Ya gets to an age, ye thinks ye've seens it all. Thens ya realize jus how down deep wrong ye can be.
I haff seen more orcs an hellhounds in the last few days it makes them there attacks on Cove, Trinsic an evens Dragons Bay seem like frilly dilly lollygaggin tea parties.
Ans as if I aints got me hands full. That foule daughter of a Jwilson, Minax, has to go and put her boot in it again.
Today shes gone and cast her vile magic on none other than the shrines. Makin Them luvly places of peace, as foul lookin as the blackest pits o' hell.
I gots the word today from me drinkin buddy Tristam. He suggests we go gets a looksee. Lotsa people there ogglin the place, there was. Lots o' booty and chests scattered all o'er inside o' the shrine.Piles o' Gold and silver, weapons and gems Lots o' people atryin to open up the chests 'n dyin fer lack o' wits. Damned fools should know, if it aint yours, dont open it.
I gots me axe, I gots me travel cloak an me horse. I dont need anythin else. Cept, maybe a good Flagon or two o' ale. *grin*
Well anyways, mes' an Trists were a standin there, Trist is a searchin in his pack fer his old dusty book on Sacrifice. When outa nowhere walks in a tall dark bald gent. Looked like 40 miles of the worst road I e'er seen. Calls himself Valebrien or sumthin likes that.
Me an Trists starts a conversation. Seems this gents a one man war machine aginst evil. Hows can I tell ya asks? Tis simple. He starts a talkin to Trist about his histories, an I takes a closer looksee at his wares. Man, had enough magical stuff on im, I bet he glows in the dark. He has himself a staff by name o' DeamonBane or such, got a magik lookin book in t'other, a name o' LieberDaemon or such. Hell! Even his robe had a name! Bet he had his under drawers named too, but I dint' thinks to ask. I mighta not got them names right, But im a sword sell, not a scribe.
I kinda gives Trists a elbow, but I can see hes already figgered outs the same already. Trists starts givin this guy the 20 questions. But donts gets much outa im. Only that hes old, hes tired, and ready to give up the fight fer the virtues. He carries the moniker o' a Grand Mage, but keeps goin on an on how its the root o' all evil, en that he wont use it anymores, in any ways shapes or forms. We tries to let im know that as far as the peoples o' Yew'r concerned we will drown the forests in orc blood afore we lets the virtues perish.
We tries to gets him interested in tellin us hows we can get the shrines back to before. Buts he aints listenin to us turnip farmers, They ne'er do.
He perks up a lil when we talks about maybe findin im a spot where he can train peoples to carry on his fight. Peoples drop by thinkin were the friggin New Sacrifice tour guides. Couple o' swats on the butts from me hally gets em movin right along.
This guy seems losts in thought, like he been up in the Nightshade, hes answering like his minds in Skara ans his body is in Trinni. Says that the shrines abeen attacked in pairs o' twos. the ones that are opposed to themselves, somethin 'long them lines. An that only one didnt, an hes a'hoofin it on to Vesper sos he can catches himself a boat ride to Humility, so hes can looksee it on the morrow.Says we might cross paths again. Bouts this time Tristam suddenly takes off, like his tails on fire an his hairs a' catchin. An this guys starts ahoofin its fer Vesper.
Greats! I think, This is just dandy! Im thinkin I needs to find me a nice peacefull patch o' land, finally settle down with that there barmaid I been lyin to all these years, an start plantin turnips, noone e'er bothers us turnip farmers.
Buts I cants do that. No more than I could ferget the deaths of small towns I've ridden through , or the faces of them there kiddies who lost anyone they e'er loved.
I needs a flagon err two... Its gettin hard to sleep nowadays...
To: The News