The Law of Blood and Branch

[Cirth]

By Silonch's urgent summons,
From deathless slumber I return.
The world is crimson, screaming;
Feel the thirst inside me burn.

In Lady Weavers' absence
Their equilibrium askew,
Raving Wyld will wax in power.
The eternal strife rage anew.

[Corri]

By Weaver's steady questions,
From rootless wanderings I'm bound.
The parting gift of the Magi;
The depth of my kinships astound.

Seasons and slumber in cycle
For ages, now finally align.
Steadfast devotion rewarded,
As again our fates intertwine.

[Cirth]

To shameful dawn I shield my face,
A thrall beneath the Reavers' will.
To slake my thirst and spare the meek,
The wicked I will drink and kill.

Another chapter to be written,
Rejoice has turned to ashen dread.
The scribe lays down his quill,
To carve a tainted river red.

[Corri]

From bloody kinship squabbles
Comes a truth that fear imparts.
Deep roots will funnel poison
Just as quick as nourish hearts.

Another chapter to be written,
Trust has closed its eyes in faith.
As Ash awaits the breaking
Silence of this dusky wraith.

[Cirth]

In the crimson tempests' centre
My nimble Ash rooted stands.
Restraint, resolve and joy all pass,
In briefest touching of our hands.

Languid centuries of longing crests,
As they meet and part.
Like oceans' ebb that seeks the shore,
Another single beat of heart.

[Corri]

Stolen warmth fades steadily,
As Winter's hunger returns.
The fleeting brush of our fingers,
Like cold iron the memory burns.

In the dizzied pace of summer,
The calm and joy of Dusk imparts,
The comfort born of ages,
Shyness born of beating hearts.

[Cirth]

Delightful vigor, quickened steps,
Speed my stride to full extent.
Down each forgotten path I stalk,
The sweet reminder of her scent.

Strength and power brimming,
With every prey beneath the knife.
The gentle scribe begins to savor,
Every stolen breath of life.

[Corri]

Seasons once more reestablished
My hair from copper now grows white
I struggle against winters torpor
The hibernation of lengthening nights.

The dryad in cycle with nature
Birth to dormance to life
As the jackpine wakes only with fire
She seeks out her own spark in strife

[Cordir]

(Speaking ooc: This is beautiful. Thank you. - C.)

[Cirth]

Old morals keep failing their vigil
Wether wicked or meek - blood is red
This rule of the hunt is present in
Every crimson drop I shed

Slow, seductive drowning
His civil trappings giving in
Every night a waxing challenge
To deny the truth within

[Corri]

Old facts now charged with meaning
Not sap, my blood drips red.
This human truth is present in
Every crimson drop I shed.

Sudden, stubborn dawning
Human too within her skin.
She seeks the Triat challenge
To embrace the truth within.

[Corri]

So that is the law of blood, that call which cannot be denied
And no matter the bond shared between them, the law of blood will divide.
As autumn is followed by winter, so are each of us bound,
And thus does the hunt continue, til truths satisfaction is found.

[Corri]

Despite the trials before me,
My oath is spoken without remorse.
For in how to answer the challenge
My own will determines the course.

Respite found within the Loom,
A moment of peace in the weave.
Foreheads together and hands entwined,
A final touch of reprieve.

[Cirth]

In the gaze of my gods she will wander
And my heart quickens with pride.
But the coils of cold in my stomach,
Whisper of fears I must hide.

By Weavers sacrifice you learn,
By Wyrm, strength and knowledge grows.
But the gifts of the Wyld are fickle;
A thorn perfecting each gift it bestows.

[Corri]

Oaths of three have bound me;
Always sleep in city's blight,
Touch may not break isolation,
I must never travel in light.

Bound, a branch may wither,
Or bend and grow 'til free.
For the dryad's seed to prosper,
She must slay the chosen three.

[Cirth]

Abandoned by oaths and kinship;
As the Lady wanders alone.
Geasa as lost as my fate itself,
I kneel to an empty throne

Unbound, his soul adrift,
By currents pulled apart.
The anchor of duty now castaway
Maroon; The desires of heart

[Corri]

Struggle won - A Triat Master,
Consequence and truth.
My thread ends in stunted tangle from
The rootless folly of my youth.

Through the hand of Wyld incarnate,
Weaver offers one more sacrifice.
The chance to cut the binding knot,
Another gift; Another price.

[Cirth]

Proud in triumph; Numb in dread,
Consquence and truth;
Our threads were crossed and bound,
In the folly of her youth

Her lifeblood pools against his knees,
As the Reaver makes its claim.
The pattern woven in her heart,
Will it remain the same?

[Corri]

Existence snaps; My life is ended
Myst's embrace - a Wyld-touched slash.
I rise reborn with cobweb memories
and step barefoot from an Ash.

Like leaves burst forth in springtime,
In echoed memory of seasons past,
The half-dryad seizes the present,
Echoed skills quickly surpassed

[Whistler]