(Sleep. Deepest sleep.)
“My son. While I breathe, you are never alone. You wield the fury of Her ancient relic…last held by my much younger hands. Be strong. Lead and they shall follow. This is your destiny.”
[You walk amongst the Birch grove and hear their song.
Whispers wrapped in the white bark of Her Lady’s pillars.
The primeval keep as told in the oldest bard song.
Goddess. Mother of Light. Sister of He that binds together this Wyrld.
You walk amongst the Iron Bark grove and feel their strength.
Armor of the Guardians wrapped around limbs of vengeance and truth.
The ancient raiments, Her power endowed.
Warrioress. Author of Peace. Essence of Life bestowed.
You walk amongst the Briardon grove and feel its thorny mail.
Entangled, ever bound the mysteries of Her trove.
The meek shall pass while the wicked be lost in a nest of pain,
To dwell upon the Lost One’s poisoned lies.
Breath of Life. Breath of Mortality. Breath of Eternal Peace. By the loving grace of Our Most Blessed Mother. Olegnos Grasc. Morsad, Surin Sthah.]
(Tyvian awakens. The one moment to rest his eyes before meeting the others to dine with the Dwarven captain. One moment, yet so many feelings. So many images of truths fighting to be heard. He finds himself whispering in the peaceful quiet of his room. One word.)