Soft torrenting sheets of shower bestowed themselves upon the terra firma of the Eagles. Its gentle mist caressing the aureate visage, trickling slowly down, as if hot tears running from deep chasms. The snow had gone, but keep the fire lit. Cool steam came as if geysers from a dished mug. An ageless visage was thrust forth into the onslaughter of drizzling aqua, falling from the sky, heaven was crying. Leaves upon the timbers hung limp and weighted with the dampness of the air. Slimy viridescence of the sod shone in the gleaming sun. The mud had woken from its eerie slumber, sticking to all that crossed its path, covering pinions with a murky roan. Fulcrum stretches lazily enervatedly forth, aureate mug thrust towards hell's fire, inscisors barred. Pallet was propelled to sooth the titillation, and de-crustify the pasty dirt. Attention was drawn quickly from the henderance, and turned to the valykrie, Urge.
"Apology accepted, no need for more. You know my name, I see. Life in the Crest is, as usual, going quite smoothly with only an occasional bump here or there. How, might I ask, has it faired for yourself?"
Charger turns, awaiting an answer.
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