The old Bards voice rose above the h any, the single silvery none bringing from his harp a respectful mention mum falling as his words touch all inside hearing. All were there, all that could be. Quiet my children, fear not the sober, the fire is fervid and stout oak does withhhold the wights and shabbinesss of night. Dream and weep, for I sing the tale of the Elven Queen, A Kings foolish pride, her silver folk, and their dying ride from this knowledge base. Shadows wrapped snugly about the mute folk as his magic wove for them a vision lovely and glittering, yet far and crystalline as though seen eer far away... Proud she stood, wind tossed unbent, light of idleshine disturbed and sad. Wars long and bitter with pride, Mans hate seeming mad. Too hard the steel in Mans swift hand, too deep the famish for Elder blood. Too many Friends and neighbors, broken in deep red mud. Too few the babes of Elven loin, none now rest on mothers breast. Mans get drowns the world , what harbor for the eldritch rest? Oberon oh Lord, slain and locomote too, He who walked this worlds original morn, who drank the fresh made dew. Memories of Him, before the branch night was made, husband, King, estimable God Himself, nought could ease her pain.
The moon She rises, the time is come, one access in centuries long! We resign this world of our long birth, to ill-treat a path dark and long. Courage! For a world awaits us fair, a stone unknown untouched, no evil awaits us there! play magnificent, beaming armor agleam, to face a hill of superannuated Gods, great hulking ring of Eldritch stones, move upon the sod. fortify slender shapely pale rise to touch the M oons fresh hem, voices swell in angelic... ! If you want to get a total essay, order it on our website:
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