bard, Calidwyn the Spellsinger. It is hailed as one of his greatest works. It was composed in the aftermath of the Battle of Thornfeld in honot of his beloved champion's victory.</p><p></p><p>"It reads as follows...you'll forgive me if I don't sing it." the sage chuckled to himself. "I assure you, you would not prefer it so."</p><p></p><p>Alaria smiled in response, waiting for the actual relevant material. The casual attitude of these outlander mages and sages about information that she took as quite serious continued to vex her.</p><p></p><p style="margin-left: 20px">"The White Swan came upon the lake,</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px">A mystic kingdom, his to make.</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px">Six swan knights and six swan maids,</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px">Did swim upon his magic lake.</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px">The greatest realm of purest snow</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px">the Swan Prince made, which few did know.</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"></p> <p style="margin-left: 20px">Until, one day, a swan of ebon wing</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px">Did alight, its song to sing.</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px">With 'guiling eye, charming song</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px">the White swan did, for her, long.</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"></p> <p style="margin-left: 20px">His knights did arm. His maids did wail.</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px">The White Swan heeded not their tale.</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px">Only the Black Swan did he seal.</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px">Only the Black Swan did he weal.</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px">The knights did fall. The maids did call.</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px">The White Swan Prince hid 'hind his wall.</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"></p> <p style="margin-left: 20px">Until, one day, a swan of ebon wing</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px">Did alight, its song to sing.</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px">With 'guiling eye and charming song</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px">the White swan did, for her, too long.</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"></p> <p style="margin-left: 20px">So the Black Swan did gain her home.</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px">So the White Swan was soon o'ercome.</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px">So the kingdom soon was wrought</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px">And the Swan Prince brought to naught.</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px">Since, the kingdom white all gone,</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px">The kingdom black e'er be done. </p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"></p> <p style="margin-left: 20px">When the swan of ebon wing</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px">Does alight its song to sing,</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px">The Silver Prince will come with care</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px">And win the purest kingdom fair.</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"></p><p>"Now, the interesting part is that in the days of the Scourge Wars and the days of Calidwyn...it is common knowledge after all..." Felton looked at the transfixed companions. </p><p></p><p>"The image of the 'swan' was often used instead of the 'dragon.' Long necks? Powerful wings? Unpleasant calls, to say the least, could be equivicated with the legendary wyrms' dangerous breath...Do you not see?!" He huffed in what might have been aggravation.</p><p></p><p>The companions shook their heads in a communal lack of understand.</p><p></p><p>"The 'black swan' of the ballad? It is my supposition, is the symbol for the well-documented dragon-commander of Nor Gorthok, Desaarthal, one of Sharzaak's brood...and a wyrm of indescribable evil by all accounts.</p><p></p><p>"There is some disagreement in the texts. I have found references that the 'White Swan Prince' might have been a Selurian lord...the Selurians, naturally, being known to be a wholely albino race." Felton said with conviction.</p><p></p><p>"Others believe he might have been a prince of the Shi...an errant elf lord who cobbled out a realm of his own when the bulk of the elves moved to ShiStaliir...There's really no definitive account.</p><p></p><p>"But what is definitive, the Silver Prince is no doubt the high-king Elibon, for whom the ballad was composed. He turned the tide of the Scourge Wars and brought unity to the realms of Grinlia...with our lord, the Dragonmage's aid, of course."</p><p></p><p>Felton waited as all of this sunk in to the inquiring group. He was most assured he had found the answer to all of their questions.</p><p></p><p>He was mistaken.</p><p></p><p>"But...then...when does this black swan take daelvar feet?" Haelan asked, concerned.</p><p></p><p>The archivist's eyes bulged in his head.</p><p></p><p>"If it is, indeed, the dragon that Master Felton supposes, Haelan. Then I imagine it takes the feet off of anything." Erevan explained.</p><p></p><p>"Ooooooh." replied Haelan before gulping audibly.</p><p></p><p>"May we, Master Felton, take a copy of that ballad with us?" Alaria asked.</p><p></p><p>He also had a map of the Feldmere that he 'gave' them a copy of, included in their fee. "The ruins of Nor Gorthok are, by my accounting and the latest available material, there," the archivist noted a marking of a hill...or was it a mound of rocks?...in the dead center of the Feldmere.</p><p></p><p>"Our thanks, Master Felton," Alaria offered and nodded a bow of leave, which indicated to the others that the meeting was at an end.</p><p></p><p>"Gods' Speed to you, Stormrider. May you find what it is you are seeking." Felton replied with a ceremonious nod.</p><p></p><p>"And not die trying." Erevan whispered to Alaria as they departed.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="steeldragons, post: 5788425, member: 92511"] Evening fell over the Vale of the Dragonmage in the realm of Daenfrii on the world of Orea. Bonfires were easily seen from the party's high vantage point in their chambers of Dragonwing Keep. Silhouettes of figures could be seen flickering before the large fires on the hilltops outside of the "town" proper. Within the town below the keep, several other fires had been lit in various squares. The streets were crowded with revelers celebrating the night of the "thinness" between the realms of the living and the dead. There was some disagreement some disagreement among sages as to the purpose and origins of the "holy day." For some, the fires and reveling noise was a warning or defense against the return of spirits. To others, the light and noise was to be a beacon for the souls of the dearly departed, to come partake of the festivities. For most of the commonfolk, it was a holiday...a good reason for a party. The party had decided, venturing off into the world beyond the Vale on the day of Darkveil would be foolish and open them up to potential attacks they had no desire to undertake. Braddok was particularly at a noticeable unease. The idea that the veil between the living and the dead was at an annual thinness seemed to sseverely shake the man, who had just in the past few days gotten used to the fact that he was again in the lands of the Living. Not that he believed he didn't deserve to be "here", in the Living Lands. He had an ever-present pressing on his mind...his soul...that he had "much to do." But he was consumed, throughout the afternoon and into the beginnings of the festival, by the idea that he might accidentally "slip" back into the Grey Lands of the goddess of Death. Several flagons of ale later, with his friends Duor and Festus, alleviated this strange sensation, which Alaria and others had told him was "fear." He did not like "fear", at all. he made a mental promise to expunge it from his mind forever...overcome it, as was only logical and he felt honorable, to a warrior of his caliber. During the past week, he had acquired his new garb, a suitanle long-sleeved jacket of chainmail and a new helmet that was "plain" by many standards, but had a noseguard and a few strips of black leather flailing out from the tip. He felt a proper "soldier"....and it felt "right" to him. The mages and priests had uncovered much information about the Fledmere in their week's research. Alaria was sorely disheartened by the Lord Chamberlain's response to her request to the keep's library. "You want access to[I] the [/I]library? The Dragonwing[I] family [/I]library?! No, my dear, I am afraid that will not be possible." the aged elf had said. But the Witch-priests of Manat in the temple below the keep had been more than accommodating...after their "tribute fee" had been paid. The time in research had not allowed her any time for transcribing spells...but then, she had not had opportunity to utilize those she had gained in Bridgetower. Erevan, however, did take some time to add to his spellbook, noticeably thinner than Alaria's own. The greatest resource of information had been her meeting (with Haelan and Erevan in tow) with the keep's archivist, Felton. "About the mage, Tresahd, as my lord-prince had requested, I can not tell you anything...as of yet." apologized the festitiously groomed and garbed grey-bearded man. "But of the Feldmere! Oh, that's a horse of a different color." he smiled in self-appreciation. "Are you familiar with the [I]Ballad of the Swan Prince[/I]?" Felton asked. "I know the rhyme." Haelan interjected. From the questioning looks he received, the daelvar began chanting what he claimed to be a child's rhyme in his homeland of the Free Hollows. [INDENT]"The swan of white will do what's right The swan of black will stab yer back. Around the lake the white swans flow. Around the lake the black swans grow. Ev'ry swan in ev'ry lake A daelvar foot is sure to take." [/INDENT]"You never heard that? It's a children's song? Ev'ry daelvar child knows that rhyme from the first sprouts of hair on their feet!" Haelan protested in surprise that he knew something these other "bigfolk" didn't. "Hmmm. No doubt a folkloric bastardization of the Ballad." Felton nodded in sincere curiosity. "The Ballad, itself, was composed, of course, by the great bard, Calidwyn the Spellsinger. It is hailed as one of his greatest works. It was composed in the aftermath of the Battle of Thornfeld in honot of his beloved champion's victory. "It reads as follows...you'll forgive me if I don't sing it." the sage chuckled to himself. "I assure you, you would not prefer it so." Alaria smiled in response, waiting for the actual relevant material. The casual attitude of these outlander mages and sages about information that she took as quite serious continued to vex her. [INDENT]"The White Swan came upon the lake, A mystic kingdom, his to make. Six swan knights and six swan maids, Did swim upon his magic lake. The greatest realm of purest snow the Swan Prince made, which few did know. Until, one day, a swan of ebon wing Did alight, its song to sing. With 'guiling eye, charming song the White swan did, for her, long. His knights did arm. His maids did wail. The White Swan heeded not their tale. Only the Black Swan did he seal. Only the Black Swan did he weal. The knights did fall. The maids did call. The White Swan Prince hid 'hind his wall. Until, one day, a swan of ebon wing Did alight, its song to sing. With 'guiling eye and charming song the White swan did, for her, too long. So the Black Swan did gain her home. So the White Swan was soon o'ercome. So the kingdom soon was wrought And the Swan Prince brought to naught. Since, the kingdom white all gone, The kingdom black e'er be done. When the swan of ebon wing Does alight its song to sing, The Silver Prince will come with care And win the purest kingdom fair. [/INDENT] "Now, the interesting part is that in the days of the Scourge Wars and the days of Calidwyn...it is common knowledge after all..." Felton looked at the transfixed companions. "The image of the 'swan' was often used instead of the 'dragon.' Long necks? Powerful wings? Unpleasant calls, to say the least, could be equivicated with the legendary wyrms' dangerous breath...Do you not see?!" He huffed in what might have been aggravation. The companions shook their heads in a communal lack of understand. "The 'black swan' of the ballad? It is my supposition, is the symbol for the well-documented dragon-commander of Nor Gorthok, Desaarthal, one of Sharzaak's brood...and a wyrm of indescribable evil by all accounts. "There is some disagreement in the texts. I have found references that the 'White Swan Prince' might have been a Selurian lord...the Selurians, naturally, being known to be a wholely albino race." Felton said with conviction. "Others believe he might have been a prince of the Shi...an errant elf lord who cobbled out a realm of his own when the bulk of the elves moved to ShiStaliir...There's really no definitive account. "But what is definitive, the Silver Prince is no doubt the high-king Elibon, for whom the ballad was composed. He turned the tide of the Scourge Wars and brought unity to the realms of Grinlia...with our lord, the Dragonmage's aid, of course." Felton waited as all of this sunk in to the inquiring group. He was most assured he had found the answer to all of their questions. He was mistaken. "But...then...when does this black swan take daelvar feet?" Haelan asked, concerned. The archivist's eyes bulged in his head. "If it is, indeed, the dragon that Master Felton supposes, Haelan. Then I imagine it takes the feet off of anything." Erevan explained. "Ooooooh." replied Haelan before gulping audibly. "May we, Master Felton, take a copy of that ballad with us?" Alaria asked. He also had a map of the Feldmere that he 'gave' them a copy of, included in their fee. "The ruins of Nor Gorthok are, by my accounting and the latest available material, there," the archivist noted a marking of a hill...or was it a mound of rocks?...in the dead center of the Feldmere. "Our thanks, Master Felton," Alaria offered and nodded a bow of leave, which indicated to the others that the meeting was at an end. "Gods' Speed to you, Stormrider. May you find what it is you are seeking." Felton replied with a ceremonious nod. "And not die trying." Erevan whispered to Alaria as they departed. [/QUOTE]
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