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We deeply value the years of effort and dedication you’ve poured into your characters, and we’re committed to adapting quickly to ensure your hard work remains intact as we embrace this new chapter!


Thank you for all your support throughout the years & we are happy to hear of any suggestions you may bring forth!
"You can trust us to stick to you through thick and thin - to the bitter
end." -Meriadoc

The Flower



A task of a singular message was undertaken. Something which would convey much without distracting from the aims of the retinue. And so, in the dead of night, something was planted. A flower. Just to the side of the path he had made for the past few days. Noticeable, yet, subtle. Unspoken.

The little thing prospered. The lands here were fertile, the soil rich. Prosperous was this little flower, this thing of yellow and blue. It grew. A few more flowers bloomed from the stem. Not all was forgotten. Some roots were not reached by the frost.

...


Dark, tumultuous things cracked like a fault-line through an iceberg within Ryheric's heart. Part of the same music. Threatening to break, threatening to fall and die. It was not natural. He recognised this on some level. Piece by piece added to it. Loss after loss. And then more loss. And then more. Invisible, feasting in the dark. Feasting on his solitude. Feasting on what had been cost. The Dead Hamlet. Men, women, children... The aftermath. Willing hearts and good people versus brutal foes.

Meanwhile, he spent himself on grounding others from their own losses. Their own griefs and sicknesses. Carrying it away on the current for them.

He did not understand that this collection of 'things' in his own heart was an immense stack of unresolved grief; all part of the same thread. His own.

...

Night fell, and his path towards the riverside raft was taken, temporarily predictable as the weather of a season. The ranger was savvy, the yellow centered wildflowers with the blue laced petals were no coincidence. She hadn't severed them at the stems and left them to wilt. They were very much alive. Earthed and growing.

He saw the symbol clear as any great sign painted on high banners of nature. It paused him a moment and he stared at the flowers. Then, he willfully moved past them. Pushing it all aside.

He would lead his company across the river. And he would stubbornly try not to think about their newly returned companion. Though the flowers are indication; she would face him, soon enough. Whether he was ready or not.