* a notice is neatly affixed to lampposts around the center of Seria *

by Iskvarren on February 10, 2013

in IC Notices

The days are short, and Sickness haunts the fields.
When plague-bells toll through Seria’s fetid streets
and open doors turn to portals tightly sealed.
Sativa’s scythe reaps both good health and sweet

Charm, and Joy, both mortals’ fickle brides.
The crowds disperse, the mugs of rum run dry,
and silence falls, and tongueless all abide.
The snuff’d fire’s end, and ice stone-cold, draws nigh.

Then we, as ever, will feed the flame’s hot song.
We’ll conjure dreams of heroes, fools, and kings.
’till, warmed again, and brave, we are made strong
through faith in Harmony above, we’ll wing.

And so, come! Gather ’round my hearth,
with twice-told-tales, we’ll share each other’s mirth.

Hail, citizens. I am Wheelock, Instrument of the Lady Order, and I too am ill. The days are indeed short, and it can be hard to mind the changing of time and the passage of that which makes short hours turn torture. Still, we hold within each of us the flute of Hope, who keeps us hale and hearty through the leanest times. Hope rings most clearly through our stories, and it’s been too long since I’ve shared a tale over a fire. I’m looking for interest, first, and then entries – just outlines, of course, half the fun in telling a story is how you tell it – and I’m going to pick the best three and set up a time so we can all tell our stories together. I think it’s the warmth we need. I’ll come up with some sort of prize, Lady Qurimel willing.

If you decide you’ve got a story worth telling, send me a letter. If you think you can tell it better with someone else helping – demonstrating, acting it out as you go, whatever you want – just let me know. I think this could be a nice way to spend one of these last cold nights before it gets
warm again.

Walk well,

Wheelock Tacitus


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