Prydaen Refugee Lays Down the Basics

(Crossing, Zoluren: 63 Ka’len 358)

Moker strodes into the tavern, followed by the young Prydaen, N’ata. Moker sits down at the bar and rubs his forehead.

Perhaps in a daydream, the Prydaen refugee strokes the underside of her chin and stares about with a dazed look in her eyes.

"Very well," says the Prydaen refugee sadly. "I will share with you my people’s tale of how we came east… Be silent, give me your attention, and allow my words to fall into your ears."

Moker sighs and groans out, "Dear lord.. not again…"

She pauses — either from recalling bad memories or simply for effect — then says, "I hope these lands do not suffer the same fate. I’d hate to move on yet again."

Moker silently whispers, "This is the thirty second time… please dont.."

With a distant look in her eyes, the Prydaen refugee begins her tale. "Originally, I hail from the City of Sungrove, perhaps the best place on all Elanthia for milk and honey — or rather, it was. The undead put an end to that."

She sighs, then continues. "I left when first I heard the thundering of the approaching hordes, and so was spared. I fled with my family, and finally joined a group led by Vael that came here… " says the Prydaen refugee. "So many times we’ve sung the song over our dead friends and family…"

The Prydaen refugee’s tail curls slowly down her leg, as though she were unconsciously scratching an itch.

"We Prydaen normally don’t burn our dead, but we had no choice. It was the only way to keep the souls of those who perished from being trapped in those awful, festering, walking corpses!" exclaims the Prydaen refugee. "Even though, we’ve still seen an increase of our people who now are among those living dead, and a corresponding decrease in our births."

"It’s all pretty scary. I worry that my sister will not bear children like she wishes. But then, I did tell her she should have married long ago." Nodding sagely, the refugee rambles on a moment. "Why, there was quite a handsome fellow several years ago which would have been perfect for her, but… Oh! Oh yes, the story. Where was I…?"

While taking a moment to straighten her attire, the a Prydaen refugee says, "Finally, we found out that this Human named Lyras was behind the whole legion of undead. I’ve never met her, but surely, she’s quite tasteless. Have you ever seen dead flesh? Not a pretty sight, I can tell you." Almost as an after thought, the Prydaen refugee adds, "If not for the barrier, Lyras would certainly be here by now."

"Thankfully, she is not," adds the Prydaen refugee. "And so ends my story." Clearly enjoying the attention, she bows gracefully and falls quiet.

Moker sighs. Baresh leans over and whispers into Moker’s ear, "I dont think your sillyness is appropreate here, friend. The story is sad enough w–"

Moker interupts with his hand held high. "You’ll see.."

Suddenly, the Prydaen starts up again.

"Very well," says the Prydaen refugee sadly. "I will share with you my people’s tale of how we came east… Be silent, give me your attention, and allow my words to fall into your ears."

She pauses — either from recalling bad memories or simply for effect — then says, "I hope these lands do not suffer the same fate. I’d hate to move…"

(hours pass..)

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