Nathaniel Askovar - Swansong

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Obsidian Sea
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Nathaniel Askovar - Swansong

Postby Obsidian Sea » Mon Jan 23, 2017 1:26 am

Using the documents unearthed with the aid of Perry Quietfoot in Georghu's Warehouse, one among the many of Those Who Harp stood not at the precipice of a new chapter of his life, but instead dancing upon the edges of this one's final pages. He was ill-suited to definitions, falling far beyond the remit of any status quo except those most fundamental titles that had comprised his identity, both faceted and challenged by the duration of his time spent in Impiltur: he was human, and he was a Bard. More than those things, he had become a friend to some; a foe to others; and one who heeded the subtle, silver song of The Harpers. And there was so much more, that words could hardly hope to wield the matter.

Had it been from birth that he had heard the song, vibrating from his own spirit? Once a self-proclaimed renegade to the law of the Fateful Coin, young and poetic daring-do had softened its edges with the boundless philosophies of The Harpers which had struck a chord with his idealism - an idealism frequently challenged, but never defeated by the trials of his career in Impiltur.

It was not over yet. There was the rubicon: the Angelus Bridge, beyond which lay The Barrowlands, and further still from there was the Farwater: and Baytown, where a Zhentarim cell would make one in a series of advances upon Impiltur. There was a rising feeling of trepidation in Nathaniel Askovar in the moments following Anton's departure. Resolve cooled those embers, but the sensation of something final was in him like never before. He awaited the arrival of one of his Harper brothers, and then would begin a mission of such risk, danger and intrigue as Nathaniel had never known it. This was the war to which he was sworn.

Of course he thought of the friends he had made in Impiltur already: he thought of Lori Peveril and Perry Quietfoot sitting around the fireplace of 5 Shield Lane on a frosty evening; and he thought of Artemis D'Assanthe, watching the sun rise up over the horizon and kiss the Sunsong Spire. He thought of Anton, and knew not where to place the Monk except for in the very present moment, with the rain weighing down his movements as he trudged back towards Outentown. He thought of Marcellus Heldeion, the Harp of Cimbar, being carried upon a sea of loving fans towards the finest theatres in Impiltur - if not today, then in the tomorrows soon to come.

He thought too of mother and father. In the cold and wet of the witching hour, he was cradled by images of The Shaar, and of a town perpetually under siege from gulls. And for moment, there was The Crowning Glory, too - and look, a warm fire at The Thirsty Fool. His mind became a milk bath, and he was steeped in all kinds of images. All kinds of memories. Of friendships forged; brothers embraced; foes made; all kinds of skylines, and all sorts of sounds - many, countless sounds, from languages he comprehended and others he did not. Eyes filled with feathers; white swans. His young imagination filled him up, like a vessel of nineteen Tarsakhs, and a little more than that. And his mind stretched back through what had frankly been a rather short life, comprised of three major chapters.

The mother; The Shaar.

The father; Derlusk.

The siblings; Impiltur.

Little did Nathaniel know that this chapter, too, was ending, shorter than the one before it, as that one had been shorter than the one before it. But how rich; how rich with stories, and with motion. And though fate, or life - aye, The Life - might have lured him from The Shaar, still was The Shaar in him. They all were: mother, father and siblings. So full of motion; so full.

Little had Nathaniel the time on that dark midnight to consider how soon and suddenly this chapter would end: or where he might find himself in the next...
Heomar Bloodstone

Previous Characters
Aryen Caladras
Tristan Thalavar
Nathaniel Askovar
Elizabeth van der Lowe

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