"Fall silent, and lend your ears to me, to receive the tale of the Bloodsinger, that her name may live on in memory."

The wind whistles past the great crevice in the cliffs that serves as the hall's entrance, but the chill of it is barely noticeable against the heat of the fires and the people crowding the benches.  Even Reddawn barely feels it, nothing more than a whisper on her back as she watches her daughter from the back of the hall.

"This greatest of warriors," Auris continues, her face lit by firelight and the last rays of the fading sun, "born Skaia Oretharos, daughter of the chieftain, Kellmiri the Wise, made herself known from the start—she took charge amongst her peers, and in all competition, be it race or game or fight, she constantly emerged victorious."

Auris—Raven, Silvertongue, Aelid...Reddawn's Stormchild.  She's too old for her years.  Her eyes bespeak wisdom fourteen winters shouldn't tell, and the lines set into her expression are stern.  Reddawn wonders if they shouldn't have called her Raven.

Reddawn carried the torch, of course.  As Bloodsinger's eldest surviving child, it was only right she was the one to light the pyre.  But Raven...Auris Raven, god-touched...  She was the one who claimed something.  Reddawn's already accomplished what she meant to, and then some—chieftain, no less, and that from a remarkably young age—no, there would be no worries in Bloodsinger's mind over her.  Auris, though...  Reddawn looks at her, at the pale curve of the wyvern's talon resting against her chest on its leather cord, and hopes it isn't a burden too heavy for her neck to bear.

"Like those before her, Skaia went on her first hunt in her eighth summer—and a glorious hunt it was!  They returned in full splendor, Skaia at their head, and any looking on could tell by the way she held herself that day—head high, shoulders back, moving with a light step and an easy stride—aye, she would grow to be a fearsome warrior indeed.

"Before they had so much as left the woods' embrace, however, all were alerted to their presence by a young voice lifted in joyous song—none other than Skaia's.  Elksong, she was named then, for that was what they carried high on their shoulders, and that was what she sang of."

The faces before her are attentive, eager, and Auris sees them as much as she sees, in her mind's eye, the fearless Elksong, not yet full-grown, standing proudly at the edge of the village, hands on her hips as she gazes out into the woods.

"As Elksong grew, so too grew her prowess with all manner of weaponry, and, like her mother before her, her way with others—they flocked to her, and soon she was leading the hunts, the games..."

In her mind, Elksong becomes Bloodsinger, spear held aloft as others crowd around her, and the spark she imagines in Elksong's eyes is reflected in her own.

Auris' expression darkens.  "But we have never been alone in these mountains.  Long have the Orzec and Ka'lesh sought to take our lands, and long have we held them off.  There was one winter, when Elksong was grown, that was hard on us all—and they saw their chance.  Just at the dawn of spring, they gathered, swarming through the forests, spilling over our borders.

"With little warning, our warriors donned their armor, took up their weapons, and went out to meet the enemy, to protect their home.  Elksong, spear in hand, stood at their head, waiting those few moments of silence, that calm before the storm..."

Auris, likewise, falls silent a moment, meeting the gaze of each audience member, one after another.  Her voice, when she resumes, is quiet.  "Where the trees thin...movement.

"Elksong readied herself.  No time for moving speeches, now, no time for strategizing..."  Her voice rises again as she continues, "The orcs burst from the tree line, and above the pounding of feet rose Elksong's voice in strident cry, spear raised high as she led the charge into their midst.  And that war cry...  It didn't let up.  No, she continued, the note falling and rising, twisting through the battle, a wordless melody to match the furious dance of her spear.

"Oh, but she was a sight to behold that day...  At her song, the orcs could hear their death approaching, while the Oretharos warriors took heart from it, each who heard it able to strike the harder—the orc ranks broke before them, fleeing back through the trees.

"And so Elksong stood, the farthest advanced on that field and surrounded by her unmoving foe, spattered in their blood, as the last still living disappeared into the woods.  And the final note of her song followed them, haunted them, until at last it died away and all that remained was the cold mountain wind."

Auris raises one hand to her chest, lightly touching the talon, drawing some sense of Bloodsinger's presence from it.  "Thus did they call her Bloodsinger," her voice slows, and she spreads her hands now, bringing the tale to a close, "and so began her tradition."