Song of the Dawn

A Lore Singer. Gifted in Art and Song. Learned her gifts. One of three chosen to right the wrongs inflicted upon Aoden.

King Beaumont loves his people. He watches over them carefully. Near Riverview they hold an annual harvest festival to celebrate the abundance they share under his rule.

Naoischlatt. A ghost. Nine yards of tangled hair. Vanity in life. Only capable of bringing misery in death.

Taken. Into Darkness. Loving Father said it could not hold forever. Brother is coming. He will bring her home.

Weary Travel. Long gone. The memories remain. Stories. Etched in soot. Laughter in smoke. Children chasing fireflies. She stood where the Sleepin' Dragon rose.

Her dwells. In ancient Gloamwood. In Her Clearing. There is no certainty to Her origing. Only whispers. Rumors. Ghost stories. Her stands and watches. An ancient tree? A silent guardian? A girl lost to the wood? None can say for sure.

Imagine. Taken below the surface of the world. Away from everything safe you've ever know. No way back. That's where we were. I understand now. They thought I was crazy. I saw it though. I knew we would make it home.

We flew through the passages below the world. And the rocks chased us through those tunnels. Flying like angry birds at our heads. I don't know how we escaped. I just know Cunung stopped them somehow. I don't know how he made it to us. He had a way.

I remember the moment he first existed. It was like time stopped. I should have taken that as a sign. He was so brave standing there. Then he was just... gone. I thought he was dead. What a brave man.

I miss the sound of her most. The ticking became just a part of me during our travels. Like my own heartbeat. I didn't hear it anymore after awhile. When she was gone, I just missed it. I guess I never realized how much I had grown to love them both.

Silver hair. That's all I remember. Big. Strong. Silver hair. I've never seen anyone else with silver hair. Maybe I was just young and my mind is playing tricks on me. I can't remember his face. Just a memory of silver hair that surrounds an empty space in my memories. He was a good man.

A music box. He heard it begin to play. That's how he knew. That's how saved us. Somehow. He knew it was over. Before the fight began. I miss him. An artist of death. That's what he called her.