Xanderian

Just as the whispers of the nightwatch sentries in Haldrith could be heard around the darkened ruins in the heart of Thinglad, a notable clattering broke the quiet as Xandilif rode in, dropping off her horse before the beast had come to a stop and looked around for her companions. She noted them near a fire, wearily tending to their gear and animals. 

Eyes of midnight

Brow of dawn

Heart of ruby

Hand of bone

All facets born of need, all facets set by art.

Power, peace, helplessness, war...all faces catch the light, all faces bear the darkness.

Solitude, love, tragedy, loneliness....all moments know the past, all moments see the future.

Embraced by passion, Consumed by death.

We stand alone...together.

Like smoke she marks the passage, from fire into flame.

Like smoke she charts the damage, as madness waxes sane.

Like smoke she asks the questions, from darkness into light.

Like smoke she draws attention, as daybreak turns to night.

Cloaked in mystery, bathed in rage, tempered by terror, tested by pain.

I trust her yet she trusts not herself.

I know her yet she knows not herself.

We stand back and back....

and through her smoke, we are fire.

Torn, trapped, conflicted. 

When will she find war?

For every command, a question.

For every alarm, a pause.

For every advance, a failure.

For every effect, a cause.

Standing shoulder to shoulder, she forms the line again.

Wishing there was another, to lead the hopes of men.

Where shall she know peace?

When I awoke in the Rusty Barge, tucked away in a corner no one could see. My head rang like the hammers of Dain’s smithy under the mountain. My eyes were gummed together and my mouth tasted of sawdust and grog. As strange taverns go this one wasn’t so bad, well, not as bad as some others I have woken in. Although the body by the front door and the blood on the bar left something to be desired but the tavern itself was homelike and warm, then I remembered.