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Sir Gerard d'Montfort - In his own words (a tale of Anka Seth)- Updated Nov 11th
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<blockquote data-quote="Haraash Saan" data-source="post: 5274489" data-attributes="member: 46615"><p>What was left of Morgan lay beside his broken bow, trampled in the battle. His chest did not move and his face was drained of colour. Argonne, who had been first to arrive, knelt above him muttering a strange incantation. </p><p></p><p>We stood beside our fallen comrade each left with our own thoughts. He had been brave and loyal. I could not have asked more from him. Even this day he had saved my life with his quick hand and uncanny eye. He was a stout companion and one that I would miss. </p><p></p><p>“Stop moping!” commanded Argonne, “He is only recently dead, I can feel that his soul clings to the world to which he was born. If you leave me be I may be able to call him back.” </p><p></p><p>Only after Argonne confirmed that, Foeld willing, he could revive Morgan, did I manage to mouth silent prayers. First to Laster for the luck he granted me and also because he saw fit not to cause my blade to break as they had on so many occasions in recent times. Then to Thuus for granting us the courage we needed to succeed. And finally to the earth spirit to give Argonne the power he needed to bring back our friend. </p><p></p><p>While Argonne tended Morgan, Moxadder scoured the field for the spoils of battle. He found a rapier of unusual quality that he gave to me. “Should replace your broken pin-pricker.” </p><p></p><p>It was made of a strange black stone that Lord Steven told me was virtually unbreakable. It was indeed the perfect weapon for me, although something told me that if it could be broken I would unfortunately find a way. Carved into the blade was the word ‘Switch’. The swords pommel was a silver skull that I sensed radiated magic. </p><p></p><p>Later, after consultation with his books, Lord Steven told me that the black blade was an ancient artifact that granted the power to absorb the magical properties of another sword, hence it’s name.</p><p></p><p>At Lord Steven’s suggestion a mass grave was dug. “I will consecrate the ground and ensure that they’ll not rise again to cause more anguish.” He said.</p><p></p><p>It seemed to me that he was suddenly taking an interest. He revealed the Mkilejthe was not in fact dead, but temporarily unconscious. However, instead of removing his head and burning the body as Stravarious volunteered to do, Lord Steven proposed that the Fleshgolem could be pressed into his service.</p><p></p><p>“If you allow me I can use Mkilejthe. I have a large library and an enormous amount of work to do. I am quite sure that he would make a fine assistant.” He proclaimed.</p><p></p><p>When questioned how he would be able to control the General, he smiled and from within his robes he produced a simple leather collar. Seeing our skepticism he said with a grin, “Please, do not be concerned. I have been saving this item for just such a special case. It will allow me complete control over him.”</p><p></p><p>We conceded to his request, as it was a much simpler proposition. In return for our gift of the General, Lord Steven informed us that if we skinned the Beasts of Zzart that we could get their pelts tanned and made into cloaks that would provide their wearer with similar disorienting abilities as the cats had themselves. Moxadder went to work skinning the strange animals, for other than Argonne he was the only one with the skill for such a task.</p><p></p><p>The afternoon progressed and storm clouds thickened in west. They rolled in over the mountains. Thunder rumbled, lightning cracked and then the rain poured. </p><p></p><p>All bar Argonne sought the refuge of the Tower but he still crouched in fervent prayer to the earth spirit Foeld. His fingers began to trace patterns in the mud, patterns that were almost instantaneously covered again by the thick ooze that the battle circle was becoming. He continued unperturbed. </p><p></p><p>As the storm reached its peak the woodsman threw his arms, outstretched into the sky. “FOELD! REBIRTH HIM!” he screamed, ending the ritual that had taken the best part of the day.</p><p></p><p>As if in reply the sky roared and in a blaze of light a bolt of electricity cut through the air and struck the earth that Argonne had been working. He was thrown back, arms flailing before his body struck the mud some fifteen feet from where he had worked his rite.</p><p></p><p>The mud boiled and steam spewed forth and suddenly, from the point of the lightning strike, a child’s hand burst from the earth. Argonne was instantly back on his feet, showing no ill effects. He grasped the wrist, it’s hand in turn locked onto his wrist and with a mighty haul he dragged out a child from the earth.</p><p></p><p>Hands on knees it began coughing dirt and filth from its mouth. The rain began washing away the mud from its naked body and it began to examine itself. Looking first and its hands and feet and then finally noting that Argonne towered at least two feet above it. It began to cry, sobbing uncontrollably. </p><p></p><p>Argonne scooped it up, hugging it to his strange armour and sheltering it in his cloak, then ran to the tower.</p><p></p><p>I had been wrong. This was no child of man, it was one of the little people, a Halfling. They were a strange race that looked more like elf children than men. Slight of build and with slightly elongated features, they were noted in the Fastness for their nimble fingers and their keen eyes. Small colonies existed there and they fought the Dominion with as much passion as the men of that realm. Acting as scouts and hunters they had a reputation as being formidable foes.</p><p></p><p>“Foeld granted us our wish. He has returned Morgan.” Announced Argonne.</p><p></p><p>Morgan? Surely it could not be, but it was. The brave Fastendian had been reborn in the form that Foeld had thought was most appropriate, that of a Halfling.</p><p></p><p>Whilst we were initially startled by the returned Morgan, we were also overjoyed. However it was him that I feared for. </p><p></p><p>I had no cause for concern for he was of staunch stock. His family had stood the walls of Avinal for generations. He was determined to adapt and learn what this body could enable him to do.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Haraash Saan, post: 5274489, member: 46615"] What was left of Morgan lay beside his broken bow, trampled in the battle. His chest did not move and his face was drained of colour. Argonne, who had been first to arrive, knelt above him muttering a strange incantation. We stood beside our fallen comrade each left with our own thoughts. He had been brave and loyal. I could not have asked more from him. Even this day he had saved my life with his quick hand and uncanny eye. He was a stout companion and one that I would miss. “Stop moping!” commanded Argonne, “He is only recently dead, I can feel that his soul clings to the world to which he was born. If you leave me be I may be able to call him back.” Only after Argonne confirmed that, Foeld willing, he could revive Morgan, did I manage to mouth silent prayers. First to Laster for the luck he granted me and also because he saw fit not to cause my blade to break as they had on so many occasions in recent times. Then to Thuus for granting us the courage we needed to succeed. And finally to the earth spirit to give Argonne the power he needed to bring back our friend. While Argonne tended Morgan, Moxadder scoured the field for the spoils of battle. He found a rapier of unusual quality that he gave to me. “Should replace your broken pin-pricker.” It was made of a strange black stone that Lord Steven told me was virtually unbreakable. It was indeed the perfect weapon for me, although something told me that if it could be broken I would unfortunately find a way. Carved into the blade was the word ‘Switch’. The swords pommel was a silver skull that I sensed radiated magic. Later, after consultation with his books, Lord Steven told me that the black blade was an ancient artifact that granted the power to absorb the magical properties of another sword, hence it’s name. At Lord Steven’s suggestion a mass grave was dug. “I will consecrate the ground and ensure that they’ll not rise again to cause more anguish.” He said. It seemed to me that he was suddenly taking an interest. He revealed the Mkilejthe was not in fact dead, but temporarily unconscious. However, instead of removing his head and burning the body as Stravarious volunteered to do, Lord Steven proposed that the Fleshgolem could be pressed into his service. “If you allow me I can use Mkilejthe. I have a large library and an enormous amount of work to do. I am quite sure that he would make a fine assistant.” He proclaimed. When questioned how he would be able to control the General, he smiled and from within his robes he produced a simple leather collar. Seeing our skepticism he said with a grin, “Please, do not be concerned. I have been saving this item for just such a special case. It will allow me complete control over him.” We conceded to his request, as it was a much simpler proposition. In return for our gift of the General, Lord Steven informed us that if we skinned the Beasts of Zzart that we could get their pelts tanned and made into cloaks that would provide their wearer with similar disorienting abilities as the cats had themselves. Moxadder went to work skinning the strange animals, for other than Argonne he was the only one with the skill for such a task. The afternoon progressed and storm clouds thickened in west. They rolled in over the mountains. Thunder rumbled, lightning cracked and then the rain poured. All bar Argonne sought the refuge of the Tower but he still crouched in fervent prayer to the earth spirit Foeld. His fingers began to trace patterns in the mud, patterns that were almost instantaneously covered again by the thick ooze that the battle circle was becoming. He continued unperturbed. As the storm reached its peak the woodsman threw his arms, outstretched into the sky. “FOELD! REBIRTH HIM!” he screamed, ending the ritual that had taken the best part of the day. As if in reply the sky roared and in a blaze of light a bolt of electricity cut through the air and struck the earth that Argonne had been working. He was thrown back, arms flailing before his body struck the mud some fifteen feet from where he had worked his rite. The mud boiled and steam spewed forth and suddenly, from the point of the lightning strike, a child’s hand burst from the earth. Argonne was instantly back on his feet, showing no ill effects. He grasped the wrist, it’s hand in turn locked onto his wrist and with a mighty haul he dragged out a child from the earth. Hands on knees it began coughing dirt and filth from its mouth. The rain began washing away the mud from its naked body and it began to examine itself. Looking first and its hands and feet and then finally noting that Argonne towered at least two feet above it. It began to cry, sobbing uncontrollably. Argonne scooped it up, hugging it to his strange armour and sheltering it in his cloak, then ran to the tower. I had been wrong. This was no child of man, it was one of the little people, a Halfling. They were a strange race that looked more like elf children than men. Slight of build and with slightly elongated features, they were noted in the Fastness for their nimble fingers and their keen eyes. Small colonies existed there and they fought the Dominion with as much passion as the men of that realm. Acting as scouts and hunters they had a reputation as being formidable foes. “Foeld granted us our wish. He has returned Morgan.” Announced Argonne. Morgan? Surely it could not be, but it was. The brave Fastendian had been reborn in the form that Foeld had thought was most appropriate, that of a Halfling. Whilst we were initially startled by the returned Morgan, we were also overjoyed. However it was him that I feared for. I had no cause for concern for he was of staunch stock. His family had stood the walls of Avinal for generations. He was determined to adapt and learn what this body could enable him to do. [/QUOTE]
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