Night had fallen, and the moon in its last crescent was lifting above the edge of the horizon like a fine bow awaiting its wielder. The small clearing would serve the nights purpose, though it was no Lateu'quar that had the High Elf assembling his comrades. This was a night to recognize loss, tonight would be the long awaited Lateu'waan for a sword brother.
Oliver carefully placed the small hand carved chest at the center of their gathering, it would serve as a meager representation of the friend they had cremated within the walls of Castle Ravensloft, in contained the few precious mementos of a life cut short. Leening the fallen man's sword against the chest, he bowed his head in respect briefly before straightening. To look at those who had come out, he knew that they all needed this, but doubted that any of them wanted it as much as he needed it. Having been unable to properly pay respects to his own kin, Oliver's need for this went beyond words.
So he spoke, in a cool and strong voice, that was not much beyond his normal speaking tones.
"It is uncommon for the Tel'Quessir to be robbed of choice when the time comes for them to depart this realm. We retreat into the wilds, we become one with the wilds protecting our homes and those we leave behind through taking on a new form. We transcend, we become Ents, we become Dryads, or we cross the veil and claim our position of honor among the eternally young, among the Champions of Corellon himself to train within the hallowed halls of Gwyllachaightaeryll awaiting the time when Tel'Quessir should need the protection of that great force.
"Seldoforyama was stolen. His life claimed before it could be truly realized, and with work yet to be done. We who have stood at his side must now take up the tasks that once were his. It is under this united banner, with new purpose that we stand strong in the coming days.
"We do not mourn, for this life may return someday. Still, it is a painful knowledge, that we cannot yet celebrate the life he lived, a life that was what he chose, and a path that was what he desired.
"Silence is the way of change, at the heart of the storm you find stillness, on the eve of a great battle all who stand are somber. We enter the world naked and screaming. The same can be said for all races, in this one way we are equal. When we leave the world, no matter our intentions we have no choice but to go alone, and only a few know silence in passing. For those left behind however, there is always silence. The moment in conversation when we all pause sensing the phantom of our departed among us. Names that are painful when spoken, once joyous memories clouded. This silence is our communion with the winds of fate.
"And so when all is done, I shall return Seldoforyama's belongings to his father among the Ithil'quessir and I shall stand as his brother to sing the Song of Mourning."
Lifting a fine bottle of Elvish honey-wine, Oliver turned full circle, making eye contact with each in turn... even Katanalia, whom it was a struggle for him to trust. He poured the first glass of laure beside the small chest in libation for the departed.
"Amin elea lle, Seldoforyama."
He placed a token beside the drink, along with a stone polished to a sheen so bright that even beneath the slivered moon it sparkled. Turning he passed the bottle of laure to Amastacia, who drank deeply, laid a token of her own and passed the drink again and those present took turns laying tokens and toasting the dead. He continued shifting his words to Elvish as his tone took on the note of prayer.
"Hei-Corellon shar-shelevu..." He began then paused, trying again, "Hei-Corellon shar-shelevu" exhaling he leveled his eyes on the hilt of Seldo's sword and smiled, finally the words began to flow.
"Seldoforyama utinu en' Tel'Quessir, y' Elandili, ho atara i' Edan verne' ar' mela en' y' Ithil'quessir. Sina Cala'quessir merna ere' a' elea ho Mellon ar' megil toror' a' y' yamen' en' me'a tar i' fana. Ta naa amin regret tanya lye Lotesse il- entula ho a' ho gwaith, ar' ner sal' tanya ro will il- utua esta e' i' merka ndor.
"Il- en' edhel ar' il- en' edan, lye sinta il- mani creosa ho ie' i' tyela en' sina lema. Lotesse lle Quel esta nessa Ohtar, Amandil en' Kelemvor. Lotesse lle deeds caela earned lle y' yamen' ie' gwyllachaightaeryll istima i' megil curu yassen i' wanye Tel'Quessir en' Corellon Larethian. Lotesse lye omenta au'.
"Aaye Seldoforyama, y' elen ume sila no' i' coiasira en' lye omenta. I' coiasira lye had nae ai, amin estela tanya lye omenta au' e' i' marde en' lye fea atar
"Aaye, eller uma amin elea amin atar.
Aaye, eller uma amin elea amin atara.
ar' amin seler' ar' amin toror'
Aaye, eller uma amin elea i' teema en' amin gwaith
n'alaquel a' i' yesta.
Aaye, ron uma yela a' amin.
ron bid amin sana amin yamen' yassen sen
e' i' halls en' Gwyllachaightaeryl
manke i' astald coia ten'oio.
"Hei-Corellon shar-shelevu, ner i' oira esta en' firimar. Ona Seldoforyama y' meetima Namaarie yassen ho atara ar' sana ho e'a lle hosse, ten' ro naa astald, nostale, er now- n'ala ro tyara ar' ilya tanya Tel'Quessir moota natul-"
The others stood watch like an honor guard, silent. It was easy to know who had understood his words and those who had not. Kristoff was looking at the mementos, Amastacia stood holding the bottle of laure, eyes resting as his had on Seldo's sword. After a moment her gaze met his and again she toasted, taking a swallow from the bottle of fine honey-wine. The others had been respectful, Nova's eyes glittered furiously, or maybe with tears, the newcomers, the dragon child sat cross legged on the ground and dwarf Cleric had his head bowed and eyes closed, his lips moving silently for a fallen comrade he had never known.
Oliver carefully placed the small hand carved chest at the center of their gathering, it would serve as a meager representation of the friend they had cremated within the walls of Castle Ravensloft, in contained the few precious mementos of a life cut short. Leening the fallen man's sword against the chest, he bowed his head in respect briefly before straightening. To look at those who had come out, he knew that they all needed this, but doubted that any of them wanted it as much as he needed it. Having been unable to properly pay respects to his own kin, Oliver's need for this went beyond words.
So he spoke, in a cool and strong voice, that was not much beyond his normal speaking tones.
"It is uncommon for the Tel'Quessir to be robbed of choice when the time comes for them to depart this realm. We retreat into the wilds, we become one with the wilds protecting our homes and those we leave behind through taking on a new form. We transcend, we become Ents, we become Dryads, or we cross the veil and claim our position of honor among the eternally young, among the Champions of Corellon himself to train within the hallowed halls of Gwyllachaightaeryll awaiting the time when Tel'Quessir should need the protection of that great force.
"Seldoforyama was stolen. His life claimed before it could be truly realized, and with work yet to be done. We who have stood at his side must now take up the tasks that once were his. It is under this united banner, with new purpose that we stand strong in the coming days.
"We do not mourn, for this life may return someday. Still, it is a painful knowledge, that we cannot yet celebrate the life he lived, a life that was what he chose, and a path that was what he desired.
"Silence is the way of change, at the heart of the storm you find stillness, on the eve of a great battle all who stand are somber. We enter the world naked and screaming. The same can be said for all races, in this one way we are equal. When we leave the world, no matter our intentions we have no choice but to go alone, and only a few know silence in passing. For those left behind however, there is always silence. The moment in conversation when we all pause sensing the phantom of our departed among us. Names that are painful when spoken, once joyous memories clouded. This silence is our communion with the winds of fate.
"And so when all is done, I shall return Seldoforyama's belongings to his father among the Ithil'quessir and I shall stand as his brother to sing the Song of Mourning."
Lifting a fine bottle of Elvish honey-wine, Oliver turned full circle, making eye contact with each in turn... even Katanalia, whom it was a struggle for him to trust. He poured the first glass of laure beside the small chest in libation for the departed.
"Amin elea lle, Seldoforyama."
He placed a token beside the drink, along with a stone polished to a sheen so bright that even beneath the slivered moon it sparkled. Turning he passed the bottle of laure to Amastacia, who drank deeply, laid a token of her own and passed the drink again and those present took turns laying tokens and toasting the dead. He continued shifting his words to Elvish as his tone took on the note of prayer.
"Hei-Corellon shar-shelevu..." He began then paused, trying again, "Hei-Corellon shar-shelevu" exhaling he leveled his eyes on the hilt of Seldo's sword and smiled, finally the words began to flow.
"Seldoforyama utinu en' Tel'Quessir, y' Elandili, ho atara i' Edan verne' ar' mela en' y' Ithil'quessir. Sina Cala'quessir merna ere' a' elea ho Mellon ar' megil toror' a' y' yamen' en' me'a tar i' fana. Ta naa amin regret tanya lye Lotesse il- entula ho a' ho gwaith, ar' ner sal' tanya ro will il- utua esta e' i' merka ndor.
"Il- en' edhel ar' il- en' edan, lye sinta il- mani creosa ho ie' i' tyela en' sina lema. Lotesse lle Quel esta nessa Ohtar, Amandil en' Kelemvor. Lotesse lle deeds caela earned lle y' yamen' ie' gwyllachaightaeryll istima i' megil curu yassen i' wanye Tel'Quessir en' Corellon Larethian. Lotesse lye omenta au'.
"Aaye Seldoforyama, y' elen ume sila no' i' coiasira en' lye omenta. I' coiasira lye had nae ai, amin estela tanya lye omenta au' e' i' marde en' lye fea atar
"Aaye, eller uma amin elea amin atar.
Aaye, eller uma amin elea amin atara.
ar' amin seler' ar' amin toror'
Aaye, eller uma amin elea i' teema en' amin gwaith
n'alaquel a' i' yesta.
Aaye, ron uma yela a' amin.
ron bid amin sana amin yamen' yassen sen
e' i' halls en' Gwyllachaightaeryl
manke i' astald coia ten'oio.
"Hei-Corellon shar-shelevu, ner i' oira esta en' firimar. Ona Seldoforyama y' meetima Namaarie yassen ho atara ar' sana ho e'a lle hosse, ten' ro naa astald, nostale, er now- n'ala ro tyara ar' ilya tanya Tel'Quessir moota natul-"
The others stood watch like an honor guard, silent. It was easy to know who had understood his words and those who had not. Kristoff was looking at the mementos, Amastacia stood holding the bottle of laure, eyes resting as his had on Seldo's sword. After a moment her gaze met his and again she toasted, taking a swallow from the bottle of fine honey-wine. The others had been respectful, Nova's eyes glittered furiously, or maybe with tears, the newcomers, the dragon child sat cross legged on the ground and dwarf Cleric had his head bowed and eyes closed, his lips moving silently for a fallen comrade he had never known.
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