Pallena: Destruction and Creation

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//for any reading this thread... I've been hesitant to start a CDT for Pallena, she doesn't have the patience or desire to keep a journal or diary, doesn't really care about anyone enough to send them letters, and I don't really enjoy just describing what characters do in an OOC fashion. So, I'll probably have a mix of random things here, maybe conversation logs, and we'll see what happens. First entry:


*a beach somewhere. An unshod toe reaches down and writes in the sand*

I am a druid of the storm

*a wave crashes up; the words become fuzzy. A few more waves, and it as if the words had never been written*

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Somewhere, a black panther hunts.

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Only a Mistite Druid would use lightning to swat mosquitos. ~Timulty Keel

Whitehorn Forest's balance is restored, with the help of the Storm.

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*A vulture in Wayfare dines on blue flesh... the second time in its life it has been called by a human to eat the strange meal. It does not complain.*

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'Midst the storm's center,
About to get swept away.
Still howls with fury.

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Pallena: **stands, looks at the crowd for a moment; she has raw confidence, but lacks Jaelle's cool poise on the storytelling stand*
Pallena: Now. There are swords, bows, spears, axes and so forth.
Pallena: The kind of thing you're likely to see on display here.
Pallena: This tale, is about a little different kind of weapons.
Pallena: The weapon of voice... or more specifically Voice *there is an unmistakable emphasis on the last word*
Tralek Rivarmar: *turns his attention to Pallena*
Pallena: The story begins with a woman named Hrafnhildr.
Pallena: A Priestess of Lady Doom....
Jaelle Thornwood: *she smiles, clearly familiar with the tale*
Argali Trueaxe: *frowns and walks off*
Tralek Rivarmar: You lost one
Jaelle Thornwood: Argali is not fond of Lady Doom *quietly*
Pallena: Her sister Kitta, who she loved dearly had died, tragically.
Pallena: *to Tralek* It was a voraxian, they don't count.
Jennara Creekskipper: *frowns*
Pallena: Tragically, because, you see, it was the day before she was going to be wed.... to a rich and powerful man.
Pallena: And while not all women yearn for such a thing, Hrafhilda knew that Kitta did, which made it all the more tragic.
 Annwyl Cadi: *she nods knowingly*
Pallena: Hrafhilda's other sister, Strynfridr, did not share Hrafhilda's grief.

Pallena: Indeed, she volunteered to marry the man instead, to preserve the union of families.
Tralek Rivarmar: Very generous ...yes
Pallena: Unable to see Strynfridr in her beloved sister Kitta's place, Hrafhilda went down to the coast to weep.
Pallena: And as her tears rained down, she listened to the ocean... for the ocean is wise, and knows that which is hidden from others.
Pallena: And the crashing of the waves told her that Stynfridr had been jealous of her sister.. so jealous, in fact that she had  poisoned Kitta.
Tralek Rivarmar: *shakes his head*
Vrebel: she musta been listenin' through one of them sea shells
Pallena: **punctuates the words by sweeping her stick through the air*
Jennara Creekskipper: *furrows her brow*
Annwyl Cadi: *her eyes fly open wide at the mention of Kitta being poisoned by Stynfridr*
Pallena: *She prayed to Mist for aid, to be able to avenge her sister...
Pallena: And Lo and Behold, at that exact moment, a bard came wandering down the road, and asked Hrafhilda why she wept.
Pallena: And when she told the bard, who was named Agmundr, what the ocean had told her, he was enraged.
Vrebel: the Voice *shouts out*
Pallena: Indeed... *to Vrebel*
Vrebel: *smiles pleased*
Pallena: The two of them marched back to the wedding. The guests, seeing a bard approaching, grrew joyous, thinking that he had come to entertain them.
Tralek Rivarmar: Ah
Pallena: Their joy faded when he opened his mouth. It is said he barely whispered, yet it issued forth with booming power.
Pallena: Walls shook, jewels flew off gowns, and coiffured hair unraveled.
Vrebel: dresses off women?
Pallena: "where is Stynfridr" Was all he said.
Jennara Creekskipper: *rolls her eyes*
Andrew William Reid: *grins*
Pallena: Trying to suppress her tremble, Stynfridr stepped forth. "Ah a bard come to entertain?" She asked.
 Jaelle Thornwood: *She listens calmly, clearly familiar with the tale but still enjoying it*
Pallena: Agmundr shook his head, fixing her dead in the eye. "No. The Ocean has spoken to your sister... a curious tale."
 Tralek Rivarmar: *rubs the back of his head* she's gona get it
Pallena: At that point, Hrafhilda stepped forward, with defience blazing in her eyes, and tears streaming down her cheeks, leveled her accusations.
Pallena: Stynfridr fell to her knees, unable to meet the accusations, nor the look in Agmundr's eyes.
Pallena: That night, no marriage was to be had.
Pallena: In its place, an execution.
Pallena: The guests bound the murderer, and Agmundr sang, a song so terrible that it set Stynfridr aflame, and thus she was punished for her crimes.
Jennara Creekskipper: *wrinkles her nose*
Andrew William Reid: *a tiny shudder at that*
Tralek Rivarmar: So ....two sisters down...she's only one left
Vrebel: the flaming bride to be
Pallena: When nothing was left but the barest ashes, and a small puddle of gold that had been her wedding ring, the two left.
Pallena: Eventually, they bore a son... who inherited his father's voice.
Pallena: A potent weapon as any that you will see here on display. These two bards - skalds, more properly - were the first Voices of Mist. A group that continues to be respected and feared by all who follow the sea or the Mistress of Storms.

//I was kinda proud of the slightly revisionist retelling I came up with on the spur of the moment, and thought I'd stick the log here. The story tells of dark and harsh deaths that bring two people together and the story ends with new life and a new organization - perhaps there is a druidic parable in there somewhere.

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It was a pity they called it Dorand's hall. Not that there was anything particularly wrong with Dorand, but dwarven notions of craftsmanship were rather alien to Pallena. In her years, she had taken up scribing, and given it up; taken up infusion, and given it up; taken up bending wood to her will and given it up; taken up banging sense out of gems; wringing potions out of plants and gemdust; creating things from earth and sand; even pulled needle and thread through cloth. In all that time, she had never set foot in Dorand's hall, nor any place where comprable equipment could be used. Always the jack of all trades and master of none, Pallena finally had achieved a level of skill in yet another craft, enchanting, to warrant throwing away a fortune for the privilege of working with fancy tools. She had begun the craft solely to bless waters - and she still was much happier working in one of her Goddess' chosen elements, working in the bowl at the temple, pouring raw energy from nature into a usable form. She had been quite honestly surprised at how similar it was to putting energy into gems and glass rods.

Pallena stepped through the threshold of Dorand's hall and looked around, a panther surveying new territory. Finally she saw, in the far back corner, an altar that looked familiar. She swaggered over to it, and ran her finger tips across the surface. It was, of course, free of dust - she supposed the massive amount of true had to be good for something. Finally, with a little more care than her typical haphazard approach to crafting, she set down her glass rods, gems, and other supplies, and began to work her magic.

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~Water is the softest thing there is; yet nothing better exists for overcoming the strong and hard~

A figure in the temple of Leringard shimers and becomes water, stepping off the cliffs to become one with the ocean....

A wave rises up, but does not crash on the shore, but just keeps on going. Through beaches, plains, forests... into crypts and catacombs. Water, fountain of life; agent of destruction.

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A new force fighting for balance swims in the waters around Leringard.