Chronicles of a Ranger I + IIIntroduction The continent of Faerūn houses a myriad of races and creatures. Of all these, the elves are best known. They have prospered since the dawn of time and continue even to this day. Their cities are wondrous works of architecture and their musical talents are rivaled by none. For this very reason, many bards and virtuosos tend to add Elven phrases and use Elven instruments to enhance their performance. Elves are highly skilled at harnessing the magical weave of Toril and do so in the form of spells and enchantments. Some of the most famous wizards and sorcerers have Elven roots in their heritage. The physical makeup of Elves is similar to Humans and yet infinitely different. An average Elf stands from four and a half to five and a half feet tall and weigh more or less a hundred pounds. Elves are very graceful, possessing heightened natural dexterity but are frail and cannot take muc
TiesSometimes I wonder when I look to my friends,Why are you here beside me?What motivates your loyalty?Your kindness?Your generosity?You?Is there something else to emotion?A hidden idiosyncrasy veiled from sight,A sparkle of insight within the commotion,An epic esoterism within a chaotic mind?From the outside we reciprocate,We return the affection.An exchange of jumbled thoughts and words,Sorted instantly by a reassuring embrace,Dispelled by the calm demeanor of a caring face.And what of family?Deep seeded love of blood,Stretching to the ends of time,Limited solely by physical constraints.Yet in reality how thin would such bonds grow?If a damaging element was introduced,Would the ties hold?It is these questions I shall ponder upon,Across the lengthening months,Wearing holes in my threadbare patience,Wound in the grasp of forbidden enigmas,Shielding dark secrets from prying vision.
Your DecisionWhat do you see,When you look into my eyes?A livid dream?A horrid surprise?I need to know,How you stand,Whether I can stay by your side,Continue to hold your hand.These days grow thin,My hear stretches beyond its confines,Searching for truth that hides,Belief that blindly runs.In your thoughts is the question,One you have considered for some time now,What is your decision?Are you willing to take the leap?Some doubts lay etched in doubt,Sullen reminders of past pain,Unruly tingles and tears mingled with apprehension,Just below the lids of your eyes.So now I stand here,Open to the world and its sight,Waiting for the due answer,Sealed behind trembling lips.But it is alright,I can wait longer,It would be another drop in the sea,Another glint in my eyes,Holding out eternal against love's demise.
True ModelThere once was a time,Eons ago,When heros existed,Saving people in need.They came and went,Leaving behind their trails,Limned in gilded tread,Inviting to follow.None knew their real identity,Stories were made,Eternal mythos,Never faded.Glory stood in their wake,A waning ardent light,Attracting treasure seeker,Commoner,Noble alike.These who we aspire,Vibrant figures,Time's creation of triumph,Sieve on through eternity.Sighted never in path,Belief propels legend,Grasping for truth,Conjuring ideal.No wonder we have no model,They have never been real,Fabricated wisps of admiration,Misguiding young,Seeping into innocence.Be open of mind,Observe the dove,The lion,The bear;Watch them closely,Remember their grace,Let them guide you,Rely on reality.
UntitledAt a time I would have listened,My will worn away,No strength to continue,To embrace the new day.The tears run slow,Down my tortured cheek,Left to die,To cry,To weep.Why did this happen?Who have I wronged?Blood stains my hands,My lips spout a mournful song.Never before such a sad melody,Resonating despair,Carried on frigid air.Red water trickles at my side,Broken seal of slashed skin,No help of which to confide,Absent of kin.The end I suppose,Has come for me,Maybe I should let go,Let my soul run free.
Waiting For MagicIt is dark outside,Cold with frost,Powdery white covering land,Warmth has been lost.Quietly children doze,Dreaming of bells,Envisioning the coming chariot,Listening for hooves,The crack of Santa's lariat.Eagerly resting,Squeezing shut eyes,Waiting for his arrival,His jolly hoots and cries.Downstairs the tree stands proud,Twinkling in the light of a thousand colors,Ornaments gleaming in prismatic aura,Standing out amongst the evergreen flora.They know in their hearts,This legend is true,Saint Nicholas exists,Flying with his reindeer crew.In the morning it will be revealed,He visited that night,Presents leaning easily under great boughs,Glowing in shimmering light.