05-29-2014, 09:06 PM
   “Regardless of where I am..
     or the span of land between us..
      I am always with you, dear sister.â€
  A memory nestled in the ravine of her thoughts was clouded by the present and the distractions that were laid in her path. Words were muffled by the sounds of combat as of late, though she could recall them clearly as the first time they were spoken to her. His voice echoed in the recesses of her mind, especially now that she kneels against the overgrown grass at the bed of a monumental tree. The gnarled boughs twist and intertwine with one another. A tapestry of darkness, a-lit only by the twinkle of stars, had a few clouds coming overhead. Rain was to fall, as it did nearly each evening like clockwork, over the Shroud. It was appropriate that the heavens would weep on the night that she sat before the grave of the man, whose words, had touched her heart before.
   Today would have been his 39[sup]th[/sup] year.
   Marcelloix was the only man that would light the fire of her spirit – give her courage she never fathomed existed and encourage her with each talk given. Now the oldest of her sibling, one who was more father than a brother, rests underneath the soil, finally at peace. His once glorious spear, which glittered when sun lanced down 'pon it, now pitted by rust and decay after exposure to the downpours that occurred daily. Flowers adorned the base of it; they were vibrant, freshly picked, for this occasion only. Rivienne had always been meticulous about what arrangement to bring with each passing year since Calamity.
  Calloused fingers sought to brush over the weapon and a bitter smile graced her sun-kissed visage the moment they wrapped around it. When the rain fell, it did well to conceal the water that filled the basin of her eyes and spilled ever so freely along heated cheeks. Lashes, kissed by droplets, fluttered lightly to bat away the tears; she would not surrender to weeping, not this day. “Another year, it has come so quickly, I wish I could spend all night regaling you with tales of my misadventures . . but that is not the reason I came. I made a choice.â€
  Â
  Pushing down the emotions, she basked in the cool feel of the rain instead. Leather habiliments clung closely to the curvature of her form; she was drenched even though there was a thick canopy above her head. Dark tresses fell before downcast-set eyes while damp soil, and grass, broke away from the shaft of the weapon. Delicately did she hold on to it, noticing that her cheap melding still held the once-broken spear together.
  “You did have a dream once,didn't you, to be a great dragoon. To bring glory and victories to our doorstep. I naught left but this to honor you with when you fell, a piece of a past riddled with scars from battle.â€
   Quiet musings were spoken and yet snuffed by the rolling sound of thunder that filled the ambient. Lighting splashed across the terrain, highlighting the worn weapon in her hand. There was still a part of him that lingered there, his strength, his diminishing spirit.  A part of her wanted to reignite it, to let his spirit come into full bloom-- through her. Within, a yearning to understand his plight, had taken hold.  Â
  On the eve of his nameday, Rivienne, a woman bound by honor and discipline, would carry on a legacy marked by the blood of one so close to her heart. His spear, once tarnished, will soon glint as it did before by another whose hands have taken up its burden.
     “I want to see how your story should have ended. .â€
     or the span of land between us..
      I am always with you, dear sister.â€
  A memory nestled in the ravine of her thoughts was clouded by the present and the distractions that were laid in her path. Words were muffled by the sounds of combat as of late, though she could recall them clearly as the first time they were spoken to her. His voice echoed in the recesses of her mind, especially now that she kneels against the overgrown grass at the bed of a monumental tree. The gnarled boughs twist and intertwine with one another. A tapestry of darkness, a-lit only by the twinkle of stars, had a few clouds coming overhead. Rain was to fall, as it did nearly each evening like clockwork, over the Shroud. It was appropriate that the heavens would weep on the night that she sat before the grave of the man, whose words, had touched her heart before.
   Today would have been his 39[sup]th[/sup] year.
   Marcelloix was the only man that would light the fire of her spirit – give her courage she never fathomed existed and encourage her with each talk given. Now the oldest of her sibling, one who was more father than a brother, rests underneath the soil, finally at peace. His once glorious spear, which glittered when sun lanced down 'pon it, now pitted by rust and decay after exposure to the downpours that occurred daily. Flowers adorned the base of it; they were vibrant, freshly picked, for this occasion only. Rivienne had always been meticulous about what arrangement to bring with each passing year since Calamity.
  Calloused fingers sought to brush over the weapon and a bitter smile graced her sun-kissed visage the moment they wrapped around it. When the rain fell, it did well to conceal the water that filled the basin of her eyes and spilled ever so freely along heated cheeks. Lashes, kissed by droplets, fluttered lightly to bat away the tears; she would not surrender to weeping, not this day. “Another year, it has come so quickly, I wish I could spend all night regaling you with tales of my misadventures . . but that is not the reason I came. I made a choice.â€
  Â
  Pushing down the emotions, she basked in the cool feel of the rain instead. Leather habiliments clung closely to the curvature of her form; she was drenched even though there was a thick canopy above her head. Dark tresses fell before downcast-set eyes while damp soil, and grass, broke away from the shaft of the weapon. Delicately did she hold on to it, noticing that her cheap melding still held the once-broken spear together.
  “You did have a dream once,didn't you, to be a great dragoon. To bring glory and victories to our doorstep. I naught left but this to honor you with when you fell, a piece of a past riddled with scars from battle.â€
   Quiet musings were spoken and yet snuffed by the rolling sound of thunder that filled the ambient. Lighting splashed across the terrain, highlighting the worn weapon in her hand. There was still a part of him that lingered there, his strength, his diminishing spirit.  A part of her wanted to reignite it, to let his spirit come into full bloom-- through her. Within, a yearning to understand his plight, had taken hold.  Â
  On the eve of his nameday, Rivienne, a woman bound by honor and discipline, would carry on a legacy marked by the blood of one so close to her heart. His spear, once tarnished, will soon glint as it did before by another whose hands have taken up its burden.
     “I want to see how your story should have ended. .â€