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[Sirus]

I could have sworn none of these went through!  D:

[Sirus]

It was late at night and I was tired 

[Sirus]

facepalm.jpg

[Sirus]

...I've run out of commentary.

[Dwarmin]

((Cool it on the reply button, bro ))

Somewhere in time...

Kathryn managed to read the letter without a single tear. It was strange. Lon was gone...and she would miss him (and his songs...and what might have been)...but, she wasn't sad. She was as still as devoted to her faith as she had ever been, and death was no tragedy to her. The Raven Queen found them all and spirited them away, eventually-and by most accounts, he had died bravely, with a satisfied mind. She liked to think he had taken that from her, and that she had helped him face it with little fear. She would later ask that the Queen find him a special place in her court, someplace where he could play as long as he liked in peace and harmony (forgiving his occasionally raising a bit of trouble), Lons songs dancing on the wind for all to hear.

There would be no mourning a loss today, but the celebration of life lived well. How many would come, she wondered of their old friends and allies, when she told them-most still kept in touch.

Many of them, for they lived dangerous lives, had died in glory or shame, to each his or her own-others, lost and found on their own paths. A few still lived more or less fine. And some, lived very well...

Kat put a hand on her stomach, smiling.

Expecting.

Again.

She would mayhaps name this one Lon...or Lorin, if it was a girl...

Kathryn took out the old journal, and began to read it. It was as much their shared biography as anything-their life, times, hardships, victories-she could see the tears where it had been battered and cut, the old bloodstains (and other sorts of stains) that never quite came out, the subtle scent of the Myrrh she used for her morning rituals sunken into the pages over the years, and the essence of...Lon. Everything about them. It was like she was holding a part of him that was still alive.

This would be one interesting read...and not just for her.

When the World doesn't remember you any longer, I always will, love. Kat thought.

[Doomblade187]

((The forum's been buggy lately, but a quintiple-post??!!! Wow.))

Jax walked down the road, away from the house where Kathryn and Navarre had settled down. He had picked up the delivery job from an innkeeper he knew, and upon seeing the recipients, he had made haste. He had actually been lucky, of sorts, being attacked by highwaymen, removing the need to find criminals for the next few weeks. As he was walked up to the door, he had thought back over how far he had come since the party had split up.

He had come to terms with his bloodlust and his upbringing, putting his mind and his responsibilities to his god by directing his gaze away from the innocents that had so troubled him before and turning to the criminal element. It had been a brief three years for him, wandering from place to place, almost always finding something to do, to serve his two gods. The brand of Herineous no longer burned every day on his arm. He was at peace.

But this visit to some of his old compatriots, and the package he was carrying, brought back all those emotions, all those feelings of camaraderie and care floating back, making him pause for breath calm himself before he knocked on the door. As he walked away from the house that day, he drew both his knives, their wickedly curved blades catching the light, the many nicks and notches on their finely crafted blades glinting in the dying light of day. He put them up, a feeling of resolve growing in his chest. He would find more people, and he would lead them to victory, for Herineous and Armok alike. And he planned to enjoy every minute of it.

[Doomblade187]

((The forum's been buggy lately, but a quintiple-post??!!! Wow.))

Jax walked down the road, away from the house where Kathryn and Navarre had settled down. He had picked up the delivery job from an innkeeper he knew, and upon seeing the recipients, he had made haste. He had actually been lucky, of sorts, being attacked by highwaymen, removing the need to find criminals for the next few weeks. As he was walked up to the door, he had thought back over how far he had come since the party had split up.

He had come to terms with his bloodlust and his upbringing, putting his mind and his responsibilities to his god by directing his gaze away from the innocents that had so troubled him before and turning to the criminal element. It had been a brief three years for him, wandering from place to place, almost always finding something to do, to serve his two gods. The brand of Herineous no longer burned every day on his arm. He was at peace.

But this visit to some of his old compatriots, and the package he was carrying, brought back all those emotions, all those feelings of camaraderie and care floating back, making him pause for breath calm himself before he knocked on the door. As he walked away from the house that day, he drew both his knives, their wickedly curved blades catching the light, the many nicks and notches on their finely crafted blades glinting in the dying light of day. He put them up, a feeling of resolve growing in his chest. He would find more people, and he would lead them to victory, for Herineous and Armok alike. And he planned to enjoy every minute of it.

((Meh about how I wrote this bit, but I may tie in with Lon's story after a bit.))