Oh, fluorescent Flower, Who yet wilt in my gardens, Please do not glower, In the most dreary of Autumns, And do not leave me alone. It saddens me to have my hand forced into writing this, having experienced a day I never thought would occur. The Cerulean Reeve, Drulailmon, has been stripped from us, from his family, and his culture. His assailants took him in the long-off, in the cold hours of night’s past, and dishonored him with an unholy zeal. I know not of his current whereabouts, and my fellow Reeve, for now, shall be assumed dead or missing. Drulailmon was a man of many stigmas and not without fault, but he served a cause far more significant than himself unto his final sunset. He and I will have never agreed upon anything, as was intended by our creators, and, perhaps, that is what made him so appreciated. In our associated rivalry, he guarded my back in the face of adversity in the most literal of senses. To see him go, taken from his duties, is a melancholy feeling, one I never thought I might experience for a Cahellön. It is for him that I shall continue my duties and, in his memory, shall yet stand as the protector of all Gifted within the sanctuary that is the Undercity. To those whom I have dutifully endeavored to protect, Mourn for the loss of Drulailmon, but do not relinquish hope. We are crafting a haven of understanding, of learning, the sanctuary found among not only your kin but all gifted in our asylum, the chance to ensure that a hostile world will never hold away your freedoms. In this temple to the Cahellön Calaan-Toraan, all shall find their safety. For such a promise, I make a secondary statement. Until such time that my fellow Reeve finds himself reclaimed or replaced, and the murderers of Drulailmon are apprehended, I shall be acting not as the Cerulean nor Crimson Reeve but as “The High Reeve”. All gifted, blessed by powers beyond us all, let us rejoice in that our home shall never be stripped from us again. To those who have committed murder, You have exercised no justice nor restraint. We act within our halls, within the time of peace following the end of months of the war. Yet, in this time of healing, you have held nothing but revenge in your hearts. I see why, now, the Rokhaal were so eager to align themselves with your masses; you feel nothing but vindication in your soul, hidden behind mountains of doctrine and false codes. So, now, I ask you to rejoice, for you have garnered my attention. May peace reign true. Sincerly, Related people: @bahmGe , @Mollymock
A low howl echoes throughout the Undercity and Crookback, hanging on the wind. It is a song without words, lilting in the autumn breeze, mourning a soul gone. Another Cahëllon lost, returned to the memory that has been forgot. The Gifted Usaar’s song neither wanes nor waxes, continuing with constancy, unerring and unshaken from its course. The air hummed with the haunting sound, until it finally faded, leaving only silence again.
