Umaril
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Post by Umaril on Dec 18, 2006 18:38:45 GMT -5
Prologue: A Ranger
Angrond looked up. The sky was filled with stars. It was a cold, Frostfall night in Skyrim and the barks of wolves could be heard in the woods below. This man was a hunter, a warrior and an archer all in one. He was a Ranger. He studied the plains below, his steel blue eyes hunting frantically for his quarry. Then he saw it, a huge, hulking mass of grey flesh trying feebly to sneak along behind a rocky outcrop. Angrond slid gracefully down the slope of the mountain and took cover behind a tree. The ogre had tried to rob his catch the night before and Angrond had been tracking him ever since, following the creatures huge footprints in the deep snow of the Jerrall Mountains.
No longer trying to hide, the Ranger stepped out from his cover and loosed a poison tipped, steel arrow at the unfortunate ogre, hitting him square in the forehead. The creature slowly tipped over sideways and landed with a crash on the hard floor of a frozen pond, breaking the ice and sinking to the bottom. Angrond was tired now and needed to rest. He layed out his bedroll onto the hard snow beside the pond and slept the rest of the night, visions of his violent past streaming into his mind.
His mother and father lived simple lives in the woods near Riften. It was uneventful except for the odd sighting of a bear or wolf, which his father dispatched easily. When Angrond was born, his father was already old and was losing his skills as a woodsman. His mother had developed a terminal illness not long after his birth and had to be looked after constantly. When he was five years old his mother died and his father just seemed to give up on life and sent him away to his uncle in Winter Hold in the far North of Skyrim. The young Nord was taught his family's skills there and learned the hard way about living in freezing conditions.
After six years his uncle also died and he decided to return to Riften to seek out his father. Upon returning he was overjoyed to see that his father still lived. The old man, now sixty-five years, granted Angrond with a family heirloom, a huge Nordic longbow. The bow was made of the finest yew and many carvings were engraved upon it. A wolf's head was depicted on the front with eyes of sapphire and teeth of diamond. The bow was strung with the hair of a Minotaur and was varnished with Druegh Wax. It was one of the finest bows in Skyrim at the time even though Angrond didn't know.
Angrond spent three years with his father, helping him hunt and cook meals every day. One day however, in the second year of his stay in the heart of winter, a huge man clad in furs and leather knocked on the wooden door of the cabin. It was Angrond's father who opened it and invited the giant of a man in out of the cold. He refused to go inside, but instead brought the old man outside and began talking to him. Angrond listened intently through the thin glass windows and learned that an argument had started. 'You old fool!' the man was saying. 'I know you killed that woman!' 'I don't know what you are talking about!' shouted his father back and Angrond knew he was telling the truth, for his father never killed anyone except for someone that threatened his life. 'She was my daughter, only looking for food in the woods and you had to kill her. Now I have come for revenge!' 'I don't understand.......' his father began, only to be cut off by a bearded axe in the throat.
Angrond slumped helplessly to the cold floor. The only person left in his life was now gone. He knew he could do nothing. He wasn't strong enough to stand up to this barbaric man. A loud creaking noise brought him back to his senses, the man was opening the door!
The man walked into the room, his dark green eyes scanning the house up and down. Angrond, hiding in a huge pelt basket, was shaking with fear. The man's axe hung by his side, dripping with the blood of Angrond's father, as he rummaged through the weapon chest near the door. Angrond then remembered his longbow, it was underneath his bed, luckily enough, and not in the chest. The giant found nothing of use in the house and decided to leave, slamming the door and nearly knocking it off it's hinges. Angrond never forgot that day and dreamt about it ever since.
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Umaril
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Post by Umaril on Dec 18, 2006 18:39:33 GMT -5
Chapter One: Leifskull's Rest
These memories never left Angrond as he grew older. Now a man of twenty-seven, Angrond had been hired by a nobleman named Jorgren Leifskull to rescue his son from a nearby cave. Coldhollow Cave it was called and was full of Trolls. Their cheiftan; Murgaz was well known by the peolple of Leifskull's Rest as an evil creature, clever and greedy. One day, Jorgren's son was out playing with his friends. He didn't see the trolls sneaking up behind him and was snatched away to the creature's lair. Luckily, his friends escaped and informed the landlord of the abduction. Word had also reached the nobleman's ears of the travelling ranger, Angrond Winterheart, and he sent riders out to look for him.
Angrond awoke in the early morning. The clouds were moving swiftly overhead and the birds were singing in the trees. He packed away his gear and made for the pass to Leifskull's Rest, the only village for miles around and the place where he had been hired for his assignment. After a mile or so the village came into view. Smoke could be seen rising from a few small, ramshackle huts huddled together in a circle. A great manor house stood on the western side and a church was built beside it. People in the street stopped to watch as Angrond gave two sharp raps on the door of the manor house.
A Nord with a handsome, well-chiseled face answered the the door. 'Ah yes! You must be Angrond, the man we've all been waiting for.' He said. 'Come, have a seat. I will be with you in just a moment.' The man hurried off into the kitchen. Angrond sat down on a chair in the living-room. He looked around and saw many plaques and stuffed heads along the walls and a huge claymore above the fireplace. 'From what I can see you don't really need my help at all.' Called Angrond. The landlord appeared around the corner with a tray of sweetrolls and he looked up at the walls. 'Oh, those!' He said. 'I don't own them, they're my ancestors'. Anyways, I'm no fighter like any of them; I can hardly swing a sword let alone kill something!' He handed the tray to Angrond and he wolfed the rolls down hungrily. 'Well then, let's get to business.'
Jorgren told the ranger about the troubles plaguing the small hamlet and the abduction of his son. 'The boy is only seven,' he siad. 'He shouldn't have to go through all this.' 'These trolls will be dealt with appropriately,' said Angrond. 'And your son will be brought back safe and sound. I will make for the cave tomorrow morning. For now however I will stock up on supplies and get to know the locals a small bit better.' With that, the ranger left the manor house and walked out onto the street.
Angrond made his way to the tavern, his favorite place in any town and the only place to get real rumors. The locals seemed friendly enough and all had heard about the abduction. Angrond sat down beside an old elf with a battle-hardened face.
'So, you're the great ranger they've all been talking about.' He siad. Angrond nodded. 'And you are going in search of the lord's son.' Again Angrond nodded. 'I was a ranger once. Got a job just like that many winters ago and I'll never forget it. The lord's son was taken on the tenth of Last Seed, the same day Jorgren's son was taken. It was Murgaz, the troll cheiftan and no-one dared go near the cave. I had settled down here at the time and was almost ready to retire, hoping for a long, well-earned rest. However, Lord Leifskull could not find anyone to hunt the beast, so I volunteered and tracked it down in Coldhollow Cave. The troll was fierce, it tore off half of my leg, as you can see, and I just barely escaped.' He showed Angrond the wooden stump he had for a leg. 'The only advice I can give you,' he continued,' is that you shouldn't take this troll as any normal beast. He is cunning and will try to defeat you by whatever means, even if it involves destroying his own kin. 'Do not worry, I will take your words to heart my friend.' said Angrond. 'I am leaving for the cave tomorrow morning but first I must purchase some equipment. Farewell and safe journeys to you.'
Angrond strode out into the snow and made his way across the village to the traders, hoping to replenish his now empty quiver and to repair his notched longsword.
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Umaril
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Post by Umaril on Dec 18, 2006 18:40:25 GMT -5
Chapter Two:The Road To Coldhollow
Angrond looked at the weapons displayed on the rack. There were some fine quality longswords there and all were at a fair price. Some Silver arrows were on a table with a steel bow. After searching through all of the gear he picked out fifty silver arrows, a beautiful steel longsword with a red leather grip and a silver dagger, which he strapped to his leg, just below his knee. The trader looked amazed at Angrond as he took a huge bag of gold from his backpack and threw a fistful of coins on the counter. Angrond walked out of the shop, glad that he had bought the fine weapons.
The young ranger stayed the night at Highwind Inn, a nice cosy place near the manor house. The Innkeeper; Marlond, was a very fussy man and insisted that Angrond take off his boots before he walked in. However, his room was very large and was lit with a warm fire. He had a comfortable sleep and arose early the next morning.
Angrond went to the old elf's house the next morning. He was preparing a beef stew over the fire and did not hear the ranger come through the door. He examined the house and spotted two longbows above the mantle, both crafted beautifully and taken care of well. A stuffed minotaur head was hung above the door and many assorted alchemical ingredients and potions were on a table in the corner.
'Hello again.' said Angrond. The old man jumped with fright. 'Well, you really do have the skills of a ranger.' He said, straightening up.'I never heard you coming in.' 'I am here to find the directions to Coldhollow, I presume you know where that is.' Angrond said sarcastically. 'Give me your map, I'll mark it for you.' He took a small black stone from his pocket and marked an 'X' on the crumpled parchment not far from Leifskull's Rest. 'Also you might take some of my potions or poisons with you on your expedition.' He picked up some bottles from the small table and handed them to Angrond. 'The poisons are quite useful taking out larger, slower enemies and you may need some healing potions as well.' 'Thanks again for the advice, my friend, it could prove invaluable.' said Angrond and he set off down the road to Coldhollow Cave.
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Angrond pulled open the rickety door. The unmistakable stench of trolls was terrible, but he was going to have to bear it. He lit a torch and creeped inside. After a while of wandering, he came across a large chamber with a small fire lit in the centre. Two trolls patrolled around it, wearing black headbands and carrying crude maces. Generally trolls are not accustomed to weapons but some of the more experienced trolls are. Angrond snuck up to just outside the firelight, waiting to pounce. He loosed an arrow at the nearest one and killed it dead. The other troll then ran to where the ranger had been hiding, but Angrond had already moved to the other side of the fire. He shot the second troll and retrieved his two arrows.
After killing five more trolls, Angrond approached many small cages hung from the ceiling. He heard a voice calling for help and rushed to one of the cages. The young Leifskull was in the cage, like a skeleton he was, starving in the dark. The ranger looked for a key but to no avail. He tried forcing the lock but a shout in the trollish tongue was heard not far down the corridor, followed by many others. They were coming!
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Post by Dagothkitty on Dec 20, 2006 19:39:50 GMT -5
It's coming along very nicely. You seem to know a lot about oblivion. You are one of my favorite writers on the guidl. I just like where your stories take place. They succeed at many things. Keep up thr good work!
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Umaril
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Post by Umaril on Dec 22, 2006 14:18:37 GMT -5
Thanks Dagoth. I have been busy this week but I will write the next Chapter before Christmas
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Umaril
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Post by Umaril on Dec 22, 2006 15:07:54 GMT -5
Chapter Three: Fight in the Caves
Angrond waited near the doorway to the prison room. The trolls were getting nearer; their cries were not far off now. Angrond figured there were nine in all and judging by the clanging, heavily armoured aswell. The young ranger had learned a thing or two about the troll language in his travels and could decipher some of their speech.
'The sacrifice isn't very good this year is it?' Said one. 'No, Murgaz will not be pleased. Not at all. Furvak will not be pleased with Murgaz either, if it is anything like the last time. That boy was weak and did not provide a strong enough sacrifice for our Unholiness.' Said another. 'Well, we'd better hope that he won't take it out on us!' Said the first.
Preparing a tripwire trap as he listened, Angrond signalled the little boy to keep quiet and not show up his position. The first troll came around the corner just as the ranger finished the trap, and began to sniff the air.
'I wouldn't be surprised if he is dead already if the smell in here is anything to ----' He was cut off as a trollish mace crushed straight into his face; The trap had worked. Angrond ran from his cover and shoved his longsword into another troll's neck. Another mace swung towards Angrond, barely missing his exposed arm but lodging itself in the cave floor. The ranger, reacting quickly, severed the troll's head from it's short neck and it fell with a dull thud into the dirt. A monster; covered head to toe in heavy plate armour, rushed Angrond with all speed, crashing him into the sandstone wall. He felt a rib break from the impact but returned to his feet and began circling the troll, searching for a weak spot. He searched blindly along the wall for a long object, something to pierce the troll's armor. His hand hit a spear shaft and he bought it up, just in time to deflect a blow from a huge battleaxe.
The battleaxe severed the spear shaft, but left a sharp tip on the piece of wood. Angrond threw it with all his strenght and it pierced the amour just below the chest. The creature slumped to the ground clutching the shaft and Angrond finished him off. The other trolls were a piece of cake to the ranger at this stage and he killed them all with ease. He searched the corpses for a key. On the body of the armoured troll he found it; along with some gold pieces. The boy was overjoyed when he freed him and ran without hesitation back to Leifskull's Rest. Angrond however, had business to attend to and explored the further reaches of the cave, searching for Murgaz.
A few minutes later, Angrond arrived at a small opening in the wall; just large enough for a troll to fit through. A loud murmur hummed from inside. Then, it all went silent. A huge voice moaned out and a clashing of weapons was heard. 'Trolls, we have gathered here tonight to celebrate our lord Furvak. A mighty warrior was he. He drove the snowmen from Gurgalaz and claimed it for us. Now we praise him with a sacrifice.' The voice was obviously that of Murgaz's. 'Guards!' he called. ' The boy!' This was the signal for the trolls to bring out the young Leifskull, but now that they were not here, Angrond chose to make his appearance.
Murgaz turned around to look in the doorway for the guards but was stopped in his tracks when a poisoned arrow hit him in the eye. He fell to the ground howling. The small audience went berserk and began searching frantically for the assasssin, but to no avail. For Angrond was already running along the stone passages back to the outside world. He could see the light shining through the rotted boards of the cave entrance but the thought of many trolls chasing not far behind made him just burst through them and out into the snow.
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Umaril
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Post by Umaril on Dec 24, 2006 19:34:07 GMT -5
Chapter Four: A Village Destroyed
Sprinting his hardest up the road, Angrond saw the Leifskull boy strolling along the path and whistling as he went. He picked him up, slung him on his back and continued on. It began snowing extremely hard and it became difficult to see. To make things worse; the trolls were catching up on them. Angrond knew he couldn't out-run them, for trolls are very fast and agile. The snow would not hinder them either and the boy was growing heavy on the ranger's shoulders. He would have to make a stand and fight them.
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The boy was safely in his hiding place: a small tree from which to throw stones if the fight did not go their way and Angrond was crouched behind a stone with an arrow notched, ready to pounce at a moment's notice. It was not long before the trolls came and when they did, they came in numbers. About twenty trolls raced by at full speed; not noticing the two Nords. Angrond decided not to attack but to follow instead. He waited a few minutes until they were out of sight and slung the boy on his shoulder again, keeping track of the trolls' wide footprints.
The trolls were getting out of sight now, Their hulking forms dissappeared over the horizon, but there was one thing that bugged Angrond; they were headed for Leifskull's Rest. A group of trolls could destroy the small village in no time and the only one left to protect it was the old elf ranger.
'Where's my father?' The boy said. 'Is he OK? 'We'll see when we arrive,' said Angrond. 'but I fear the trolls are there already and may be attacking your home as we speak. We must make haste to protect your people and your father.' The blizzard had started to receed and they began to move faster. It was nearing sundown; the sun sank in a red haze and lit up the sky. However, the colour from the sun was not the only red they could see. Leifskull's Rest had come into view and some of the nearer houses were on fire, black smoke rose from them and screams pierced the air like arrows.
Angrond dropped the boy, told him to stay put until the fight was over and sprinted towards the smoking huts, unaware of the shadow following at the side of the road, sneaking behind the rocks. He had begun to unsheathe his longsword when it struck; knocking him to the ground with force. He looked up to see an ugly face with an arrow protruding from one eye. It was Murgaz. The ranger just barely got to his feet in time before it swung it's great arm in a downward movement, cracking the ground with force. His longsword lay about ten yards away so he took out his bow and began firing arrows at the creature until they were spent. Murgaz, now like a pincushion, was staggering about swinging his arms wildly. He made his last charge and knocked Angrond to the ground again. The troll stepped on his longbow and cracked it in half. He loomed over the ranger - his eyes were wide with the excitement of another kill. Angrond was full of rage that this monster had destroyed his family heirloom so he pulled the small silver dagger from his leather boot and stabbed it's head at least twenty times in quick succession. Murgaz fell down to the snow with blood pouring steadily from the large hole in his head. He was dead.
Angrond stood up and examined the bow. It was broken beyond repair but he held on to it still; a memory of his dead father. However, this was not the time for grieving, a village was under attack and needed his aid. He picked up his longsword and hurried toward the hill, stumbling with fatigue.
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Post by me on Dec 24, 2006 19:53:39 GMT -5
I liked that bow
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Post by Dagothkitty on Dec 27, 2006 0:17:48 GMT -5
It was excellent, umaril. Great Job.
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Umaril
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Post by Umaril on Dec 27, 2006 19:40:51 GMT -5
Chapter Five: The Return Home
Angrond reached the top of the slope panting. All around him houses burned and smoked, and people too were running around frantically trying to extinguish the flames on their clothes and bodies. The trolls ran rampant around the village, terrorizing it's people. Angrond tripped the nearest one with his sword and stuck it through it's heart. He saw a tall figure in the midst of the battle, fighting off many trolls with a flaming torch and a longsword. He set one of them alight and it began to run around madly, squealing with pain. Angrond rushed to help him; it was the old ranger. Sixty years he must have been and still a warrior of great skill.
Taking the dagger out of his boot again, the ranger launched it at the biggest troll, lodging in it's chest. Two of the monsters turned around and rushed at Angrond. He blocked both of their attacks and performed his favorite combo. He jumped into the air and spun with his sword out, slashing both their lungs. He jumped again and kicked each one in the face, knocking them to the ground. Angrond came to the old man's aid not a moment too soon; a troll stood over him with a raised fist. The young ranger hurried across the battlefield and decapitated the creature before it could make it's last move.
Standing side by side, the two men killed the last of the trolls, the elf shoving the torch down it's neck. Angrond immediately headed for the manor house. When he walked in however, the young landlord lay dead on living room floor with a bloody and bruised face, the once handsome looks lost to the power of evil. Angrond turned to walk outside but the door opened before he could reach the handle. It was the Leifskull boy. He fell to his knees beside his father's body. The old elf followed in behind, wiping sweat from his forehead. His face too turned grave when he saw the corpse and he knelt in prayer beside the boy. Angrond left them in peace and searched the rest of the house for any straggling trolls.
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Angrond didn't wait to witness the funeral. He left early the next morning, hoping to arrive at his small wilderness retreat before the next day. He payed a visit to the trader's before he went however, and got himself a new longbow. There was nothing special about it but he wasn't going to spend all his money on one, as he had better bows at his home. He also got his longsword repaired and his boots re-stitched. A long journey lay ahead of Angrond and if he was to arrive before morn he would have to travel at full speed making only breif stops. Along the path leading from the town Angrond met the Elf. He was leaning on his longbow. 'I had a feeling you'd leave early.' He said. 'Well, Farewell then, young Angrond. Thread not on dark paths.'
Angrond travelled well into the night. He had stopped only once for an hour long rest and his legs were beginning to tire. He arrived at the border of a small wood. The trees were dark and tall and nestled in the centre was his small hut. A fire burned slowly outside and the windows were lit up with candles; Jered was home. Jered was Angrond's apprentice. Well, more his foster-son. One day Angrond was hunting in the wood when Jered stumbled into the trees. He was black and dirty, for his village had been burned to the ground by bandits. He had only just escaped but the bandits were hot on his tail and they carried flaming brands. Angrond hid beneath the cover of the trees and ambushed them, desroying their band in a matter of moments. The next day they went back to the village. It was burned to the ground and there were no survivors. The boy decided to stay with the ranger and had been with him for three years learning the ways of the land before Angrond had taken the Leifskull contract.
Angrond pushed the door open and was welcomed by the smell of cooking venison and many different herbs. Jered had been expecting him for he had two dinner plates on the kitchen table.
'How did you know I was coming' Said the ranger. 'Frostpaw told me. He followed you since you came in to the wood, I'm surprised you didn't notice.' Frostpaw was Jered's pet wolf. He had found him injured on the forest floor one day and raised him as a hunting dog. He also had the uncanny ability to understand human speech. 'That wolf is the only one that has ever outwitted me. Lucky I'm on his good side.' Said Angrond, dishing himself a plate of venison stew.
The two of them sat down to their meals and discussed the goings-on of the area. After the meal, Angrond lay down on his straw bed and meditated on the events of the day before, wishing he had only killed the trolls before they reached the town.
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Umaril
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Post by Umaril on Dec 30, 2006 11:45:47 GMT -5
Chapter Six: The Messenger
Angrond woke to a rap at the door. He quickly threw a robe over himself and opened the door. On the doorstep stood a man clad in chainmail, he wore a dinted helmet and carried a notched sword. A blue dragon was emblazoned on his cuirass and gauntlets and behind him a horse stood champing the grass. He was panting and looked very weary.
'Are you the ranger, Winterheart?' He asked. 'Yes, I am the one who you seek, what is the matter?' 'I was told to seek you out. We were escorting our count to Falkreath when our company was attacked by armoured men. They wore black clothes and armour and bore a silver raven upon their visors. A huge man carried the count away on horseback and the others followed him into the west. The count's steward has asked of you to go to Fort Evermoon; there he will tell you everything. Here, I will mark it on your map.' 'No need.' said Angrond. 'I already know of it, a few miles to the northeast is it not?' 'Indeed it is, but please make haste, the steward has need of you and you only, Farewell .' With that the soldier mounted his horse and rode off into the rising sun, his blue cloak flapping with the speed of the horse.
Angrond waited to tell Jered about what happened before he set off; following the horse's hoofprints in the snow. He arrived at Evermoon after dusk. The fort was built into a huge lone mountain - it's peak jutting into the clouds. It was built of gigantic blocks of granite and a portcullis covered the main gate. A small stream flowed down from the mountain and around the front of the fort and then snaked it's way across the plains. Angrond stepped across the forded stream and arrived at the main gate. Two soldiers stood upright with spears crossed, guarding the portcullis.
'What business do you have at Fort Evermoon?' The first gatewarden said. 'Your steward has requested that I meet him to discuss the disappearance of your count.' Replied Angrond. The warden looked at him with disgust. 'You're this mighty ranger we've all heard about?' Clearly, he didn't like the way Angrond was clothed. 'You don't look so powerful to me.' 'Keep talking like this and I'll show you how powerful I can be!' Said Angrond gritting his teeth. 'You can't..........' The gatewarden was cut off by a shout from the gatehouse. 'Hoy! Cirrus, cut the crap and let him in!' The messenger who had informed Angrond about the dissappearance was atop the gatehouse wall, turning the wheel to open the portcullis.
The ranger pushed past the guards and opened the main gate. He shouted a quick word of thanks to him and continued on to the fortress' inside door and descended the stairs. A man clad in steel plate armour approached him and signalled him to follow.
'The Audience chamber.' He declared, pointing to a large oak door. Angrond had begun to walk in when the man cleared his throat. 'Ahem! Your weapons please!' Angrond gave him the longsword, the arrows and his new bow, however he concealed the small dagger. He pushed the door open and proceeded inside. A warm fire greeted him as he entered and he sat on a huge leather chair in front of the steward's desk.
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Raistlin
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I'm tired.
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Post by Raistlin on Dec 30, 2006 17:00:53 GMT -5
This is good stuff.
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Post by me on Dec 30, 2006 17:06:47 GMT -5
Why is he still carrying the broken bow?
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Umaril
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Post by Umaril on Dec 30, 2006 17:24:40 GMT -5
Why is he still carrying the broken bow? Cause it's his family heirloom (again)
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Post by me on Dec 30, 2006 18:42:06 GMT -5
Well then you'd think hed place it on a pedstal at home... not carry it around...plus it...nvm
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