I would like to dedicate this to Etienne Suarven Lorneau - my brother, comrade, editor, foil and dear friend.
In the dark of my manor
I whispered to an empty hall
Where has Etienne wandered off to?
But he does not return my call.
Whether Rucesion or Abel,
“Greetings, Kedian”, he’d always begin -
there was always a certain warmth,
Even when found in Mileth’s muddy inn.
I wandered the halls of Runic Terra
hoping he would soon appear,
yet his absence drapes itself around me,
like a cloak of silence, sharp and clear.
For near centuries we kept a guild by embers,
A frozen shrine to ancient days;
Until in Deoch we rose up once more,
called again to shared displays.
Now these rooms fill with laughter again,
From a guild I assumed was only dust,
But still the ghosts of ancient friends
Press close as all memory must.
Chloe, Raeven, Etienne, Pashura -
Their names glowing runes along a wall,
Drakkarim, Twila, Cliona, Maerista -
old stars, I remember them all.
Cinaed, Koret and Katrionah -
We built the guild from scratch,
Yet only I remain, I alone persist,
A sad legacy others cannot match.
Gywneth, Miriamele, Acinorev, Klaudaryn,
A constellation of the past,
Damiel, Paraiyan, Sjaril, Agrus,
Legends still, for those who listen fast.
And what of Kedian, that old wizard,
with his regrets and weathered debts?
The past must rest to clear a future—
or so Etienne would say…he bets.