Synopsis: Strange problems plague a forest in the Fiefdom of Roses.  The Exalted Sage, Gilded Rose and Ten Hollow Tongues all show up, drawn as if by fate, to the troubles.

 

PCs: The Exalted Sage, Gilded Rose, Ten Hollow Tongues

Run by: Cynis Chu

 

-The Exalted Sage-

A mischievous sage, with a flowing gold cloak.

 

-Gilded Rose-

A dark skinned woman with golden tattoos

 

-Ten Hollow Tongues-

An imposing, unnerving man.

 

---

 

Twillight is falling, over the forests of the Fiefdom of Roses. And, in particular, this forest, at this sunset, has become noted for it's troublesome spirits. Wood spiders turned sullen and aggressive. Old green men, long friends of the Roses, have become withdrawn, even prone to violence against the loggers who occusionally visit them. The courts are in disarray, and the local villages suffering, beneath the fat white moon and the glimmering stars.

 

A small song carries gently into the wind, from a happily singing Ichaerus. Who is in the midst of boiling a large pot of water over a campfire, just on the edge of the forest. Quickly adding a kettle and a few heaps of ghostleaf to the brew, giving off a with unearthly glow. The fire making his incredibly sharp features even more distinct in the glow. As the water boils, and he adds in vegtables, he proceeds to place a skull and few bones upon the ground, and open up a sketchbook taken from his leather satchel. Busyily scribbling away as the fire cooks. And every so faintly the tea kettle whistles.

 

The plain, feature-fitting black mask that covers the face of Ten gazes out upon the raucous spirits, all-at-once terrifying and beautiful: his scarecrow form seems to almost hover over the earth, each step smooth and practiced, to a puff of green-limmed smoke, as his hands and body sway, the first tremblings of a dance, his elongated fingers weaving, his impossible seven-foot frame approaching the jeers. The shouts. The waddling form of the approaching Little Gods, baring their gnarled lances of root and sharpened sticks, behind which the glowering eyes and dripping maws of enraged Wood Spiders gaze, snapping their mandibles and hissing dark promises to the shadow who marches into their glade.

    Still he moves, undaunted, laughing slightly into the throng of biting ephemeral gnats, of acid-lined fireflies which sting and jab at his form, before a great leering oak, which groans at the impudent intruder's figure. An old voice, like leaves shaking under the drops of rain croaks out defiantly, having heard of the gaunt and his broken words. But with a whistle, and few simple words dripping with honey, accompanied by the faintest promise of a dance, the raging spirits retreat, scuttling back into the brush, and Ten moves, following some path through the woods known only to him, until, with certain indifference, he walks right out into the middle of a grove, approaching the lit fire.

 

The black masked figure isn't the only one drawn towards the fire. A green-skinned woman steps out from a tree, walking towards the fire in a winding path, caught somewhere between wary-ness and interest. Her eyes are solid amber, and you can see, as she draws closer, that her skin isn't so much 'green' as composed of leaves. "Evening, stranger," she says towards the Sage, keeping a careful distance from the fire, her shadow dancing out and back towards the wood. "And to you, whistler," she adds towards Ten.

 

"Fair childe of the Wyld, how do you do this evening?" asks Sage.  Placing his workbook to the side and offering her a kind bow. Though keeping his back straight and eyes upon her flora form. Not wanting to expose the back of his neck to perfect stranger. "And you sir, a good evening as well. I was making some tea, and stew. Would you care to join me?" Motioning delicate fingers to the cooking firepit. His eyes dance over her body taking careful note. Her kind had always mystified him. "The forest seems rather unruly as of late. It seems everywhere has been in shambles lately though. Dark times are on their way."

 

    Ten leans daintily down, inserts his hand into the fire, and draws forth some coals, bringing them forth to eye level, then crumbles them in his hand, his glove burning slightly, a smoke trail raising into the sky. He keeps silent, though his form sways back-and-forth, the edges of his coat flitting in some unfelt breeze. A slight jangle of chimes rings out from the myriad baubles about his person, as he gazes from the form of the wood spirit to the man.

 

The leaf-woman smiles slightly, her teeth brown and round like acorns. "No child of the wyld, am I good stranger. And unruly?" She seems bemused at the comment. "Surely any unruliness would be brought to the attention of the Prince of Spreading Shade." She hesitates briefly, at Ten's actions, giving him a confused look. "Doesn't that /burn/?" she asks, clearly startled at the display.

 

"Fair childe of the forest, how do you do this evening?" Placing his workbook to the side and offering her a kind bow. Though keeping his back straight and eyes upon her flora form. Not wanting to expose the back of his neck to perfect stranger. "And you sir, a good evening as well. I was making some tea, and stew. Would you care to join me?" Motioning delicate fingers to the cooking firepit. His eyes dance over her body taking careful note. Her kind had always mystified him. "The forest seems rather unruly as of late. It seems everywhere has been in shambles lately though. Dark times are on their way."

 

    "Does it? Surely there must be some measure." Ten seems to be distracted, looking down at the smoldering coals. "Many would say such, but perhaps it only burns sparsely. Perhaps it has burnt, but did not now. Perhaps it burns those who have displeased it. Perhaps it burns not at all." He looks down at his hand, still smoking, the glove tattered, its edges red. It looks up at the creature. "It is the same as asking why the rain knows neither cloud nor ground. An answer so obvious, yet meaningless, so as to go unspoken, and yet I will be asked 'doesn't that burn'." He softly tugs a leaf off a nearby tree, rolling it back and forth.

 

The Exalted Sage says, "What name are you known by fair maiden? And would one be correct in assuming that The Prince of the Spreading Shade is your Liege?" He carefully takes the kettle off of the fire, and pours himself a cup of glowing white tea. Motioning to additional cups. "Care for a cup? It does wonders?" The Sages eyes go wide at the sight of the man taking the coals from the fire. "Very very nice. I remember a monk from the southern elemental pole I once met who could do something similar. Some practice of controlling ones own tempature to extremes. But you don't look like your one for theology lessons." And merely sits contentedly sipping his tea with a light chuckle."

 

Looking up from being a bit lost-in-thought- just outside of fire's light, Gilded Rose turns as other voices filter in. "Hello ." she says looking a bit surprised. She looks at Sage, but comes back closer to the fire and settles down to observe the visitors.

 

The green lady shivers at Ten, clearly offput, before Sage's question gives her a chance to leave the unsettling figure. "He- yes. Well, the master of all these woods, and the spirits within them. And you three have arrived at a most auspicious evening, as my Lord will be hosting a grand ball and masqe, to celebration his reunion." She seems off-balance, still. And maybe from something more than the fire.

 

"This is a most wonderous and seredipidous time!" Ichaerus looks as if he'd just been told he was getting a copy of the Black and White Treasties for Calibration. "I've not been to a party in ages. What do you think my dear Rose? A excellent time to associate with the fair folk of this area, and mayhap discuss with their leige how the Saltwater Vale can benefit them, and vice versa." Turning towards Ten. "My good sir, you speak volumes of wisdom with that. I do often lament on those who's questions seem obvious and uneeded. The purpose of language is to let otherwise be aware of our thoughts. Yet often stray inquiring minds feel the need to ask questions they can answer themselves. A pity all those seconds add up to be a lifetime in the end." Returning his gaze to the green woman. "So, what is the dress attire? And when does the party begin?"

 

Gilded Rose pauses a moment. She inhales slowly. "I am not sure how my people would feel... but I do see your point, Ichaerus. " She ponders a few moment she offers the tea to the others. "My name is Gilded Rose." she says in a friendly and pleasant tone. "It's a pleasure to meet both of you."

 

    "To be free, to walk, to feel that breath, nay the masque, you stop, and feel cold death." The ringing of chimes accompanies the melancholy poem, spoken in Old Realm, and Ten looks up at the green leaf he holds in his hand, seeming to be more vibrant just by virtue of being held, then turns his cloaked mien to the lady, his voice quiet, "This night will not be soon forgotten. Masks will be shattered." He turns back to the fire. "Illusions burned. Yes. This night bears fortune like a heavy cloak, it is mantled in fortuity, it is the beginning of many ends." His cloak rustles, as he slowly intones, "Let us see your master's halls."

 

The green woman bows briefly, before setting off shortly into the woods. Only a few steps away, she adds, "Oh, no fires. Put that one out. The Prince doesn't much care for them."

 

The woods themselves are dark; the moon shows only intermitently through the foilage. And as you proceed, the air feels chiller. Cooler. A low, grey fog grips the ground; the trees loose their foilage and luster. Even in the middle of the Season of Wood, it feels like the depths of harvest, with a harsh cold wind ready to blow.

 

Gilded Rose walks. The cold harvest-time feel of the woods, make the Wood Exalt, seem less pleased. "It shouldn't feel.... so..." she shakes her head. "Someone elses domain." she whispers quietly as if to remind herself, that was someone else's wood, their home. "So what are your names?" she asks cheerfully to the others, feeling that she'd been overshadowed.

 

As the chill grips at him, The Sage pulls his cloak around himself tightly. Taking a deep breath of the air holding it in, enjoying the sensation of filling his body with the cold bite for a moment. "Times like these I feel more alive than ever. I've not ventured anywhere close to these lands before. I must say though, they seem to bear their own unique qualities. Not unfavorably though." His gaze seems a distance off ruminating to himself as they walk.

 

    Moving with alien grace even in the depths of the chill woods, Ten seems to glide more than walk, his footsteps smooth and even, his upper body leaning forward in a predatory style, his fingers twitching slightly. The jangling bells that lay draped across his form are oddly silent, even as he slips under low-hanging branches, sliding around roots, somehow calmed. His voice snips out, "What is in the name if it is simply that of a mask. I think you should be far more interested," it moves nearer to the spirit, "in /what/ we are."

 

Gilded Rose almost stops walking as if the sudden realization that the people she was speaking with weren't quite what they appeared. "I should be. But I have begun to learn that /what/ or /who/ someone isn't doesn't nessacerily all of a person it is one part of a mask. A mask called :Self. And simply because someone is something doesn't not mean that /what/ they are is /all/ that the are."

 

"Wind Whistling," the woman in green says, half turning as she leads. As Ten draws closer, she shivers again. "And I'm just a forest spirit..."

 

Along side you, other shapes are drawing in the same direction, with varying degrees of humanity. Several are roughly humanoid, like Wind, men and women composed of foilage. But there are also things like fat, bulbous spiders the size of dogs, scurrying in and out of sight. Things like trees walking themselves, creaking branches and roots grinding the distance away. Small figures, that barely come up to your knees with hats as tall as they are, the bright colors of their clothing clashing against the greyness that seems so sufficing.

 

A short time after starting the walk, you arrive at a clearing in the woods. At intervals are bright lights burning with a cool silver light out of clear gems, hung from branches are semi-regular intervals. And the spirits you've seen are gathered in a circle, dancing. A band plays, flutes and oboes and pan pipes echoing a tune that tries to cut throguh the dark.

 

In the center, a tall and imposing figure stands. His face and body are barked thickly, and green moss is shaped into a semblance of hair and clothing.

 

To Sage, a woman stands, ghostly and pale and lovely, like the fog gathered together, next to the great wooden man.

 

The Exalted Sage looks around at all of the party-goers. Finding himself tapping his foot pleasantly to the music surrounding him. "Is that our host Miss?" Gesturing to the moss-covered behemoth of a man. "I'd like to speak with him afore we get to heavily invested in this party." Offering a chuckle to Rose and a kind nudge. "For some reason I just couldn't help but thinking as this the first time I'm out having a good time, where there is no chance you'll be serving drinks." To the young etheral maiden in the crowd, he tosses a sharp smile, and a brief polite wave, hoping to catch her eye.

 

    The chimes ring out a sickening sweet note as Ten moves under a massive arch of two intertwined branches, approaching the clearing. He stands fully erect, his terrifying height evident, his expressionless black mask slowly turning to survey the assembled to the creaking and cracking of bone, emanating from his neck. One hand rubs the dull edge of some iron implement, its edge barely glimmering in the light, hidden within his cloak, as he moves closer, undaunted by the myriad of creatures. Every step is punctuated by the unceremonious clanging of chains. He weaves this way and that, meandering ever closer to the godly band.

 

Gilded Rose laughs. "True. Well I guess I have to enjoy myself now. I can play the servant, nor can I truely play a being a queen." she inhales. She seems to be steeling herself for this... wide array of spirits gods and other beings, tha may come to the party. "Here I am, not dressed up, without a mask, wouldn't be too difficult to slip back into being my old self. You'll have to watch me, Ichaerus...keep me from going backwards." she tells her friend.

 

The dancers give Ten a wide bearth as he walks, a stream of scandelized gossip following in his wake.

 

Whisper nods towards Sage, relief claiming her as Ten heads away from her. "Hm? Oh, yes. He's the Prince of Spreading Shade and Gentle Growth. Don't be put off by his appearance, he's trully a wise lord. As firm as old oak... but wise." She looks at the tree-man, with awe, and maybe a touch of fear.

 

A hunched figure bustles between the various guests, offering wooden glasses filled with rich, dark fruit juices, and masks made of leaves. Several spirits seem to be wearing them, although for some, it's hard to tell.

 

"Well if you will excuse me Whisper, I'd like to introduce myself. Though perhaps later you'd be kind enough to save me a dance, so I may full well appreciate the grace of the woods." The Sage just grins as he turns rather quickly. Not wanting to be in poor form, scooping up a goblet and a rather festive green-leaven mask. Quickly donning it before continuing his approach toward the Prince. With a gallant stride and pride in his step, he takes a quick swig of the fine juice savoring it on his palette. "Good evening M'lord. This gala had caught me by surprise, so I do apologize about my vestments. But I do suppose any clothes on your back are better than none."

 

    Ten moves slowly through the part, gazing upon the h'orderves, sniffing the juice, eyeing the dancers and staring at the band. From somewhere on his person he produces an eye-mask, similar to the ones provided to the assembled, but bearing the bright colors of autumnal leaves, mixed with the crisp look of those already fallen to earth, dead. Eventually, he draws forth a single gorgeous, thin stick - the broken edge of some blade, itself punctuated by copper rivulets, which rings even as he pulls it. He walks to the front of the musicians, taps it lightly on the air, and with a great sweeping motion of his arms begins to move , the blade drawing ethereal trails of burning green lights which flicker then die out, like short-lived fireflies in its wake. But, in a far greater manner, it produces great and glorious notes, like a master violinist he works his instrument, nothing more than the air itself under the blade's weight, and it sings sweeter still as he moves with the song of the band.

 

(Judge) Ten Hollow Tongues rolls Performance + Charisma: [ -1- 3 5 5 5 5 6 7 8 <10> ]

    Resulting in 4 successes.

-= OOC =- Ten Hollow Tongues says, "My song is setting at 11 successes."

 

Gilded Rose takes one of the juices and a mask. She fingers the leaves just sort of admiring the item first. It was so her. She follows the Sage, wandering a few paces behind him, trying to appear seperate but in a sene needing to make sure she could still see him. As she approaches she dons her mask as well. She felt almost at home in the wood-for not being a whatever the other beings were. The glorious music makes the Wood aspect pause in her tracks- she almost couldn't help but want to dance.

 

The crowd around Ten is suddenly FAR more appreciative of him, breaking into a far happier dance than the ponderous movements from before. The other players rapidly turn their tunes in support of his own, following as best they can.

 

The Prince, however, seems hardly to hear. He nods gravely towards Sage, and speaks in a rolling, deep bass. "Greetings to you, mortal, and welcome to my domain." He sweeps an arm out, leaving it hanging, oddly, to his side, twig fingers half-open, cupping the air. "And welcome also, a wonderful reunion, soon to come. A triumph," he rumbles, "of the power of life over death!" The last is spoken at a shout, and seems more directed at the crowd, who cheer dutiful, without the sort of commitment you might expect.

 

Closer to the Prince, you can recognize the small buds sprouting from him, from his mossy beard and eyebrows. They're ghostleaf buds.

To Sage, the gesture is obvious, the Prince wrapping his arm around the ghostly woman's shoudlers.

 

Gilded Rose nearly steps back at the shout, but she turns to look over her shoulder sort of leasuire trying not to appear too shaken. She smiles at the Prince, the entire forest was his domain and for a moment wanted to speak to him, but he seemed distracted.

 

"I am know as Ichaerus. It is a pleasure to meet you. And begging your pardon sir, who is this lovely woman accompanying you this eve?" As the Sage motions to the empty arm of the forest-lord. As well as pricking his ears at the beautiful adjustments made upon the music over the area.

 

"Ahhhh," the Prince gives a broad, contented smile. "This is my lovely wife. Wonderfully perceptive of you to notice. And yes, she is dead." The last part gives the rumble a note of anger. "Cut down by bandits- bandits in my woods! Cut down on her way to give her devotions! However..." And at this, the grin turns mean, vindictive. "There is justice yet, in the woods of the Prince of Spreading Shade. Blood shall answer blood, and blood shall call blood. Look up, to the coming reunion."

 

Up above, suspended by gossamer threads of essence silk, men and women are hung. Several dozen, at least. Some are obviously dead, hanging limply, twisting faintly in the breeze. Others struggle, with crusted wounds, arms straining against constraints, mouths straining against gags. Several are dressed poorly and ragged, but not all- almost a third are dressed in the style common to the villages of the Fiefdom.

 

Gilded Rose blinks. The sudden descent of some rotting corpses, of some living people, of injured and hurt people, leaves Rose looking somewhere between horrified and desperate. "Ichaerus!" she calls. This were... well people. People who needed protection and help. She strides towards the Prince of Shade. "Ichaerus see what you can do to help them." she inhales, and tries to not to break her compsure-as thinly veiled as it is. "This is madness." she says in the most firm voice she can muster. "Why hurt these people..."

 

"MADNESS!" The elemental prince's voice roars in anger. "These murderers killed what was mine- I will kill them in turn! And yes, I know arts... subtle arts, and lost for long years!" The rage in the voice sounds like a summer storm, and under it lies a disturbing undercurrent, a disjointness. The god's eyes glitter in an unsettling fashion. "Only death can pay for death, and I will HAVE death! But death can pay for life, as well!" He laughs, and much of the court laughs with him. Some few watch with fear, and the court's laughter is more forced.

 

    Looking up at the descending corpses, and soon-to-be-corpses, Ten does not break stride. With a nod to the band and a rumble in Old Realm akin to 'up the tempo,' he spins off, deftly sheathing the blade, and grabbing a nearby forest spirit all in one go, pulling her into the dance with a briefest of laughs. He begins to twirl and spin, faster and more precise with his charge, moving through the half-hearted throngs, delivering a whisper here, a chuckle there, and little more than a nod, all while keeping perfectly time, his lanky frame executing moves that might seem impossible to another form. In his meandering motion he often leaves his partner for another, grabbing up whatever large and unwieldy and potent elemental he can manage to turn to the music, cooing soft words into their waiting ears, a cascade of dead leaves trailing in his wake, as he ever-so-slowly approaches nearer to the throne.

 

Gilded Rose shakes her head. "Death can't pay, it only cause more death, more suffering." she tries to keep composed. "How do you know these murderers?" she gestures at those bodies and those soon to be corpses. "How can you identify them. It's madness to kill people, who have nothing to do.. you're..." she frowns. "You're ill with grief. Mad with it." she says looking back towards the bodies. "You're drowing in it. But killing more and more people will only pull you down into the darkness. This revel, your holding its twisted and wrong. " she's tearing up now, just a little, she can still hear the glorious music, and her glances at the corpses haven't left her blind to Ten's actions. "Tell me something Prince of Shade, do you enjoy the horror of death? Those hanging by those gossmar threads have loved ones too... loved ones you've taken from them, just as your loved one was taken...its nothing but a vicious cycle. End it... you can end it!"

 

The Sage's mouth almost falls open as his eyes see the villagers above. "My good sir. Is this the route that must be taken? Are these the bandits responsible for your wifes murder?" Motioning to those swaying in the wind while maintaining a calm relaxed tone. "The love the two of you share is obvious. Enough to tether her to this world." He turns moreso to the phantom than the Lord. "M'lady, is this your wish? That your husband kill to satiate what he feels was robbed from him. And yourself as well? Look into their eyes." Motioning to the puppet-like commoners. "Is this not just them you are hurting but their families, and their loved ones. For they will come after your husband for robbing them of their loved ones lives as well. Only violence comes from violence. Never peace."

 

"How do I know? How do *I* KNOW?" The Prince roars with frustration. "I AM THE PRINCE OF SPREADING SHADE! Where shadows fall in my gleans, I see and hear! Where innocent blood was spilt, I smelt and tasted! Where salt tears watered my loam, where breath faded, I WAS THERE! They are guilty, all of them!" He fixes a gaze on Gilded. "And anyone who would try and deprieve me of my rightful prey, who would defend such criminals..." He suddenly pauses, hesitating, some of the anger leaking from him. His attention shifts to the empty air at his side.

To Sage, the ghostly woman draws looks him in the eye, then draws back, pulling at the Prince's arm and pointing at your forehead.

To Sage, At about that time, you feel... a tremendous warmth, welling up inside you. The smell of the forest filling you, as if you were suddenly taking deeper breaths than normal.  Also, your glowing a little.  So, that's new.

 

Gilded Rose inhales. She's shaking, but its controlled, fear slowly beginning to take overa but, but she pushes away "Yes if that is true. You were there. You know the criminals. But... I get the sense that... I don't think you're wife would want you to kill indescriminantly to kill meaninglessly. To do it to make people scared. You're...scaring people... your own people... those who would be at peace here, they won't come because of...fear." she graps at straws hoping to find some peice to hold onto to use as leverage.

 

Ten Hollow Tongues merely dances, closer and closer, his masked face leaning in to better hear the raging arguments

 

Ichaerus reaches a solemn hand on his mask, sliding it off of his face backwards. Staring into the eyes of the forest lord. "Your wife, had so much love for you, that it ran beyond her flesh and blood. That she saw the great abyss before her, and told them all that she would wait for you to cross that threshold with her one day. The bond the two of you share is immense and anyone could see that. But you do not speak with the kindness and gentleness of one who is great and wise as youself. Your fear of what you lost is unwarrent. For you still have her, and her love even now. Though these people suffering will spread more fear and hatred towards you. And yet you, who should be loved by your subjects. Is it not better to show forgiveness than to exact revenge? I know you have a heart that runs deep. For I can see it in your wife's eyes. But your love is not one based on blood, it is of care and concern for one another. Death is a part of all living things. You too one day shall have to pass that threshold yourself. The strings of fate were not kind to your wife. Yet she wanted to wait for you. To not have you live in fear that day, knowing that she will be with you every step of the way. It is the kind of love some search for a lifetime and never find. But, it saddenss me greatly, and from the looks of it her as well. That your more concerned of seeking revenge. Than appreciating just how much love and devotion she's shown to you.

 

From around Sage, a golden halo begins to grow; on his forehead, unmasked, shines the brilliant golden circle-surrounding-circle of the Decievers, of an Eclipse.

 

The Prince hesitates, meeting Ichaerus' gaze only briefly before casting his eyes aside. "It... it has been long, Prince of the Earth," he mutters, sullenly. "Would you deny me what is rightfully mine? Would you cost me justice?" The question is far weaker now, almost plantive. No longer a command, it is a request, and the god seems to almost shrink away from the golden light.

 

So to does the fog, evaporating like a morning mist as the sun rises.

 

Gilded Rose tries to balance. One eye on the Ichaerus who's making the hair on the back of her neck- and on her head almost stand up. And the other on the distraught god. "No, I would not deny you justice. But I know the feelinging and while I want justice, I can't have it. but.. Ichaerus is right.." she smiles at the emerging Solar. She wants to cry-to break down but she holds herself rooted to the ground like a tree. "List to his words."

 

The Exalted Sage relaxes his face and closes his eyes. Almost as if basking in the glow he is casting as he speaks. "It is not I whom you should be asking that, but your wife." Gesturing once more to the empty air by the Prince. "M'lady. As it was your life, what say you? Have the deaths of those already entwined in the gossamer paid what you have lost? Or do you too desire more blood to be spilt, and more hearts be broken and smashed?"

To Sage, the ghostly woman smiles briefly, contentedly.  Her eyes close, and she slips away, fading into Lethe.

 

    A distant echo of a chuckle rings out, the dancing man moving away to watch a distance. "The end of many beginnings, the shedding of masks. It is a fortuitous night."

 

The Prince watches the air next to him, his wooden face slipping between inredulality to frustration to fear, and finally to resignation. He makes a short, sharp chopping motion at the musicians, who cut off abrubtly. The court falls silent, most of the spirits staring in awe at Sage.

 

"Cut them down. Send them home." The Prince rumbles. His moss is browning, his leaves turning to autumn golds, like the red of heart's blood. "Send home those murderers, who stole my wife from me. The Prince has spoken." A few spiders hurry to comply scuttling up the trees with unnatural speed and grace.

 

"Before all depart, oh Prince of this forest. I humble make a request. So that all may not forget what has happened here. Both as a testament of your kindness, fairness, and love for your wife. Once a year, on this very day. Shall we hold revel, in rememberance and honor of all who've been lost to the sands of time, that we may keep our love for them fresh in our minds and hearts?" As he bows low to the forest lord.

 

The Prince nods, unhappily, sending a cascade of leaves to the ground. "I will be here," he says, cheerlessly, tonelessly.