| Reader Note: This has been
| sent to Brother Malkin.
| At the at the Library of Bletherad.
Dear Master Chronicler of Light,
Kom’var Spellborn, here again and Fleet Feet Spell back in full force. Good frickin’ grief it is OVER! In the time it took me to summon the energy to cast the spell the battle ended! With my “Creator” being 11 feet tall everyone on the deck of Rogtilda nearly failed to move an inch when they saw him command, while in his armor, SEVENTEEN LIGHTNING BOLTS down out of the sky at once!!! There were only sixteen scorch marks on the docks so I have to assume he hit the sleeping Elf. But an instant later the blizzard and any sign of the GIANT ORC or the sleeping Elf was gone. He hit the spring lock on his visor and jaw-plates revealing his face.
“HE HAD THE HAND!!!!!”
Even CrIsis was pausing at a rather uncharacteristic outburst of anger, and mystical might. Might doesn’t really do the magnitude of what he brought down justice. There was a merchant vessel in the distance of the Credia docks that raised a white flag even though they were three dock arms away from the fight!
I did find something interesting in his magical aura though, all of his lightning is yellow or golden in color! I would seem that when he decided on his name my creator inadvertently altered his aura along with it. When his visor is down he looks like a gold trimmed golem! With it open I saw the anguish and so did everyone on the deck! I know he thought of Lord Raulf as a second chance with his late brother, Zeelik. I can see the guilt building up in his eyes, and then. . .
. . .nothing!
I watched him swallow whatever he was feeling and club his emotions like a hunter after a Cyclops Spider. In my hooman form, which looks like a young version of his Osric Orghallar persona. I wept for him because he could not, would not might be the better phrase. That cold, hardened look took over his face again as twenty guards came from the royal palace demanding everyone lower their weapons. My creator and the rest of CrIsis checked the field one final time before they followed the order, looking for a sneak attack.
As I watch CrIsis going away, peacefully I might add, with the royal guardsmen. Master Jershon, the first mate, sets us to task cleaning and checking Rogtilda for signs of damage even though I can hear the ship tell him he is fine. He is worried and focusing on work is his coping mechnism. I wonder if anger is all I now share with my “Creator” for coping with stress?
I want to try other emotions but I do fear for the length of my existence knowing where “The Golden One” is headed.
Two small hands are now covering my eyes and whispering in my Hooman ears!
“If you only have 16 years to live, but his heart and his memories, without his burden then come with me and I’ll teach you what has been missing in both your lives.”
More words soon’ish,
Wizard defender of Rogtilda
>> Written by Kom’var Spellborn, written upon the 5th of Grekar, 3rd year of King Guy the First of the Timiro Kingdom, 71st Year of the Wolfen Empire, 344 year of the Dominion of Man, and 24th Year of the Western Emperor Voelkian Itomas II. <<
Rod Rambler picture from Nonsonogaia.
Lightning Spell Pic created by by AZ_RUNE and Peachyco.
Young Osric picture from Game Art Post.