Into The Rift

The Thread She Weaves (45)

Your eyes are not decieving you. This is a double update (45 and 46) Enjoy.

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-1321 Military Hours
-Vallen Island, Citadel Spires

Serene voices fill the square, alluring with their whispers and incantations. The Justiciars knelt and prayed, their ceremonial garb adorned in the grim colors of conflict. A homage to our past, of the homes we lost.

Soldiers from all shores of life stood at the ready, packed into the confines of the Citadel Spire's parade grounds. The clean cerulean blue of the common warrior ranks fill the masses, their segmented fish-scale armor a noble example of Elven design philosophy.

They remain steadfast whilst the women bestowed their blessings. Words woven in honor of the Crystal Herald, their lips move as one before a sculpted crystal in the likeness of the esteemed Goddess.

"Bless our brothers and sisters, for they answered the call of arms. Heed our wishes and offer them guidance as they sail through sun and stars," they chant in unison, voices echoing across the ancient stonework like a breeze warm and innocent.

The air grows rich with the veil of magic as the Justiciars bound their lips to the ancient dialects of old, a realm of wordplay privy only to them. They all raise an arm, unfurling sermon scrolls through which they spoke the tongue of our ancestors.

Intricate flags of the many Islands flew proudly amidst the solemn winds, each sewn with a small red pin to echo the lingering sorrows of our ancestors. From the grand twin diamond sigils of Grathnir to the humble duskfall patterns of distant Neria, they all were hoisted with honor and dignity.

My lips curl downwards, knowing it will only be mere days until the entire fleet departs. Countless soldiers and sailors gave themselves willfully to the task at hand, who am I truly to avoid this mantle.

And yet, what father would I be to forsake my wife and daughter for such an endeavor? Never will I allow myself to break my vows to them.

I stayed quiet nonetheless, watching the ceremony with the officials of Vallen's high court. The soldiers waited for the final oath, their pauldrons freshly minted with the Elven coat of arms.

"... across the blue and beyond, you shall hold nothing but courage and valor in your hearts," the Justiciars rose from the ground, turning to face the soldiers.

They peer down from the podium, staring at the awaiting soldiers with cold indifference, their faces hidden behind masks of crafted silver. Golden tresses fan out from their cowls, as though a gilded crown to exemplify the beauty they all possess.

Garbed in crimson robes, and with the air caked in the tangy incense of blue lantern roses, the spiritual worth of these Justiciars demanded they receive nothing but reverence in this sacred time of blessings.

" Do us well, as you sail towards... home. To reclaim what once, was ours," the lead Justiciar proclaims, addressing the masses with a grim tone. "You will face the Euralians should fate have it, and survive."

The soldiers raise their weapons, undaunted by the name of the ancient adversaries. Together they heed the words as though a gospel, clamoring as one. "Through words or steel!"

Pride surges through the formation, it was evident even with their backs to me. Countless swords glimmered under daylight's embrace, raised to the heavens by those who wielded one. Archers within the fray brandish their bows, raising them above their heads, equal in pride, their cheers resonating just as fiercely.