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Gervasen


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Author Topic: Gervasen  (Read 80 times)
Sloane
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The vision must not die.


« on: August 14, 2008, 04:30:11 pm »
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The old Gods were content and the people prospered. The children played beneath the golden disc and their limbs grew strong and brown.
We sang the old songs to the Goddess the ever changing, to grant us dreams of joy. We lived out our days in a land rich wtih every comfort, thinking it would always be that way.

The voices of the departed speak: "Tell our story," they say.
"For it is worthy to be remembered."

And so I take my pen and begin to write. Perhaps writing will ease these long months of confinement. Perhaps my words will earn a measure of the peace that has been denied throughout my life.
In any case I have little else to do, I am captive, made prisoner here. So, I will write for myself, for those who come after, and for those voices that cry out not to be forgotten.
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Mine is a different path and I must follow where it leads.

Sloane
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The vision must not die.


« Reply #1 on: August 16, 2008, 05:24:55 pm »
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Alimar was a busy city, not over large, not as big a Tur Geon, the city of the temples, but blessed with a deep bay so that traders from other kingdoms called frequently to provision themselves for the long jouney south across the great waters.
This day the market stalls rang with the chatter of trade.
 
On this morn, the eve of Beltane, dark clouds had obscured the sky and icy blasts struck the lands, bringing sleet and snow from over the sea.
Men muttered to themselves and made the sign against evil as they threw extra furs over their horses, mounted and rode up river.
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Mine is a different path and I must follow where it leads.


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