[D1 LM, de Blondeville] For Family
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Geoffrey of Tournemine
- Posts: 359
- Joined: Sun Sep 05, 2021 6:28 am
[D1 LM, de Blondeville] For Family
Ever the reliable brother, Geoffrey called upon Constance in the morning. He expected a stern warning about his habits with the ladies of the court, but she likely knew that in all other matters, Geoffrey would do his proper best to acquit himself with honor and propriety for the good of both their houses.
Knight Baron Geoffrey of Crahen, of the house Tournamine * Glory: 1175 * House: de Blondeville * Striking * Flirtatious
Legendary Passion: Energetic * Traits: Red Hair, Bright Eyes, Charming Accent
Clothing: Noble clothing, sword
Battle gear: Chainmail, Shield, Battle Axe, Dagger
Speaks: French, Latin, Occitan
Legendary Passion: Energetic * Traits: Red Hair, Bright Eyes, Charming Accent
Clothing: Noble clothing, sword
Battle gear: Chainmail, Shield, Battle Axe, Dagger
Speaks: French, Latin, Occitan
Re: [D1 LM, de Blondeville] For Family
Geoffrey spends a long while searching through the tent city with no sight of the pennants of Chester or Brittany. Momentarily flummoxed, he is soon pointed the way to the palace by a passing monk. It seems dear sister Constance is living high on the hog over there.
Gm * Man of Angles * Sionnach * Scealai *
Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning,/Every poem an epitaph. And any action/Is a step to the block, to the fire, down the sea's throat/Or to an illegible stone: and that is where we start.
We die with the dying:/See, they depart, and we go with them./We are born with the dead:/See, they return, and bring us with them./The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree/Are of equal duration. A people without history/Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern/Of timeless moments. So, while the light fails/On a winter's afternoon, in a secluded chapel/History is now and England --Eliot, Little Gidding
Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning,/Every poem an epitaph. And any action/Is a step to the block, to the fire, down the sea's throat/Or to an illegible stone: and that is where we start.
We die with the dying:/See, they depart, and we go with them./We are born with the dead:/See, they return, and bring us with them./The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree/Are of equal duration. A people without history/Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern/Of timeless moments. So, while the light fails/On a winter's afternoon, in a secluded chapel/History is now and England --Eliot, Little Gidding