Clueless Delver

Given this dilemma, Hajer could only occasionally glance occasionally at the bound boy as he struggled unceasingly against his bonds. Hajer had considered making himself scarce and leaving the boy to his devices - but journey through the night was highly dangerous. While like most the beings of the Spoke (save the profane Resplendents), Hajer commanded greater mastery of mind, body and grain during the night, that was similarly so to every other being. Thus all fighters saw it the most expedient and prudent to fight during day when the outcome of combat was more determined by one's experience and skill, which significantly conserved strength as opposed to the more brutal exchanges of sheer might that dominated the nature of combat through the night. Though Hajer was confident he could make a force a fast march toward the Twin Sprigs, he was in unfamiliar territory, and he deemed it a risk he was unwilling to take. And so with his eye on the fidgeting boy once again, he let part of ...

A musical composition of unknown origin, rumored to have been left behind by a deity who materialized upon the land, long before man set foot upon it. Written for the lyre, the etude demands significant technical accuracy and at a high tempo, with the sheer speed of some sections producing harmony with only a single melodic line. The mark of an transcended master of music is to be able to play the etude without error at its original tempo, and only 2 are said to have mastered it - the first being the immortal Hero of the Bronze Ash-Bezil, of the Covenant of Heroes, and the second was the prodigious Sum-Ahal who dedicated his short 19 years of life to spreading the joy of song to all of Ulrunir.

 Hajer sat by the fire gloomily as he looked across the night sky. A small campfire of warm red embers danced about, slightly lighting half of his face. Toward the horizon laid the Twin Sprigs - one of the most properous regions in the area. Hajer made a decision to head there as it seemed to him to be the most likely place to be the intersection of all of the three likely pathways he could take to complete the task that was given to him. "Surely you must have heard of the great immortal Librareiter Prahfar! Ahh... Mayhaps you are not of this Qeleres?" the gruff bladesman spoke as he grinded his human-sized cleaver with his jade-colored whetstone. "If there's anyone to know of the Great Pollen, other than the Grand Magistress herself, it must be Prahfar! I believe from hearsay he's headed to the Twin Sprigs on his Flying Swamp." "To be honest, I'd like to go see it for meself, but my wife would probably be furious," the man chuckled as he slipp...

A festive observance in Ninur-Sin and bordering regions of Lal-Mit. The festival typically from 2 days up to a week, and involves much musical merrymaking, in particular of the clay pipe. The practice is said to have been started by the wandering piper Ninbul-Ak who walked from Ninur-Sin to Lal-Mit constantly playing on his clay pipe, only stopping to sleep or eat.  The song of Ninbul-Ak was said to be so beautiful that many creatures from the wild and peasantry came to hear his song, bringing him food and refreshment, and soon joined him in a musical procession as they crossed to Lal-Mit. It is believed that making song in Ninbul-Ak's name brings great bounty, and more merry would thereafter bring yet more abundance.

 "My duty is done..." Sophma spoke as he finished his telling and prompty raised from his seat, quickly turning about to leave. "I shall pray for your good fortune, Elder Shurmo..." Shurmo did not even bother to reply as she caressed Yeiluma's short hair as he slumbered softly on her lap. With a bitter, smile Sophma swiftly returned to the floodplain outside, covered in mistrain. Shurmo took slow, deep breaths as gazed wordlessly outside - which bore only sounds of soft rain at the stepping sounds of Sophma's parting. Though her countenance appeared calm, a great fury burned within her breast which was only contained by the cold facade that was her flesh, hardened by many cycles of firing during her prime. There were no shortage of moments during Sophma's telling where she wanted to burst into a choleric tirade. Yet her honour did not allow her so - for she could only accept that it was her weak will to not sacrifice her grandson in exchange for the dign...

The branch of a lucratively grown incense tree, typically used for smoking due to its stimulating effects when fumes it releases are inhaled. Typically fashioned into short, finger-sized cylinders which are bored through at the cross section. The smoker burns at the end of the branch which is painted with red ash, easily ignited by flint. The image of a Ninur-Sinian soldier or raft rower is typically associated with one with a Fulgurine poking out from the corner of their mouth.

Sophma's brows furrowed slightly as though she had heard her silent insult, but bore a resigned smile on his face as he put Yeiluma down on the ground and sat cross legged on the rug covered floor before Shurmo. "I know there is nothing I can say to appease, but still however treacherous I may be, I wish to carry out my obligations as disciple..." Sophma bowed apologetically again. "You don't have to repeat yourself. I understand. Speak - and leave," Shurmo waved curtly at Sophma who could only smile bitterly as he bent up from his seated bow and began to speak. From Sophma's tidings, Shurmo's mood only soured. It seemed that the Council of Ancients whom she had rest all her hopes at would amount to nothing more than a token resistance. For one had already set off towards the Far Reaches - after being convinced by the Priestess, leading many more along his trail. Further, there have been hearings of the Acolytes of the Priestess harrying leisurely mo...