THE BOOK OF REQUIEMS:
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Clear.dan, Mor.lo, Celes.o, Ar.wen.o, Shel.da.mar, Se.rin, Kor.dan, and many many others begged, chided, hoped, condemned, and admonished us to board those western ships; but we refused. After a while, when their empty words found no listening ears they angrily persuaded us, that they alone were the ones with hope on their side. As they began leaving us behind, they offered us harsh words and viewed us no longer as their family nor of Fay kind. Boarding the White fleet with long faces and disdain they began to hold us with no regard, and we the same unto them. Sheldamar alone, in his final ship, held out his hand unto his twin brother Vendumar; yet even that friendship was dashed, for Vendumar’s chosen path instead was to remain on those gray shores.
I, Nol.mith.lon stayed among that troop of twenty and one, as a remnant of new beginners, to forge a new life for ourselves. We were gravely determined, in that moment, to be steadfast in our humility of hope.
I foresaw the rise of a brighter community of days, for the ancient ways, would shine again. Beyond the walls were a growing number of war survivors who had migrated unto us. They wandered from afar, and for such hope and home as ours; how could we in good conscience abandon such aspirations to heal their broken spirits? Though we were few, we were a great people of strength and wisdom with which to offer up such strength to them. Our sadness for that boundless departure of our kin and loved ones would not discourage nor weaken our resolve to produce hope, in those others who desired to emulate and grow like unto us.
We were strong friends and would be allies to them, and the gray lighthouse would become our refuge. Var.len.dur, (meaning: Tower of Strong Friend), was ever our own symbol of endurance, to withstand greater persecutions than storms from the sea beyond the Bay of Shruna. So we few remained that the world of encroaching men knew grace had not left.
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