Winter Collection (everyone welcome)

[Tehya]

Winter Collection

Note: You don't have to be a Bard, Artisan or Entertainer to enter the Winter Collection

I thought it might be nice with winter around the corner for some of us to write poems, songs, stories and submit pictures. No the subject material doesn't have to be about winter but it might be nice to mix it into your submission, that's up to you.

I will be watching your work and if you catch me in rp I will reward you for your efforts. I think it might stimulate some RP instead of just write and be handed some mhl. Another words this won't be a situation of hey Tehya I wrote Winter Forest give me some money, we will play out a story-line a bit more than that.

Who knows what you will receive?

I will try and work it into the story-line, and a likely place to find Tehya or those helping her during this is the Artists`Ambit in Town.

If any bards, artisans, or entertainers wants to join me in this Creative RP endeavor and hand a few things out during your rp story-lines contact me and I will give you a few mystery gifts to hand out.

Suggestion for RP... the characters could go to the Artists`Ambit in Town with the helper listed here or me, hand us your work...and from there additional rp is encouraged.

This will go on until the end of January and you can submit multiple times. If anyone signs up to help me I will list them here so characters can pm you to rp with them. Using the Artists`Ambit will be a plus for my helpers.

Where and what is Artists`Ambit? Read here viewtopic.php?f=82&t=14032
Tehya

[Swan Maiden Selenity]

Luthiel Silivrenniel will be aiding the Lady Tehya with this storyline. If I'm not on her my other characters are Selenity, Layla, & Kimimela send me a message on them if you need Luthiel or would like my lovely Drak Sen Bard. ^_^

[Tehya]

Thought I'd add a note to clear the confusion you don't have to be a bard, artisan or entertainer to enter your stories, art, and poems here. This is open for everyone to enter.

If anyone else wants to volunteer helping me with this contact me.

Thanks,
Tehya

[Darkthorn Starseeker]

More in my art gallery page.

[Flash]

(Yes, this is something I made up. On the spot.)
A Satyr's Love Story
By Flash Talespin

I saw her in a window, of the nearby tailor's stor
She was so fine to my eyes, in a cloak and nothing more.
When she spied me watching, her grin spoke a dare.
But, I knew from past chances, I'd not take her there.

I waited for some time, and almost had given up.
When lowe do I see, that shapely firm rump.
She'd taken out the back door, my pretty little sin.
And like the satyr I be, I waited `fore the chase to begin.

Fleet of foot and short of breath,
we've run far but I've not caught her yet.
By the end of this jaunt, I shall have my prize
The succulent nectar twixt my love's thighs.

Gasping for breath and shouting her name,
she stopped for nothing, denying my claim.
Went through the meadow and the field of wheat,
I chased her so far, my succulent sweet.


Finally in reach, I grabbed for my to be,
she shrieked in excitement for her and for me.
When her legs split, it was no small thing.
For the heavens opened and bells did ring.

Fleet of foot and short of breath,
we've run far but I've not caught her yet.
By the end of this jaunt, I shall have my prize
The succulent nectar twixt my love's thighs.

Of course, you know, there's more to this tail.
And and we made love, she yelled her wail.
Nearby a woodsman heard her shouts.
And damn if I didn't have to pull out.

With my juices still dripping from her hole,
I promised to return with the kiss I stole.
The woodsman came just a minute too late.
And off I sped, denying my fate.

Fleet of foot and short of breath,
we've run far but I've not been caught yet.
By the end of this jaunt, I shall have my prize
The succulent nectar twixt my love's thighs.

[Tehya]

People were coming to the Artists`Ambit, and to Tehya's surprise another entered the building with the sweetest of voices after Flash sang his song and left, it was Miyuka with the most beautiful violin case she ever seen, and they played a song stirring others in town to the Ambit until a large crowd gathered.

She could only hope they could do a repeat performance for Ehlanna, so she could see the building come alive for the cause they had spoke of. Tehya's and Miyuka's music flourished having the opportunity to hear Miyuka sing and play, and that is exactly what Artists`Ambit was for.

Miyuka left with a swarm of people surrounding her carriage, there was a new face in music reborn, Miyuka''s melodies created a stir.

Skills melded, new art forms thrived, and artists of all forms would gather...

It was a wish come true!

(Miyuka) has been entered into the Winter Collection where everyone who enters is a winner)

[CallieO]

Allisa and I just completed this RP together.

Callie Volopa and Allisa Get Married
December 12, 2011

Though it's December, it's an unseasonably warm afternoon in Verlosi'ka, at the Volopas' Joining Place, the piece of land set aside since ages past for members of Callie's clan to get married. The birds are chirping their delight, and the audience gathered behind Callie Volopa and Allisa begins to settle into their seats and hush up as Maylana Salveni raises both hands above her head in a "V" shape.

The 798-year-old, brown-furred, eight-tailed female vulpine is both the oldest and most-tailed vulpine whom Allisa's ever met. Indeed, there are few vulpines in the world who've attained more than three-- and Callie, with her five, is rare enough that she already qualifies as a "High Blessed of The Lady", even at her modest age of 30 years old.

Maylana, at the moment, is the very model of a stern, authoritarian, elder with no sense of humor-- even though Callie knows that outside her job as the Verlosi Tribe's may'havin (shaman), she's just as fun-loving and hedonistic as the vulpine norm. But this is her role right now, and she plays it well.

"Who is this impudent person," Maylana demands in harsh Vulpani, "this outsider who dares plead to join our proud Verlosi Tribe-- and more than that, to marry into such an esteemed family? What gives her the right to wed Callista Kayami Volopa, so beloved of The Lady that she's already recognized as Musha Villa?" Maylana is standing on a small stage that's added eight inches to her already formidable height. "Who do you think you are?"

As Maylana speaks, Callie closes her eyes and bows her head in thoughtful contemplation. She'd already explained this part of the ritual to Allisa-- it's the Challenge Ritual to be formally welcomed into the Verlosi Tribe. She's explained to Allisa that these questions have been passed down from generation to generation, and are not meant to be literally taken personally. But Allisa *would* have to prove her worthiness with her words, and Maylana *would* be within her rights to deny Allisa's right to marry Callie if she misspoke.

Allisa stands proudly in the simple white triestan robe, her long brown hair unbound and flowing over her shoulders to her waist. She wears nothing else, even her jewelry removed for this moment. With her chin raised and her brown eyes bright, she delivers her response in fluent Vulpani, each word carefully crafted to carry the image she wants. "I am Allisa, daughter of Rolf and Lydia, simple farmers of the Ilifrian Empire. I am a dancer, a traveller, a singer of songs and a teller of tales. I am a crafter of words and a preserver of lost songs." She lowers her head slightly, showing her submission to Maylana's authority, and adds. "Here I am a humble petitioner, servant of The Lady, and fuch'vulpine. Above all, I am ya`towa and delifi to Callista, who holds my heart in her hands. I come because without her, I am no more."

Callie is almost motionless beside Allisa; if not for the very slight swaying of her tails so they don't grow stiff, and the light ssurrus of her breathing, one might think she'd been frozen in place. Callie, a native-born member of the Verlosi Tribe, is wearing a robe nearly identical to that of Allisa, except hers is in gold, reflecting that status. When Allisa was granted entry into the Verlosi Tribe, there was a gold robe waiting for her as well.

But Maylana wasn't done with Allisa yet. Now that the words of ages past have been spoken, Maylana was free to pick apart Allisa's words. She was going to do her duty and make sure that Allisa damn well *earned* her right to become a member of the Verlosi Tribe. The tribe would be done no favors if a thoughtless, witless, weak person were to join. But it would be significantly enhanced if a true fuch'vulpine, made of fire and steel, added her strength to their own.

"What do you mean when you say, 'you are no more'? How has this woman standing beside you changed your life? And do you mean to say that you possess no strength of your own; that you must lean upon Callista in all things? Tell me truly."

Allisa lifts her eyes at that, a flash of her true strength shared between her and the older Vulpine, strength she'd earned through pain, blood and persistence. "I have strength, in part, because Callista taught me to be strong. For years she has been as powerful river, moving, changing, yet always irresistably strong in her course. Like a swimmer, I've had to find new depths of strength to keep moving without being overwhelmed. She has been my shelter in the storm, my sword in battle and my comfort in rest. She completes my soul, and my fire balances her ice. Without knowing she was waiting for my return, I would not have traveled much of the world as I have, nor found my lost sister after years of questing for her, nor returned from the darkness when I was lost. I say I am no more without her because nothing can live without its heart, and mine I have willingly given to her care."

Callie silently says a prayer to The Lady during the unnumbered seconds after Allisa's fantastic response, thanking Her for bringing Allisa into her life, and requesting that Allisa's petition be accepted. If *those* eloquent words weren't sufficient... goddess, what *would* be?

After carefully considering Allisa's words for a good minute or so-- which seemed, to Callie, to be more like ten minutes-- Maylana finally speaks again. "Truly, you have spoken wisely. Allisa, daughter of Rolf and Lydia... the Verlosi Tribe will welcome you into its ranks, after we cleanse you of the impurities of the world, and bring you into our presence as a new person. Let it be so now." Maylana bows formally and takes several steps back, off the platform.

At the conclusion of Maylana's last sentence, two single-tailed male triestan acolytes-- wearing simple brown pentient's robes-- rise from their place at the front of the audience. And using their claws, created by the Sharpen Claw spell, they tear Allisa's white triestan robe from behind, shredding it and leaving the human naked beside her bride, and in front of the shaman and invited guests.

One of the men takes Allisa by the hand and begins to lead her across smooth stepping stones, towards a nearby mud pit, where two nude female triestan acolytes are waiting to receive them.

Allisa stands outwardly-calmly as she waits for the response, though her heart seems to be trying to start a drum roll by the time the elder speaks again. She can't help her smile as she hears the words, bowing her head lower in acceptance of her pronouncement. A shiver of memory catches her breath as her robe is ripped away. Callie had warned her, of course, but she still fights down the urge to unleash her magic at the young men. All of her jewelry is removed, it soon becomes clear, the gold and gems that usualy adorn her naval and her sex missing for the moment, only the metalic inks of the tattoo above her mound remain. She allows the man to lead her to the mud pit, her composure restored before he even touches her skin.

Callie doesn't watch as Allisa's robe is torn from her-- she's not *supposed* to watch-- but she can certainly hear the ripping of the fabric, and the catching of her breath. The vixen would never forget the fact that Allisa had spent a week in a dungeon run by savage wolven, being brutally beaten and raped, and she probably would have died if not for a dramatic escape. Or the time she'd been raped in a temple, and had sent out a Message spell to her afterwards, and Callie had arrived with her healer slave. The vixen is not unsympathetic to what Allisa must be feeling. But it's all part of the ceremony.

In contrast to the violence with which Allisa had been stripped-- though the claws had not so much as touched her body-- the male acolytes are very gentle with her as they lead her to the mud pit. When they arrive, they hand her off to one of the females, who greets her with a tender smile, kissing her first on the right cheek, then on the left. "Karsha, dan'towa," she says. ["Welcome, tribe-sister."] Leading her into the mud-pit, the one who spoke, and the other one, begin to slather mud onto Allisa's nude body.

Allisa seems to have her feelings fully in check as she's handed off to the women, smiling brightly at the kisses and the greeting. "I'm glad to be home," she replies, still speaking fully in Vulpani. She remembers a contest in the tower of Unigo, years ago, as she wades out into the mud, her strong legs moving hard through the thick liquid. She quietly prays that _someone_ hasn't spiked the mud with Arousal potions, as it had been back then, her smile taking an amused quirk to it. She holds her arms out, letting the acolytes reach every inch of her naked body.

When Allisa's body is fully covered with mud, she's lifted out of the pit by the second female-- the one who hadn't yet spoken-- and she takes one of Allisa's hands, while the male who hadn't stripped her takes the other. These four people each have very well-defined roles.

"As you walk down the path to Lake Kilinia," the man says while they walk, "consider things in your heart. Think back to the earliest days of your memory. The way things were before you came to Nanthalion. Think about your first meeting with Callista. About how you became friends, and how you became lovers. Think about the day you decided that you wanted to share your life with her. And think about what has taken place thus far today. Think only of the past, and the present."

Allisa nods in response to the man's words as she's lead down the path to the lake, the cool mud warming and drying on her skin with each step. She thinks back to her childhood, playing with her older sister before she was ripped away from her life. Years of training and dancing, friends and boys, parents and rules cycle through her mind. Each step seems to carry her forward through the years, arriving at the Inn the first time, where she met Callie the very first night. Friendship, fun, fights and romps roll through her thoughts, the leaving of Callie's former lover shining harsh in her thoughts. She keeps her mind rooted firmly in the past, as instructed, finding Callie's face bright in her memory more often than not.

The woman guiding Allisa enters Lake Kilinia first; the lake is chilly even on this unseasonably warm December afternoon, but not so chilly that it's intolerable for a minute or two. The man lets go of Allisa's hand and takes hold of her rump, giving it a light slap to compel the human to enter the water. And then the male strips out of his penitent's robe and enters the water with them.

As the vulpines wash the mud from Allisa's body, both of them speak. Their words are in unison, but the man speaks in a strong baritone, while the woman's voice is a lilting alto.

"We cleanse you of the impurities of the world, and join your vulpine soul with your human body."

Allisa would know that they're speaking metaphorically: This act would not *actually* bring an immortal vulpine soul into her body and enable her to live the near nine-hundred years that Callie would be able to. But it's the spirit of things that matters.

Allisa jumps a little at the slap, giving a startled yelp as she was already stepping into the chilly waters. Still, the jolt serves to shake her out of her memories and focus her thoughts on the present. That, and the feel of the cold water being washed over her skin, raising goosebumps and making her bare nipples hard as stone. She draws a deep breath, closing her eyes as she's bathed. She pictures the past flowing away from her, still there in the background but no longer holding her her as tight as it once did. "I stand clean and naked, ready to be born," she replies in her own flowing mezzo soprano voice when most of the mud is cleaned away.

Over the next three minutes, the vulpines wash Allisa every bit as thoroughly as she'd been dirtied. The male even takes a deep breath and goes under the water to wash off Allisa's knees, legs and feet. The vulpines had dipped their hands into the water holding bars of soap, and are washing Allisa with their bare hands-- no washcloths or anything. Finally, the woman turns Allisa around, and leads her out of the lake.

The male follows them, and hands Allisa a towel to dry herself off with. When she's done, she begins to lead her back up the stepping stones; as they move back towards the wedding party, the woman speaks now.

"As you walk back up the path to the Joining Place," she says, "consider things in your heart. Think about what it'll feel like when you're officially recognized as part of the tribe, and then when you join your heart to Callista's. Think about the joyful reception that will follow. Think about the family you'll start, and the life you'll lead with her. Think only of the future."

Allisa dries herself gratefully after the cold waters, still feeling the chill in her muscles as the sun warms her once again. The instructions bring a bright smile to her clean lips. Indeed, she'd thought of very little else since they had finally set the date for their joining. The cold water forgotten, she walks with a lightness and spring in her step that comes from not only her dancing training but the joy growing in her heart. She seems completely comfortable as she walks, nude, between the acolytes. As they approach the Joining Place she can't help but giggle softly, her excitement at seeing her lover once more needing an outlet to keep her from breaking out of the ritual pace and running to Callie's arms.

As Allisa moves back up the path, Callie has been given leave (according to the ceremony) to turn towards her and watch, and thus she's doing so, the vixen's own smile very much on par with Allisa's mirth. Despite the solemn manner Callie has had during the ceremony-- another behavioral requirement for the joining-- this is the greatest day of the fox's life, and every little bit of body language tells Allisa so.

When Allisa has returned to the same spot she was in when being addressed by the shaman, the woman puts out a hand in front of Allisa to stop her. And the man who stripped her rises from the audience again, this time carrying a golden robe identical to Callie's, except in a different size and without the tail-hole.

"Please forgive my earlier behavior," the man says-- another ceremonial thing to say-- "and accept this golden robe, dan'towa." He drapes it over her shoulders and ties it around her waist, and then kisses her on the cheek, as the woman had earlier. Callie's smile broadens as she sees the golden robe upon her lover's body.

Maylana Salveni is again upon the stage, and as she speaks, Callie turns to face her, as Allisa was expected to do.

"Thus are you hereby inducted into the Verlosi Tribe, Allisa. Now, I implore each of you to look deeply into your hearts. Marriage is an important commitment, requiring sacrifice and the most serious mind. It is not to be entered into lightly. Close your eyes, and consider what you are doing. Callista... if after your meditation, you still wish to wed Allisa, say, 'I do.'"

Callie closes her eyes, and considers the matter thoughtfully. She and Allisa had been engaged for the better part of half a decade. Had it really been that long? Allisa had not been the first person she'd ever loved, but she'd been the first to show her what love could *really* be like.

Her relationship with Andrew Salimo, starting when she'd been thirteen, had just been childish infatuation. Giving her virginity to Hikasha Romaine at age 18 had been a partnership made merely for the sex education classes. They'd been friends afterward, and had remained friends, but there'd never been love there. And Hikasha had since discovered his true sexual orientation, anyway, and was very happy with his boyfriend of the last four years.

Callie's relationship with Katie Valina had been a little different. Allisa had told the shaman that Allisa and Callie were like fire and ice, but no-- Katie and Callie fit better into that mold. Distinct polar opposites in nearly every respect, save their mutual lust for each other. Their relationship had always been rocky, and eventually had turned bitter.

Allisa had been Callie's best friend at the time she and Katie had broken up. And in retrospect, it had started out as a rebound relationship. The fox had been in no way ready to become someone's girlfriend in the immediate aftermath of that heartbreaking split. But eventually, she and Allisa had found their equilibrium, and though they didn't always agree-- they'd had some damn good fights, in fact-- it was clear that they were absolutely right for each other. She'd be happy to be Allisa's wife for the rest of their lives. It was more likely that she'd merely be Allisa's wife for the rest of *Allisa's* life, and then Callie would live another eight hundred years without her, but she'd long ago accepted that as the consequence of falling in love with her.

Callie's retrospective look at her own heart, and her past relationships, had taken only a few seconds between the shaman's instruction, and the time the words "I do" pass through her lips and reach the ears of Allisa, the shaman and the spectators. Those words could never be taken back. And she'd never want them to be.

Allisa bows her head more to hide the welling tears than to acknowledge the robe as it's presented. "You served The Lady; there is nothing to forgive," she replies formally, favoring him with a smile. She turns her attention to the joining with giddy excitement, barely keeping herself in check to complete the ceremony. At Maylana's instruction she spares a quick glance to Callie, then closes her eyes. Despite her excitement, she does reflect on her decisions up until now, searching out the true root of her desire and love for the vixen beside her. She'd always appreciated Callie's kindness and friendship, but even near the beginning she'd felt something more stirring. Always, no matter the trouble, she always found herself back in Callie's arms and the world was right again, the troubles were just problems to deal with, and together they always could. Hearing Callie's "I do," the dancer smiles broadly, waiting for her own instructions.

"Allisa," Maylana says, "apart from dishonoring The Lady, or committing an act of treason against our noble tribe, you are now and forever a member of the Verlosi Tribe. Declining to marry Callista at this time would not change that. If, however, after your own meditations about whether you truly want this, you find that you concur with your delifi, and wish to enter the sacred bond with her that will forever link your spirits, say, 'I do.'"

Callie, meanwhile, remains standing alongside her lover, confident in her bearing. She's certain enough in the power of their love that the idea of Allisa backing out now doesn't even cross the fox's mind. But nevertheless, her mind is capturing every detail of the moment, so that she can replay it back for the rest of her life.

Allisa has only the briefest moment where the mischevious part of her brain considers any other answer, but it's drowned out by far with the rest of her being. Still, she pauses long enough to truly and plainly ask herself, "Do I want this?" in her mind. Her smile grows with the simple answer ringing back from her heart. She opens her eyes, calm and certain, and says in a soft, clear voice that carries to the back of the crowd, "I do."

Maylana, who has been stern the entire ceremony, finally allows a smile to brighten her face. And it's quite clear that it's a face well-accustomed to smiling. Her entire manner changes. "Then I declare before The Lady and all the gathered witnesses that these women are married. What The Lady has brought together, let no one tear asunder. Now seal your vows with a kiss."

Callie can't help but give a little whoop of excitement as she wraps her arms and tails around Allisa, and gives her a sweet, loving kiss on her lips.

Allisa matches that whoop with a laugh, turning full into the embrace and kissing her wife deeply. She lingers in the kiss, letting all of her love flow though that simple and profound connection.

"And now," Maylana says as Callie and Allisa turn to face their audience, "I present to our honored guests, the Verlosi Tribe's newest married couple. Callie and Allisa Volopa."

[mozenwrathe]

**written in the Artists 'Ambit quietly while there were few people there. there were people practicing their various arts and such, but the lone figure who walked in looked nothing like those there. given the scowl on his face and the setting of his shoulders, most would have figured him a blacksmith, or a soldier, or just a murderous fiend having a day off. well, in some ways they would have all been correct. and yet there the man was, writing as if he had been born to such.**

~Never A Bard Have I Been~

upon this parchment fresh and clear
do I write with hand without wavering finger
my eyes are not stained with smoke or seed
yet doubts upon my intentions linger

with all those around me who sing and prance
making themselves like musical antelope
do I remain here seated and scowling
seeking out a few lengths of heavy rope

would I tie them down to stones or graves
in order to silence their furtive movement
if only to gain a moment of peace and quiet
while I attempt to plot out use of liquid pigment

now am I reminded of slaves numbered in three
though none of them are my personal possession
have I learned from them a great many things
including how to properly manipulate obsession

shall I give no names or hints of whom
have I tasted the blood and blades in past hours
though will all know in due time and place
when carefully planted vengeance flowers

shall this cold winter's day renew my faith
in what the gods will forever place in my path
for their amusement or annoyance do I find
myself the subject of uninspiring wrath

may spring come ever quick or slow
for the days themselves will pass as they wish
and my festive nights with roasted boar
shall change to afternoons of lemon grilled fish

never a bard have I claimed to be
for rhyming and rhythm are not my thing
instead I'll keep to what I know the best
so once more my battle axe I'll swing.


**as the man was writing the second piece, was he joined by a familiar face. he actually smiled at the young woman that joined him. apparently he wasn't as unsociable as he first appeared. well, just not quite that unsociable. okay, it wasn't quite a smile but he was far nicer to her than anyone else in there.**

~Shall The Snows Not Stop My Stride~

worry not for me as I step outside
into the frosted lands I now call home
for I refuse to fear the cold winds that bite
against my skin when I desire to roam

eyes of crystal watch my every move
the moment I leave this shelter of thatch and stone
for the winter itself would I consider alive
and it's hunger unending for my flesh and bone

terrible gusts filled with white and fury
blind my eyes and make me wince in vicious pain
yet if this were no more than three months from now
would I be drowning standing within a tempest's rain

could I stand fast with arms outstretched
feeling all of the glory of the season's blessing
would I be coated from head to foot ever swiftly
and be subject to the unfriendly frost's caressing

eyes shut against the clouds above laden with cruelest snow
such that turns to a watery clay that clings to all
weighing down my hair and limbs like spheres of gold
waiting for gales to knock me over and make me fall

dune of purest powdered snow will rise before the dawn
barrier of glittering dust that has no taste of soot and soil
could I bear upon with torches to melt it away like a fool
or clear it from my frozen path with shovel and toil

boreal blanket wraps around my form with lustful strength
and within such grasp must I endure this chilling ivory haze
for will I press forward and not be trapped
within a treetop reaching and ice-coated maze

have I no gift for lyrics and song for am I no more than brute
a mountain of blood and bruises and bronze-brown skin
have I no place to talk of winter so intimately
as if it was a lover with whom I'd chosen to sin

though the weather outside cares little for talent
of the tongue or the throat or the foreigner's finger
all it cares is to envelop us all
within an icy grip in which its touch will linger


**the man would be there with the smaller damsel for a while. there, of course, being the Artists 'Ambit. the pair would discuss at length the purpose of the building and the place that the arts had held in his life. the Hidden had never been into the more graphic arts such as painting, but there had been a time in his life when he had worked on more literary things. the time in the Artists 'Ambit had reminded Prydain of his less bloodthirsty past and had made him dig deep within to see if he still had any of that talent remaining.**

~A Pirhouette In Winter's Repose~

outside the window of my shop
where I work with heat and smoke
shall I stop to watch the goings on outside
and one vulpine dancing in the snow
her fur softer than a feather pillow
ivory like an ocean unicorn's tusk
leaping through the air to land with grace
winter's applause swirling around her
yet do I remain silent while I enjoy this
an audience of one for her performance

whirling around like a descending feather
no less fantastic than a fevered dream
does she move as if swimming
flowing from one place to the next
barely able am I to see her lunge
across from one cut pole to the next
using each as a platform to display herself
not to create jealousy in those beneath her
but inspire and even make others marvel

there is barely much space between us
mere yards that separate her and I
and yet would that be an eternity to cross
for am I no more than humble servant of steel
while is she beauty and beguiling grace
a song given body and bravery besides
to create music for the eyes to see
blood races through me as my heart stops
only to see her scamper off through the snow
vanishing into the far distance within moments

am I alone once more in the store
feeling an urge most unbearable
to open the door and call for her to return
but is she no more to me than a memory
and will I remember her with fondness
a wonder and joy to have traipsed past my life
to hold within this cankered soul
giving me reason to believe once more
in the breath of life known as hope
when the world is covered in diamonds
that disappear when the spring kisses the sky

[Tehya]

Awesome pieces well done all of you, and I will be adding Meadow{wSw} for a prize as well being in the Artists`Ambit with Prydain to inspire and be involved in Winters Collection.

Again well done

[mozenwrathe]

In the early hours of the morning, the dark elven farstrider Ichilandar Shimmerstrike happened upon a building he had never seen previously. Noting the interesting name and the fact there was steam seething from the door's bottom, he figured this would be an excellent place to look into. After all, it was warm. Stepping inside, did he see various members of the creative community trying to share ideas or practice their stretching and movements. Ichilandar did his best to not laugh loudly at them all, as all he could see at first were "slaves that haven't been collared yet." Shaking that off, he found himself looking at a box that apparently was for "anonymous submissions." So, as he was not quite ready to go to the bathing halls to do a shift, he thought to amuse himself by trying his own hand at writing something...

***

%_ And Were It Not For Cold's Crisp Kiss _%

Within this season's hold upon the land
that even now I cross, shall winter's gaze
fall not on me unkindly for I will
give her due praise. All seasons that I've felt
upon my shoulders dark and broad bear there
own mark that brands my soul. And yet within
winter's embrace have I no fear of death.
Shall lingering chills created by these
winds of change not delve into my soul. For
am I made of sterner things so mere frost
will ne'er take hold. Upon my darkened brow
will snow settle and fall. My forearm shall
rise up to knock the crystals from my sight.
Do I not wish to have icicles form
along my hairline to hang down. All they
would do is batter themselves against my
my face like palms striking the drums. Even
as I stretch to force myself out of morn's
repose, do hear I whispers of this day's
potential bounty. So into desert
made of frozen water will I venture.

Within the depths of Gaea's embrace are
there no seasons to discern passage of time.
One knows that days come and go as they will
yet years may be lost in bad memories.
Above the ground are things so much different.
Names for moments are prized and plentiful.
This thing called snow will many moriel
see never in lengthy lifetimes of theirs.
And will they be content to remain blind
to all the wonders of life above ground.
Shall eventually I return to
what once I called my home and my haven,
but only to wish my fam'ly grand fortunes.
The frost itself will guide me to my love.
And though this kingdom of ice will melt one day,
shall I remember beauty it displayed.

Upon my lips and tongue do I feel now
the need to sing. But is my throat not one
to carry notes of any sort. Therefore
it will fall to my fingers and my mind
to create the praise that winter demands
of us all in her languid vanity.
No longer will she remain patient as
other seasons gain glory and worship.
Jealous seed inside her alabaster
bosom growing ever slowly until
it bears her fruit of bitterness. Shall I
be the one who braves thorns of wicked frost
to harvest such bounty. And once are they
mine, will I give unto her reverence
she so anxiously has been waiting to
hear for so profoundly long. So with my
wicked tongue expressing love of her
embrace, shall she find herself contentment.

**

It would be a while before he picked up the quill again. He had spent some time just waiting around, watching people come and go within the building itself. It was not as if he was scoping out possible targets or clientele. He just liked this quiet observation of people every so often. It was good for when you needed to come up with tales on the spot. The more combinations of features and races you knew of, the easier it was to lie about people you had seen later on. He wondered if Lei had ever seen this place before. Possibly, but she much like himself wouldn't have cared about it. It would be just one place to use like any other. He actually wanted to have Lei happen by here, or perhaps Flidais. That would be amusing. The little healer that was his employer. What would she think of such a place? Maybe even Isla, the woman that had hired him at the Belladonna. She probably lived within the borders of Valencia, so that was even more unlikely. Ah well, thought the moriel, back to the parchments for him.

**

%_ Upon The Fallen Night Does Song Rest _%

Beneath the kingdoms old and new, does realm
of everlasting night reside. where those
who call themselves my people sleep and die
and create monstrous lives. Closing my eyes
do I recall times of youth's blush filling
me with spirit daring and brave. And now
much older am I with the wisdom to
enjoy what I have at my fingertips.
Though when I look outside upon the snow
which coats the trees and trails that I would walk
without a care, thoughts of travelling to
destinations far and fabulous call
again to my heart and soul. Yet will I
not answer the call of adventure that
lurks outside, because this life of mine now
weighs with knowledge that I am wanted here.

For those of my bloodline is snow akin
to foolish risks. Only those who choose to
seek out challenges of sorcery and
swordsmanship without the gain of status
tend to venture above the ground. The rest
reside in cities wide under the rock
and soil. So convinced of their own greatness
will they miss sights and smells never to be
found inside of dominions cavernous.
What rests above them are so many things
to experience and explore that one
moriel's lifetime could not possibly
be close to enough to even see part
of what makes winter great. And yet are there
places where dark meets light and shadows of
NetherGloom caress the night skies without
letting Belariath wake up from its
slumbering dream. Hidden away from eyes
that pry, the Ice Falls of Dur'Bergirahc
are found, in heart of cavern carved from once
raging volcano great. Even now, one
may feel beating of their heart echoing
if they stand where they crystals sing. And though
this is a sight most glorious to see,
is it not the same as what can be found
not far above. Beneath what farmers till
and toil upon, are there places so cold
as to make wolvens fear losing their lives.

Filled with history of betrayal and
bold actions, ruins of what used to be
scattered through num'rous places lost to time.
Here, blood of ancestors stain stones and turn
black sands all red. A desert lays beneath
what used to be a city grand. A chill
that lasts forever have I walked through in
my younger years. Without the ice or frost
to alert the mind, can one be bitten
just as harshly by the cold as if they
were trudging through waist high snows in some lost
mountain passage. This place where wizards once
warred, leaving remains of skeletons and
mystic relics charred and broken. The dead,
the damned, the lost, the mad. This is
as much winter as I knew in my youth,
before the world above the caves and spires
was opened to my eyes. There were no dreams
of frosted trees or ponds to walk over.

The lakes I've seen covered in ice thicker
than my arm's length, yet clear enough to see
the beasts of sea's shallow depths underneath.
Wiping away the snows themselves, could I
observe fish and creatures of oceans blue
and black which ne'er I've seen before in life.
Through forests once alive with green, now tread
I o'er fields of iv'ry powder fine and
cold. A whole world changed to sleep and breathe in
ways I'd never known before. How can I
speak of such wonders with words that capture
such moments with due grandeur? Castles of
ice formed upside-down that are as large as
any forest's first tree. Once in lifetime
moments, and yet for me my life will be
longer than a few generations of
those who live within these realms. Could I know
bitter envy for just a heartbeat or
three. Then realize I now all this world's
marvels are mine now to savour and see.

[mozenwrathe]

Early in the dark winter's evening, a strange figure would find himself back within the Artists 'Ambit. Prydain Mozenwrathe, servant of two goddesses and master of at least one skill, was sitting at a bench within the building. Sure, it was not that much farther to the Might Makes Right, but he had thought to spend some time again, trying to write. It would remind him he was more than a sword and a hammer.

***

~And She No Longer Cares~

what form of rain does fall now
upon the ground and does not fade
within this season's ivory embrace
the powder like crystals remain here
uninvited is this guest of cold
but can none truly make it go away
until She Herself desires it so
this awful season is here to stay

what form of breath upon my back
do I feel against my bared skin this day
as I open window to see the dawn
does fearful gust wrap around my throat
caressing lewdly down my back
finishing around my shivering thighs
like fingers of the dead grasping at me
can I do naught more than breathe out sighs

what form of light upon my brow
cascades from the skies above the clouds
which gives no warmth or zest of life
only something to be pierced by like needles
thrusting themselves through my sight
rendering me blind upon first view of day
from the outside's crowning glory of frost
until my eyes can plead for mercy
do I consider my vision lost

is this the winter so many desire
clamouring all year for snow to descend
now ice is lord over all I can see
and unwary travellers will wear frost's brand
can I even within my heated room
see tendrils of mist seep under my door
do I wish I could go back to bed and hide
until this season was clearly no more

***

After finishing that particular work, he found himself rightfully depressed. Deploring the sensation, Prydain went to the Artist 'Ambit's submission box and dumped in the scroll. Not wanting to see it again, he went back to his seat to see whether or not there was something else in him to script out. Maybe by writing, he could cure himself of the desire to return to something akin to a scholar. After all, he had finally gotten the writ from Alta Nova to go and study at Unigo about mithril. Then again, it -was- Unigo...

No, he would need to go to Unigo if only to get an idea of where to go next. Certainly Valencia, and possibly even that St. Eva's place. Still, right now he was writing and focusing on that. These artistic types were all just ... strange. None of them really bothered him, and he tried to ignore their existence.

***

~Wondering Where Three Moons Descend Above Starlight~

my hands cover my face as I
find myself wishing to faint.
without my sacred sword and sceptre
my soul begins to taint.
and into the raging snowstorms
of this season I will walk into blind,
until within the blizzard merciless
the treasures lost again I'll find.

kneeling down upon this frozen lake
do I feel my soul feel light and weak.
to my beloved ancestors above me
am I too afraid to speak.
in the screaming silence of the night
my breathing echoes inside my chest.
will my terror be ever overcome
or shall cowardice seek roost to rest?

in supplication to the sky itself
my head is bowed right down to the ground.
the way I've carried on like a lout in my past
does nothing for my reputation I tote around.
could I beg for forgiveness of all my wayward
actions of my rather hapless and hopless past?
or should I instead consider myself a fallen star
and pray for recovery to come fast?

the winds themselves howl all at once
witihn my ears and against my back.
it is like nature itself has risen
only to treat my presence like an attack.
and as I fall prone upon the ice
which even now I hear splitting with malice,
do my eyes see at last the treasures
that I lost on my way to the palace.

reaching for them with numbed fingers
do I pull them close to my chest.
then scramble backwards with hastened caution
praying breathlessly for what I hope is the best.
though one leg falls through the ice one time
and I suffer horribly from the frost,
can I return with my head held high
for now know I that all was never lost.

[Tehya]

The response to the Winters Collection has been so well done, I have read them with relish and want to thank everyone. With such a positive response I am extending this to the end of January.

I am so pleased to see Artists`Ambit being used in rp as well...its going to be a good year, and I thank all of you for enjoying what is in the game to use, so I am extending this to the end of January.

In February I will be placing a new theme for the Artists'Ambit.

So feel free to keep going with Winters Collection, Art, stories, poems. and even Artisans crafting items may be put here.

[mozenwrathe]

A woman in possibly her late thirties or early forties came into the Artists 'Ambit, seeking out some of her brethren and sistren. Clearly a member of the Tribes, her name was Neelkamala D'aari. The grand-daughter of the famous soothsayer Kalyani d'Mołtsaghi , she was a fatesinger of the Platinum Feather Tribe from far southwest of Nanthalion. Unlike many of her people, she was one rather fond of travel, and had become rather accustomed to having unusual companions on her constant excursions. Every place she went, would she bring tales back to her home tribe. Taller than most regular humans, she had a deep bronze complexion even in the middle of winter. This time, was she escorted by a group whose main connection to each were that they were all half-blooded Tribes members themselves: the half-vulpani Bandhura Acua'Pil, the half-wolven Yashawini Asaque, and the half-barbarian Indukanta Galfujga. Each of them with quite distinct features, but the characteristic height of the Tribes flowed through all of them - especially Yashawini. As they entered, all action within the Artists 'Ambit slowed to a crawl, given the spectacle they made by just being present. Many of those of the Tribes had heard of Neelkamala, but had never seen her in the flesh. Now they knew just how commanding her presence was.

Sitting down, Neelkamala bade her companions do the same. The slowest to sit was Indukanta, for it was she who went about and looked for possible threats to Neelkamala's person. Even the three would-be slavers within the Artists 'Ambit chose not to act up, for Indukanta wasn't known for her gentle personality. They would have an easier time trying to take down that one dark skinned blacksmith at the Might Makes Right. (Later, all three would be found impaled on their own shorts at the front of the Healers Hut with a note in blood written on parchment: "fix dis." But that is another story.) As Indukanta herself finally relaxed a little, some of the others within the Artists 'Ambit gathered around. Members of all different races chose to take a place close to the towering woman - catgirls and humans, halflings and dryads, even the lone moriel who was there. The murmur through the crowd was particularly vibrant, as many who had heard of Neelkamala told those who had not. Mostly those of Tribes-descent were at the front or close to it, but separated enough so others could easily see. Without even trying, the fatesinger had gotten herself quite the audience - around thirty or forty people.

"It seems you all believe I have a tale for you," began Neelkamala with a smile. Her companions slowly began to pull out instruments. "In fact, I do not, but I do have a story to tell. One about a rather strange man I came across on the way to town. I call him strange, for his behaviours and beliefs are so far from my own it was humorous. He was rather short, but I say that in comparison to myself. His body was the colour of the forest at night, and his limbs like sapling trees. Not to say he was rough of skin, but he was tall and solid. Not as powerful looking as you there in the back with the arms like bears, good dwarven sir. Those are huge!"

Much laughter would be heard through the Artists 'Ambit as the dwarf idly flexed. Being that he was the grandson of a keepbuilder, young Dalldav Greatnoswaith had made it a point to take up in the family business of looking physically impressive. The fact that this bard found him worth noticing would be the highlight of his entire year. His companions ribbed him quietly as he sat back down, looking forward to hearing more of what the great balladeer and storyteller had in store for them. The dwarven youth himself was blushing slightly, though, as he could have sworn the moriel winked at him. (She did. And licked her lips at him. Oh, that boy was so doomed.) The Tribeswoman, not noticing any of these more subtle interactions betwen her audience, continued her story.

"The man was one of those attendants of the Grove Of Balance. There have been a few from my understanding, but this one stands taller than most of the others I have encountered in my travels through Nanthalion. It is probably because of his heritage. Not as rich of one as the Tribes, but still very distinct. He is one of those known as Sheyka. His skin would remind me of sleep and ferns, yet his eyes shone almost. Three was nothing about him that seemed remotely unaware. I met him as I found myself within the Grove of Balance for this region, standing there with two large feral cats curled up about his ankles. His mask reminded me of scorpions and scaled fish, and yet something else was within it. A feeling of foreboding, like the mask itself expected doom to follow it. Whatever it is, the man himself seems to be filled with suspicion of the world. A sad way to look at life, but such is how it he does. Though I have to admit, I was surprised to find him more interested in Yashawini than myself."

At that, the woman being spoken of yawned, showing rather impressive teeth. "I believe, my friend, it is because I am taller than you are and looked the most threatening. That, and you are not the one that had birds landing on her shoulder and giving the poor boy dirty looks. I swear, it is like the lad painted the nest of all the sparrows and chickadees with skunk scents. It was the most amusing thing I had seen in days, Neekie. And that includes-"

Much coughing was heard from Neelkamala, while Bandhura and Yashawini both found themselves with their noses crinkling with stifled laughter. Indukanta, for her part, looked completely bored out of her tree. A sharp eye from the half-barbarian got the two more "feral" women to calm down, but not without shared grinning between them. Indukanta rolled her eyes at her other three travelling companions, clearly not sharing their mirth about the tale at all. "Continue, 'Kama, before I have to swat the diabolic duo over there with a rolled up parchment. And you know they have plenty of parchment rolls around here. I could be at that all day and night and not get bored."

Now it was Neelkamala's turn to laugh, and the other two women needed to cough and turn their eyes. Apparently that was Indukanta's favoured method of "crowd control" for the pair. Much low chuckling rippled through the gathering within the Artists 'Ambit. Clearly these four were well acquainted with each other. As Indukanta rested back against one of the cushions provided in the building itself, Neelkamala cleared her throat to get the attention once more focused on herself. Even those in the crowd that were normally attention whores did nothing to prevent this, knowing that the Tribeswoman was the one whom they all needed and wanted to be listening to at this time. Smiling to her impromptu audience, Neelkamala continued on with her tale.

"The man stood there as I approached, but did not attempt to draw his blade. This was a good thing, as my dear Indukanta is rather protective of me. Given that he didn't look like someone that could wield a sword well, I still chose to keep my eyes open and my tongue moist. I find it best to deal with those who may be not so hospitable at twice arm's length and half an octave low. The masked one bowed to me most professionally for someone that worked in the bosom of Gaea, as if he did such for far more formal people. His words when greeting me were practiced, and yet still honest ones. And if I did not know any better, I could have sworn the two wildcats who were napping woke up just in time to let him know that Bandhura and Yashawini had finally caught up to us. The forest itself was not his playground, but his mentor. There was no way the man was not a shaman or a druid. Anyway, he spoke to me as if I was a young woman first approaching a blacksmith's shoppe for her first purchase on her own."

"You should have seen her face," Indukanta spoke up suddenly, a sly smile sliding across her visage. "She insisted that she felt thirty years younger. I swear, it was the first time I have seen her blush in three new moons. What was better was the longer he spoke, the more she shaded up. If I didn't know her any better, I swear she has a crush on the little tree-hugging male. She should have just thrown him over her shoulder and had her naughty little way with him."

The room filled with laughter at that. The fact any full grown male could be called "little" by someone was not quite that rare. After all, ogres and minotaurs roamed the lands. Neelkamala threw a pillow at the half-barbarian, aiming for her head. After years of practice, the weaver of words had a great throw, knocking the woman clear onto her ass. Given that Indukanta was in the middle of howling with laughter, the bard's timing could not have been better. Now muffled by a huge and well sewn pillow, Indukanta would be unable to interfere with the telling of Neelkamala's story for a few minutes at least. One suspected she was weeping with laughter into the massive cushion itself. If they had checked, they would have been correct.

"As I was saying before I was so cruelly distracted," began the bard, trying to regain her composure, "the man was rather aware to our being there. He did make it a point to welcome us all to sit down and have tea with him. Making it with melted icicles snapped right from the branches of trees, the tea he brewed was most invigorating. He insisted the leaves he had purchased from a little bazaar stall in Valencia, but I am sure there was more to it than that. Something about the spice of the flavour itself reminded me of home, but there are none of those herbs to be found in Valencia or Nanthalion at all. I believe he actually had something that was from my homelands with him and purposely added it. I would not put it past him, given the rather astute way he answered my questions.

"What made the man most interesting was the fact he spoke mostly about Gaea and the ancestors without once trying to make himself sound superior to anyone else. He was humble about his origins and almost elusive. Yet throughout it all, he would bring things back to the season about how the earth itself sleeps and yet we remain wide awake. I forgot his exact words, which is a sad thing, but there was wisdom in there that could not have been his own. Even the wise women of my home tribe would have spent years finding some of these mysteries in life. And he allowed them to just flow from his tongue like wine from a philter. I believe there may have been forces at work to give him such a gift before us, like blessing us each with a taste of home's hearth and warmth in the midst of this horrific cold and frost."

"Neelkamala," interjected the half-vulpani, "I think I can remember some of it. You were so enthralled by some deeper meaning to his words that you missed sometihng along the way I think. The scorpion-masked one said something like this while you two were carrying on with your conversation:

"And though the trees today now rest
"with all of nature's green
"shall life continue to thrive and bloom
"until the spring's first dawn is seen.
"Without this time of blanket white
"for the land itself to dream,
"could not crops grow tall and strong
"and summer's three blessings redeem.
"Though lean and hungry are these times,
"shall nature show us the greatest way.
"With faith and song will we feast now
"thanks to hard work yesterday."

"Yes, I remember him saying that now. Thank you, my friend"

The bard paused for a while she considered her next words. She had not said anything defamatory about this strange Sheykan, aside from that he was short and he was strange. The sad part for her was she had never bothered to get the male's name, figuring she could just find him again easily. It was not as if the Sheykans exchanged masks every season or something, right? Neelkamala masasged her temples some as a random man - one who mush have been a house slave of someone - brought her mead. Returning to his seat, the man knelt down quietly beside his other fellow slaves - most of them probably bed decorations like himself that were sent out to increase their value. Yashawini made it a point to notice the three and would see about what terms they had for their "usage" later. After all, males left to wander were no more and no less than proper entertainment in her eyes during the winter months. Something to keep a fur blanket warm.

Continuing on, Neelkamala allowed her voice to have a more lyrical and melodic ring to it. Before it was merely rhythmic and pleasant. Now, she spoke as if she was singing, carrying along any and all with her upon her journey.

"This Sheykan seemed to be almost in his element as the winds around us blew up a little. The cold did not touch him as much as it tried to caress me. And even in my winter fur cloak, did I notice the tendrils of ice crystals creeping around my ankled boots. He could have been there topless and been almost completely ignorant of a gale. I was almost tempted to ask him to strip down for me, but that would have been unworthy of me. Which is why I found it astonishing when Bandhura did just that... and he removed his cloak and tunic for us. I must admit, I spent the next ten minutes just with my mind lost to that rather delicious form of his kneeling upon the fur cloak and praying in the language of his people for our safe journey. He embraced the cold as one would an old friend, his very voice through the mask smiling in tone and pitch. The winds themselves rose and fell with every verse, making sure we could hear every word that he spoke. He was by far no means powerful enough to control the weather, but the spirits must have been quite pleased with his prayer. If I can remember enough of `The Olde Feathertalon Tongue,` what he said would be close to this:

"As it is in the skies and the seas,
"Please give us here within this grove
"Your blessing and favour this day.
"With shy sunlight kissing bared shoulders mine,
"Do I ask of this favour in humility.
"Upon the snows and ice have I strode,
"And witihn them do I kneel before you now.
"Great spirits whom guide and give us strength,
"Do not in your dreamtime abandon us,
"But give unto your servants and descendants
"The wisdom that only your eternal visage
"Can so ever bestoy upon eyes so young as mine.
"WIthout you all are we no more than pebbles in the stream,
"And with you as breath in our chests
"Are we rulers of our own destiny's kingdom.
"May all our doing go towards your great heritage,
"Giving you honour and praise as is your due."

Once more did Neelkamala pause, shivering at the memory. Mostly at the thought of the hot male in such a cold setting. She smiled as she noted most of her audience had gone deathly silent as well. Some of them had even closed their eyes as she recited the prayer. One of them even held their symbol of faith from their own pantheon - a sylvan elf druid, as the fatesinger would find out much later. The bard was quite pleased and impressed that her audience had been so drawn in by what was little more than a "I was walking down the block" story. Of cousre, her voice had a way of drawing in many interested parties. That, and her movements even while seated were quite animated. She would bend and weave, making gathering motions or mimicing the way that the other people in her tales would speak or move. And she did this all instinctively and without the sense of mockery that others may have carried over. This is what made the woman, now well into her fiftieth year, such a remarkable teller of tales. Deciding that she should finish her tale now, Neelkamala opened her mouth once again to speak:

"His blessing filled me with sorrow and wonder, for when he spoke, it was as if he was pleading in deep and rugged tones for the safekeeping of my friends and myself. Even Indukanta by the sentiment, given he was by no means required to or paid by us to. I should have left some sort of donation to Gaea, but he waved us off, insisting that encountering us on that quiet day was more than enough. He did not clarify what he meant by that, but he was so filled with modest honour I chose not to question him on such. As he wished us all well, did he give each one of us a gift of his own: a satchel of a special blend of tea that he had made for just such an occasion. I believe that Gaea herself was watching over his shoulder the night before, as She knew we would come across this male the next day. Though I believe Indukanta was right: I should have just had some rampantly wintersbane fun with the young man when I had the chance to. It was not as if he did not need to be broken in a litle more...

"What matters most, is that he reminded me of how winter is different for so many people. For my own, winter is the time when we migrate. A hard time, and those born within those months know a great many challenges. It is those whom are strongest in heart and wisest in mind that prevail in the winter, not merely strong of arm and fleet of foot. This one young druid did all but call winter his friend and family, allowing it to guide him instead of trying to fight against it. He found a harmony in the season that takes more than it gives. His heart, if anything, is noble enough for his ancestors to consider him worthy of their good graces. His thighs, however, remind me of the elk in the woods - powerful and yet graceful enough to step lightly over roots and fallen trees. The winter is as much his home as I am sure the forest is. And behind the mask is a soul that would find food as readily as any winter lynx.

"Something that I could take away from the conversation, was that he believed that with winter, it was just like nightfall for most of us: a time of rest. Not everything sleeps at night, and at the same time not everything rests in winter. There are many lives that start in the snow and frost - from the smallest bear cub, to the largest dragon. Not that I myself have seen a dragon, but I know I have seen a bear cub or two prancing about in the winter along with their mother. Such adorable little bundles of life, reminding us that even in the midst of a season we associate with death and cold, warmth and hope may rise from it - or even because of it. His eyes through his mask would light up as he told the four of us about catching a massive royal salmon from under the ice. It was as if he was talking about a life and death battle with an accursed foe, his fervent words and his body's movements. A dance could have been no less enthralling, such was the sway of his form and the lull of his voice.

"I intend to find this Sheyhan again though, for I would wish to know more about where he came from and what drove him so far north as to make a living in such a place as Nanthalion. Such a find close to the Tribes would have made him an excellent concubine for a sharp-eyed member of my Tribe. Perhaps his clan may have more like him they would be willing to trade in favours and bison for. And though I did not get a name from him, I did learn enough about him that his visage will entertain many in tales I will create. Something about his being strikes me as the perfect start for both a tragedy and a comedy, but nothing truly romantic. The youth will have to be given a new name though, something of the old languages maybe..."

And somewhere in the stalls of the general store, a man in a Sheykan masked sneezed repeatedly, ended up cracking his head against the doors of some of the horses.

**

OOC: the character Neelkamala and her entourage met was Dasan, Sheykan druid of Gaea.

[Tehya]

I have enjoyed all your stories this one included. Thank you so much for sharing your imagination and writing, and now I can only hope more will join you.

Tehya

[Ehlanna]

A cold camp ...