#cervato

El horrendo crimen del cura degollado de Valverde del Fresno

El horrendo crimen del cura degollado de Valverde del Fresno

Cierto día de mayo de 1852 y el párroco de Valverde del Fresno , Pedro Berrio Picado se dirigía por con uno de sus monaguillos a la ermita del Espíritu Santo, dos kilómetros al noroeste del municipio junto al arroyo Castaño . 

El camino a priori no entrañaba peligros y caminaban charlando tranquilos y despreocupados, pero en un…

The Commander? Cervato helped Elijah escape from the weighty burdens of the Shining Blade regime. Her influence upon him is nothing to be scoffed at with how monumental their shared freedom together helped feed one another’s escapism, almost too far ultimately. It was Elijah’s own wayfaring spirit that left their relationship perptually locked in an agonizing limbo. Never quite together, never quite apart.

He blames himself for hurting her in his absence, something he still dwells over thoroughly. Above all, she was and is one of his finest friends and boldest allies. Her strength is not to be underestimated and her bravery unmatched when odds are stacked. There aren’t many, truly, that Elijah can rely on both the battlefield and off of it. It is there Cervato will forever hold her place in his heart as his boldest companion.

He misses her. He does. All the cyclops hopes is that his heartbroken friend finally finds the happiness he so wanted for her.

“Come now, Commander. You don’t truly believe your doting fans will mind me sneaking my way into a photo or two, do you? They wouldn’t.”

“Right?”

Fader vår, som är i himmelen Helgat varde ditt namn Tillkomme ditt rike Ske din vilja Såsom i himmelen så ock uppå jorden Ge oss bröd ock idag Och förlåt oss våran skuld

Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name, your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as in heaven. Give us today our daily bread. Forgive us our sins 

She didn’t want to talk about what she had witnessed the night before. She didn’t expect to be stepping into a Mists rift. And she definitely did not expect to be dealing with what could be seen as her worst nightmare reliving before her eyes. And yet, she saw what she could have been. And what she would have been had it not been for the persistence of one sylvari.

Día Mundial de la Naturaleza

La conmovedora historia de la víbora herbívora y el yacaré desdentado

Habían nacido para ser las fieras más salvajes y temidas de la selva: la terrible constrictora y el acorazado de la boca inmensa. Ambos eran capaces de cazar, triturar y devorar presas más grandes que ellos mismos. Nadie se acercaba al río, reino del yacaré, ni a los árboles cercanos donde imperaba la anaconda. Nadie que…

I put down my pen whence the flaring sorrow following Kophon’s demise diminished to a snuff of kindling embers, leaving me mute, bereft of expression. Since - the months and season whirled past. Life roared in a defiance all around, yet I had withdrawn to deep places within my heart. Every small beautiful moment I cherished, every halt of inspiration I kept to myself... they were my sustenance, too greedy I was to share them, even with these pages.

Every turn of events would either court me with further regret or embrace me with the fleeting warmth of a sunset... to all except my closest friends I appeared the same, yet Alfredon and Kiryvin could see it... I was not the same, not really. I am a sad echo of a once proud, surefooted Warrior, whirling a wooden staff instead of deadly naked steel.

Tolivris’s Sanctuary had been lost, our once protected haven was betrayed to the Songbird’s enemies. Noose mercenaries defiled our waters, broke our ships, burned our houses... Seaweed was lost, my dear old friend, lost, along with Truls Lionsbane, and Zikrisf, and Emil... I believed Rue would have been nearly lost just as well but I managed to wrench Draegoren’s sister from the surrounding press of invaders. We’ve left the Sanctuary behind us that day, leaving our proud cove-bound township to fires and wreckage and defeat.

We’re scattered still.

For several months Draegoren and I withdrawn to the seclusion of my humble stead in Venison Pass, sharing our grief by the hearth, letting the gentle green slopes ease our minds, letting the chill crisp breeze that travelled down from the snowy peaks nourish us, letting the eternal majesty of the region calm us, turn our thoughts elsewhere... Drae’s taken to hiking around the valleys, sometimes he would share words with followers of Raven, and mention that in the evenings.

T’was a piece of paper that finally dragged me back to civilization. Someone left it stuck beneath a still half filled keg of sharp ale at Vanjir’s stead. I drank the ale whilst I read the paper. Paper turned out to be a flyer.

The Accord is an intriguing collective to behold, it’s as if Tyria’s roughest melded with Tyria’s finest, all in order to hold the line against the dragons and the imminent destruction they herald.  A gathering of brave people who strive, who hope, who dare... that’s where I’ve found Saro again, and he was shining brightly, a star, even in such a crowd of proud folk.

Saro...

The mere penning of his name, even that still fills me with the overwhelming improbability of all that transpired. No. No no. You couldn’t have gone, you couldn’t have left me...

So easy, fresh tears are such an easy thing. The heart itself riots at the thought that he would be gone, taken from me forever. And yet the garish image of his impaled form lingers still at the forefront of my mind. Just a moment before that happened he beamed one if his sunny, stupidly golden smiles at me. ‘For Luna’, he said.

And just before the fight… telling me there was something he wanted to tell me, hesitating, then saying he’ll tell me afterwards, as we travelled north…

I would never know.

He had so many dreams... so many people he loved...

Collyn, Cervato, Luna…

Protecting them’s guided the man’s life, the last months of his living... I learned that, and I learned more still by listening to the man, by the reading of his family journals, so full of his own accounts - my thrice damned curiousity saw that I would. He claimed I now knew him better than even his brother... for reading all that...it was an odd moment, then, Saromire seemed flustered, almost, or it might have been the flames.. 

Saro, I did know you, I needn’t a journal or the sound of your voice to know you, just by looking at you I knew you, as profoundly as I knew myself.

With his parting, he left me his dreams, his ideas, his hopes, a ridicilous ammount of notations by Collyn... and a word, that word he always insisted I should embrace, even though I would stubbornly push him away, trying to wallow and cling to my despairings.

Yet even after his death he sent it along with Collyn, formed by his own crude etching in Old Ascalonian,so inflicted upon a dagger’s sheath. 

Forward.

Saro...

A word and a relic dagger are not enough, would never be enough, that or a Knitted mantle with a Snow Leopard styling, that, or all the books in the Lancastir’s library...

You stupid, golden idiot.

Nothing ever would, to replace you...