11-24-2010, 07:04 PM
Eyes aglow from the marsh, dust of memory to be held and a drop of blood...
On the edge of the massive mushroom into which Telredor was built was where she sat, alone save for a small hookah emitting a gentle smoke from a long, thin pipe that she held between her lips. Her legs hung over the side as she looked out over the whole of Zangarmarsh and she would peek upward every so often to the platform where years ago Nobundo himself had stood, flanked by The Prophet, and spoke of Shamanism for the first time to her people. She had been hidden among the masses that day, listening in awe at his words, and she would think of the emotion that had swept over her then.
...a drop of blood.
The last piece of the riddle whispered to her from the tormented soul that followed her and her companions. She knew as well as any Shaman that the spirits spoke in such a cryptic tongue for their own reasons, and these reasons would be revealed before the end. Still, this didn't put her any closer to solving it, and she sighed heavily. Several more long drafts of the mind-altering smoke from her hookah, and her eyelids would feel heavy, sliding halfway down her eyes.
Blood... a relative to this spirit... or a word to show affection.
Smoke seeped from the corners of her mouth, partially concealing her face from view, and her body became still save for her gentle breathing. There was no sound besides the rainfall against the giant mushroom, a calming song to Nexariel's ears.
...a drop of blood. ...a drop. ...a fall.
She lowered the pipe and slowly exhaled the last of the smoke in her lungs.
On the edge of the massive mushroom into which Telredor was built was where she sat, alone save for a small hookah emitting a gentle smoke from a long, thin pipe that she held between her lips. Her legs hung over the side as she looked out over the whole of Zangarmarsh and she would peek upward every so often to the platform where years ago Nobundo himself had stood, flanked by The Prophet, and spoke of Shamanism for the first time to her people. She had been hidden among the masses that day, listening in awe at his words, and she would think of the emotion that had swept over her then.
...a drop of blood.
The last piece of the riddle whispered to her from the tormented soul that followed her and her companions. She knew as well as any Shaman that the spirits spoke in such a cryptic tongue for their own reasons, and these reasons would be revealed before the end. Still, this didn't put her any closer to solving it, and she sighed heavily. Several more long drafts of the mind-altering smoke from her hookah, and her eyelids would feel heavy, sliding halfway down her eyes.
Blood... a relative to this spirit... or a word to show affection.
Smoke seeped from the corners of her mouth, partially concealing her face from view, and her body became still save for her gentle breathing. There was no sound besides the rainfall against the giant mushroom, a calming song to Nexariel's ears.
...a drop of blood. ...a drop. ...a fall.
She lowered the pipe and slowly exhaled the last of the smoke in her lungs.