Tradition pooled through their lungs as they marched from their frosty Orangemoon grounds and coiled amidst the grandeur of changing leaves – the Aurora Basin festival was upon them, glowing, tempting, invigorating. In years past they’d honored the glory of their god, the righteous wake of their empire, and the stately regard of their land; and it’d continue into this season, folding right over legions and legends. There’d be songs and dancing, reverence and silliness, celebration of one more session of time beneath the regal mountains and the rolling hills – even amidst the despair, the chaos, the heady, overwhelming melancholy enforced upon them all. They’d driven past enigmas and bedlam before, and they weren’t about to let it stop them now.
Determination settled across the Songbird’s features as they dipped along the borders of the World’s Edge – no longer haunted by the poignant fringes of fog and the abyss, the rocky shoal, the echo of waves bounding against its vicious outcrop. She turned to Glasgow more than once, funneling conversation about various tidbits, smiling, laughing, encouraged by the dazzling promises, the serenity, the tranquility embodying and pervading their spirits, beguiling and alluring others to join them in games, in gathering not for bloodshed, but for jubilation and excitement. It was a chance to express, to be merry, to be more than clouded by the what-ifs and the notions of the great beyond – so she lifted her head and echoed a melodic calling through the vast, misty woodland, hoping to extend their leafy pamphlets and well wishes into a tempted throng; because the world shouldn’t have always been so cold. We band together Imogen declared, and Lena could only wholeheartedly agree, watching the cloudy horizon for an opportunity to pass along the sentiments.
[Stopping at the Edge Borders to invite everyone to participate in the upcoming Basin festival! The festival shall be starting May 8th. ;D]
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
