A bound leather book lay here, forgotten.

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Iaiken Toransier
Sojourner
Posts: 262
Joined: Wed Oct 31, 2001 6:01 am
Location: Oakville, ON, CA
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A bound leather book lay here, forgotten.

Postby Iaiken Toransier » Tue Mar 04, 2003 5:55 pm

I’ve never kept a journal before; it feels almost like I am talking to myself. Though, if anything little book, you’ll never judge me and I have much explaining to do, so I’ll start.

I spent my youth on a small farm, overlooking the Sea of Swords. There I used to clamber about the jagged rocks on the shore and collect the sundry items cast up by the waves. How amazing it was, sitting amidst the spray under a blue sky, examining my treasures. I puzzled over their use, their owners, and how they came to me from a trackless ocean. One items use was plain however. One morning, I found a red long sword, with strange markings upon its blade, floating peacefully in a still pool.

Running to my father in the fields, I scraped my knees, mother always fretted about my running on those trails to the shore. It seemed that they were afraid enough to admonish touching it, as I reached for the corded hilt. My father couldn’t read the writings on it, but he knew that this blade was of value. Soon it would be Shieldmeet.

It was my first time in Waterdeep, the city of splendours, and my first Shieldmeet. The walls towered dizzyingly over us as we passed through the enormous gate, blue and gold banners caught in the high summer breeze. The air was thick with celebration, the streets lined by colourful troubadours, and vociferous merchants, as the sky rained confetti. People were everywhere, but not just humans, people of every race and colour.

Everything slowed to a crawl as a voice entered my ears, singing clear as the sky that day, as beautiful and rich as the earth. I sought after the source, clambering down from the wagon, following the song, every word in a language I didn’t understand. I didn’t need to; it was a song of love lost, a song of two people from different worlds, one of freedom and whimsy, the other of honour and duty. There she stood, an elven maiden, beautiful. Everyone else was seemingly oblivious to her; none of them heard the song so strangely familiar to me, shared between her and I.

When her song ended, she cast me a slight nod, she knew what I did not, and the story was yet come to pass. I tried to follow this model of perfection as she stepped off into the multitude of people, looking back to where I had come from, my parents were gone, so was she. I was lost.

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