Firiona Vie Everquest

Licinia stepped into the Lion's Mane Inn, and spotted two of her friends already waiting at the table in the corner. It felt good to gather in the open, in light and warmth, rather than hiding from the darkness.

"Lady Xodyn," she bowed before the beautiful, silver-haired maiden, whose plain armour belied her rank as High Priestess of the Temple of Nife. Licinia turned and smiled, bowing as well to the elven priestess, clothed in robes to Xodyn's right. "Sister Elianeth".

Both woman stood and hugged Licinia and she felt the warmth of their spirits as much in the words of greetings they shared.

Sharing cups of the famous Qeynos Afternoon Tea for a while, they spoke in amiable companionship before Licinia summarized their plan.

"So we are agreed, then? A show of strength, but not of force... one that shall surely spread our message much more effectively than any battle in an Arena... a show of force our enemies surely do not expect? Blessings, enchantments, food, and drink to all who come... and a message of hope."

"And the strength of spirit that comes with it!" Boomed the huge man who banged through the doors, his body nearly filling its frame and his enthusiasm filling the room even as the wolf shook itself by his side.

"Stormfollower!" Licinia called out in delight as her friend entered.

(See announcement)

"Hail my dear friend Licinia and my new friends also." Stormfollower boomed as he strode into the warmth of the Inn. Placing his travel worn cloak over the back of a chair , he continued " So the time has come at last. We will make our designs known to the evil ones who threaten our peacefull ways! "He glanced around the place to catch a few ears being aimed his way. "I have returned from a long journey home where after some convincing the elders have agreed to unite the clans when the call comes and march apon our targets." He claped his hands together with a loud "Pop" and wrings them although they are quite warm.
Striding over to the hearth of a cozy fire Stormfollower turns to adress the now silent room. "Dear friends though the days seem colder and evil lurks behind its foul plots bringind pain and suffering in many form both subtle and loud. And though the multitudes of evil seem to grow in thier mockery of our peacefull ways, I say to thee that this is good!...Good because it gives us something to forgive them for. And this is a wound from wich they cannot recover!" A long silence hangs heavily over the room and everyone looks to Stormfollower with confusion in there eyes.
The silence was broken suddenly."Aye, forgive the wretched bloodthirsty gnolls who took my son! Forgive them there heniouse malformaties and forgive them their shit which dries to thier haunches rich with the nutrients the have gleaned from feasting on our Kin!" an angry voice bellowed from the far side of the bar. It was Marton Sayer, a merchant who lived in the qenyos hills. His voice was charged with emotion and a fury tremmbled on each word.
Stormfollower looked towards Marton slowly then said gently "Marton my friend, I did not meen to belittle your suffering. We all know what pains you and your pretty wife whent through in those days of uncertainty. To have your infant son dragged away by those creatures must have been terrifying."He continues more boldly, trying to loose some of the ~barbarian~ in his speach" But he has not suffered any lingering effects in fact i quite think it has made him stronger. But you must forgive them, Aye forgive. For if you do it will release you from the fear which cloakes your judgement. Cloaks all our judgement!" He gestures around the room then to himself." Know that they are wretched and missguided and forgive them this" he pauses " Know that they have designs to main and torture your family, and forgive thewm this. Know that with eveybreath they seek to mock and contradict all our beleifs, and forgive them this also...so that when thy mighty sword crashes through there mortal forms there will be forgiveness in it! They will flee before this power! Trust me. They will flee before this as a fire flees before the sweet rain of Karana...all evil will flee untill there is no where left for them to flee to! ...And there will we embrace them as brothers!"
The room still remained silent and many faces looked up at Stormfollower with confusion and astonishment and some with anger. "Go back to Hallas dreamweaver Stormflower" an unknown voice muttered from within the comfort of a group near the dartboard. Yet across the room just beyond the fumming father, a beautifull brunette barmaid looked towards Stormfollower with the light of understanding glinting in her eye. A few others too seemed to be receptiven (if not annimated) by his message.
But that was enough, the annonmous voice was right..this was not Halas. Stormfollower waved his hand apollogetically to the crowd and walked toward Marton Sayer.
The man glared at Stormfollower "You know nothing of them beasts they`d just as soon have eaten my boy as spit, had they not been stuffed on the flesh of our other brave men and women who go to there den in search of fame and treasure things would have ended much differently"
"I am sorry Marton, I could not know such a pain as thine for I have no children of mine own, forgive me." Stromfollower clasped a great hand gently on Marton Sayers shoulder and continued past him to the bar maid who he has not taken his one good eye off since leaving the fireside. "If thow would be so kind, beautifull lady, as to have a drink poured for everyone here, a round on the house to clear the air of all this somber Halasian ideology." He places several platinum peices in her hand and notices that it is also quite warm, nearly as his own. He smiles at her and drinks in all the nuances of her pretty form as she shyly curtsies and gracefully turns to return to her work.
The bar was now returning to normal and news of the free round was spreading fast bringing mirth and conversation back to the room. Stormfollower crossed the room again and took a seat with his freinds.
"Sorry my dears I am so easily moved to make thunderous statements. I must remeber to hold my tounge amoungst strangers." He glanced back over his shoulder in search of the beverages he had ordered...or perhaps it was thier bearer who he sought.

The druid sipped his tin of water and surveyed the struggles of idealism in the face of cold reality. Where was the balance? The sages had long discussed this subject within the shelter of the havens, pragmatism had met staunch resistance against ideal, and rationalism mounted a strong offensive against faith. Willowen sighed gently and wished for the day when he could return to his teachers, now his peers, where the only battles fought were those of philosophy and the blood spilled was simply scholar's pride. How different was life amoung mortals. The year that the mystic had been among them he had seen more death, suffering, and, his mind stumbled once more over the alien concept, change then ever before in his brief, at least by the reckoning of his people, lifetime.

He lifted his eyes and made the mistake of meeting the bartender's chilly
gaze. Willowen pulled his green cloak tighter around him in a vain effort to hide the smile that blossomed despite him. The druid hoped he had not offended the man to greatly when he requested to merely have water, the sourness most likely stemming from the fact that the water was free. The businessman was most surely regretting that little strategic move, he probably had never had a patron that did not drink beer and was willing to exploit his generosity. No, exploitation was too strong of a word, Willowen told himself insincerely. Catching the smile despite the druid's effort to control it, the tender scowled and tried to look busy adjusting and washing mugs. Sighing again the Feir'dal deicided that some bright sparkling elven coins, not quite so inconspicuously left, would quell the man's indignation in a way beyond words or explanation.

He turned back too the scene unfolding. Setting the tin of water down, the mystic's hand reached, by it own volition, into one of the many bags and pouches hanging from his belt. Drawing out a set of bones carved with arcane runes and fashioned into different shapes, he began to unconsciously drop them from one hand to the other. Each time they fell, the scrying bones landed in patterns that had a meanings and messages for those who could read them. The druid's mind noted these results despite his attention being elsewhere, commmiting them to memory for later contemplation.

Each of his companions face and manner was a study in itself. Willowen found people a source of endless curiosity and was always pondering what lay deep within. Perhaps all men were evil at essence or, in counterpoint, could they be altruistic in base motivation? Which of course brought up the constantly recurring questions and conjecture in regards to the true meaning, and definitive relevance of these words to the condition of the sentient. This spiraling of of introspection that gave the druid a reputation of distance and absentmindedness made it passing difficult to focus on the conversation. Thus the meeting engrossed him, but not probably in the way the fellow alliance members would have preferred.

As talk continued, a burning question rose within Willowen. He had known
the answer at some point, but it had wandered astray. Finaly as curiosity became utterly unbearable, or as some more stoic individuals would say,
mildly uncomfortable, he decided that its satisfaction was worth sacrificing any illusion of poise he had inadvertently acquired. "Stormfollower," he whispered insistently. The shaman turned towards him and the druid tried to smile in the face of mild irritation, at least he thought it was, sometimes the man was an open book at others Willowen might have better luck in discerning the emotions of stone. "Umm yes ....," laughing awwardly, he continued despite himself, lapsing into elvish so not everyone would be privy to their conversation. "Brother", the druid used the honorific form, though he had little hope the human was fluent enough in his native language to catch subtleties. "I have a question that i have been meaning to ask... I just joined the candles yesterday.. and was brought here without any real context of the proceedings. What i mean to say is, ..........what's going on?

Stormfollower turned to the elf and smiled. He had often wondered the same thing about the gatherings of this alliance. "Well" he spoke in the best elvish he could muster not wishing to offend but fairly sure he would anyways. Though he understood the subtleties of elvish well enough the somber reflections of his Northron accent were often impossible to translate and sometimes ended up sounding like insults "We gather here so that we may make a list of gathering places where we may meet and discuss further the intentions of our alliance in less public forums" gageing by the look on Willowens face this answer would not quel, what Stormfollower was learning was a near insatiable curiosity. So he continued. "The candle in the darkness has been formed that we may trade ideas with others who follow the forces of light, There be no other guild besides mine own, Wolf Cult, that is entirely comprised of good peoples. Everywhere in Norrath evil is being allowed to exist side by each with good. Yet the reasoning for this escapes me...So this alliance will serve to temper the cause of good and may perhaps grow like a great oak into a force that will be able to do something to stem this tide of apathy." Hoping that this would be enough Stormfollower returned to the pleasant conversation that politely rounded the table again. Yet he saw in Willowens quisical look that his explaination had only fired more questions in the young elfs soul. Inwardly he laughed. "Good" he thought "a mind that seaks definition and conclusion may stir our meetings to a level beyond that of the current tea party" Wishing to put The druids mind at ease after a time he turned back to adress him. He was now engaging in the jovial banter of the rest of the group with relish "One more thing that is going on Brother" Stormfollower interjected "... Mirth and merryment! something wich there is always good reason to meet for!" These words stammerd out from his mouth with a tone of sarcasm he had not wished to reveal. Weakly he smiled and tried desperately to maintain the light tomber of conversation. Though the words of Willowen still echoed in his head..."whats going on?"

*looks around the room as he enters looking slightly confuused* Hail my friends how goes it!?, what is going on?? *sits down and listens waiting for a reply*

Stormfollower smiled widely apon the entrance of his good friend Rarcodor. Having known him only a short time he was still able to discern he was a man of great moral fiber, a fiathful friend and a safe harbor.
"We were just discussing that my friend. And It looks to me as though we are the makings of a great party!" He spoke with genuine excitement at this prospect, or perhaps at the chance to counter some of his sarcasm in previouse statements"In fact I beleive our formation of this great alliance is cause for a grand feast. What say you friends?" he turned to make eye contact with each in turn." I would be honoured if you would allow me to perform a ceremonial dance to open these procedings... In order to send message of our plans to the spirits" His smile had grown even wider and now he stood, towering over the table and almost upsetting a lantern that hung from the low (by barbarian standards) ceiling, deep emotions visibly annimated in his pale face " A feast to bring us all together in celebration of our grand acomplishment here!" He raised his great mug of warm spirits and surveyed the eyes of his companions to perhaps glean their opinions on this idea.