❛ Iorv, ❜ He starts, typical greeting followed by a kiss to the cheek, ❛ Took a contract recently that had me chasing an Ekimmara through some elven ruins. Found /this/, ❜ A sword is produced, elder speech carved into blade -- unreadable to his eyes, but perhaps carrying more meaning to an Aen Seidhe. ❛ tucked away in its nest. Figured i'd hold onto it, see if you wanted it. ❜

         Yet he had seen the cascade of Shaerrawedd, beheld the folly of Aelirenn, and descried the carnage afore Dol Blathanna’s quasi-reign; remnants, they were said to be, more than a vestige and less than a shade          but how could they be, if there were no remains, nor beleaguered tinctures, which didst thenceforth tarry ( even Faeinnewedd seemed to wane, a final echo of erstwhile whimsy ).

Though dactyls entwine with something relinquished unto fading present, and countenance is riddled with tides of quaking uncertainty: it is not fleeting as he would have presumed, metal rests atop gloved hands, weighted as any other blade he hath heretofore claimed. Lips sunder in silent shock; in brevity ebon brow furrows ‘neath scarlet shroud. How can a solitary shard, a fractal, be imbued with such history? And still it is a reminder of all that has been lost.

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Many of the officers in my unit carried swords like these,  a low intonation; for he knows that the Witcher is dreadfully unaware of what this is, what it means. Perchance, in some respects, he has endowed the whole of elven chronicle, in little more than haemal-risen antiquity hence. Never thought I’d hold one again. ❞ Hilt is gripped with dilapidated familiarity, scintillating silver examined further, with torturous precision this time. Not a feigned attempt at lore, but an authentic branch from his people’s atrophying tree.

Beryl fixates on this unexpected gift-giver; even if he tried, he would be unable to cloister the misshapen smile which creases disfigured skin thereafter.  You’ve done the Aen Seidhe a great service, Geralt; I…don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay this debt. 


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WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE!

THE ELF IORVETH

EXCEPTIONALLY RUTHLESS COMMANDER TO A UNIT OF Squirrels

Written by Cress
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CREDITS.