Originally posted May 9th on the Dragon Guild's Facebook Site

 *Day’s end and Weaver is going through the shut down procedures when she pauses to check her phone. The insistent buzzing in her pocket, signaling that someone was attempting to reach her.

Reading the brief message that has landed in her text inbox, the colour drains from her face and tears spring unbidden to her eyes. One trembling hands goes to her mouth to stifle an exclamation of dismay, the other hand reaches out to grasp the back of one of the chairs next to the game table.

Moving deliberately, eyes glued to the words on the screen … *

“She is gone”

*Weaver sinks wearily into the seat as the tears begin to flow despite her best efforts to maintain her calm and composure. *

Oh, Turtle …

I’m so sorry.

May wings of dragons fly you to your rest.

You will be missed.

*Whispering the words to herself, she allows herself a private moment to grieve the passing of one of the last original Guildies. A friend to those who needed one and a lover of good tales and the occasional triple entendre.

The energy in the Parlour kept a discrete distance. Prowling around the doorway but not venturing out, whether out of respect for the expressed sorrow or some reason of its own, is not immediately apparent.*

Always such a shame when the light goes out too soon. Now we’ve lost her stories …