.:| Quote |:.
"Some things can only be seen when you have lost everything."
-- Kierath Ranamor
.:| Vornae Proverbs |:.
"I no naka no kawazu taikai o shirazu."
A frog in a well does not know the great sea.
"Ame futte chi katamaru"
After the rain, earth hardens
.:| Libraries |:.
Night of Tears
It was the end of autumn in the year Six-Hundred Six, Evendarr Reckoning. The kingdom prepared for the winter to come even as war raged in the North and conflict and sorrow spread throughout the proud Duchies. It had held, Evendarr had, and many would say simply that it always would.
There is a story of the founding of this sprawling kingdom that tells of a flower planted when the first King took his throne. That in a secret clearing in the heart of the kingdom this flower grows there still. The story goes that when King Richard passed on to the graveyards beyond and the land rocked in turmoil the flower wilted and lost its luster. And then the glorious day came when King Mykel, Second of that Name, ascended to his throne once more and the flower, as the story goes, bloomed bright once more.
But on the Night of Tears the flower turned black and the story grew grim indeed.
In the late night hours, deep and quiet, of the Eleventh day of the Eleventh month, terror struck and slipped away. In select houses and gardens and villas and manors silent shapes reached out. Claws shining in the moonlight they rent asunder their victims. Raymond Endarr fell to the floor, blood streaming from his opened back. Seconds later, across the city, Jasmine Monay turned in time to see the dark shimmering shape before unconsciousness took her in her own courtyard. Jacob Huntington in his bed chambers, Alfred Endarr in his study, Reigard Buttons on a late night walk, all beset in silent horror. No one knew, no one could help, not a sound until Squire Elsabet Bartholemew cried an alarm as she too fell to a ghostly stalker.
It would not matter.
By morning the City was in disarray and panic. The City, where safety was a foregone conclusion, had suffered dozens of attacks and the sons and daughters of Evendarr lay trembling and weeping in their homes. His Majesty himself walked the streets, tending to the fallen with the hands of a healer, but even his visage was dark and sad on this terrible day. He had seen mere infants with cruel cuts, children slashed and bleeding. He had tended to the scions of friends and family and to the venerable men and women who raised them. Pale and weak they clutched his arms for help.
Elsewhere a thin smile as the Heart of Evendarr knows fear.