It was a late autumn afternoon when the dwarven traveler entered into town. The slight clanking of his plate let the townsfolk know that he was no casual traveller, but a bearded one, armed for war. Whispers passed as the townsfolk paused in their end of day chores to gawp at him. He strode with the confident gate of a well seasoned warrior, yet there was a purpose to his steps, for they took him past the town's famed tavern without pause.
Onward he strode without uttering a word to anyone whom he passed, to a quiet glade, apart from the local cemetary, where a slight rise in the dirt gave the only clue that someone lay buried beneath. About this mound, there were placed several stones, upon whose surface were carelessly scrawled the runes and glyphs of a dozen gods... apparently meant to protect the townsfolk from the curse to which the one beneath the soil had succumbed.
He'd heard the rumors, or course. She of the Cursed Sword. They were what brought him here. For this dwarf was Elixir Gutshaker, and the rumors, he knew, described a friend who had fallen unto death. He could still feel the small bit of her that remained at the site... as though she'd been drawn from herself before her time, yet Elixir knew it was only an after image... one that he embraced with his mind as he called to Beryl.
"Beryl, by y'er will lift her sewl ups an dinnae let her remains be eber tainted by tha call o' deafth. Difs be tha least difs ol' dwarf ken dew fer herself."
So saying, he raised his arms skyward, and called upon the blessing of Beryl. The clearing was filled with a soft light. To some townsfolk, the light appeared as a being of the purest brilliant radiance. Others swore they saw a perfect gemstone so flawless it dazzled the mind, silently descending towards the ground. This image / gem settled over the quiet grave, and the light from it's form settled and seemed to permeate the ground
From beneath the surface of the earth slowly rose a blackened blade glowing wierdly with blue energy. The blade seemed to draw the light into itself as if intending to defeat it, but as the light continued to pour from the image / gem, it eventually overwhelmed the blade... for it faded into nothingness.
Calling upon Beryl once more, the dwarven traveler chanted a spell the townsfolk could never recall therafter the words to... only that the glade filled with the all embracing glow once more... and the quiet grave was encased in one pure emerald, that neither gemcrafter's chisel, nor miner's pickaxe could dent nor marr thereafter. On it's surface were etched these words:
Ar lalurho urwa lo kh'a wahaart Lazkantaz Nazrtthart
Az nurthk thur'n zh'ur thur'k'k 'ah rhnazzi
Ar nawaa th'a zhazngat ar pourk' k'a taz'hg azrt ar k'a nak'k
Az k'aak nazthth, th'a aznzhazoth 'azkat k'urtha zh'ur zi'urtha kur th'ur'k
Ar taazk' th'a thahgath k'a Lathkhathth urwa k'urtha zh'ur kurur, 'azga nurthk k'aah zhazo
Lurk'ah urwa k'a nurthk, zhazkzi' 'ah thur'n zhann
[/green]
In Memory of my true friend Matilda Landsend
A lost soul who sought her place
In life she walked in both the dark and in the light
A quiet lass, she always hated those who chose to shout
In death, she serves the Mistress of those who, too, have lost their way
Mother of the lost, watch her soul well
//You are an excellent friend and a neverending source of learning. That part of yourself I hope you never change. Good luck! Live life to the fullest. Hang with your buds. You never know when life will take you (and them) on your separate ways. Keep in touch. If that means sending an annoyingly vulgar PM at 3am because you are drunk, so be it. If you do, you'd better not delete it before I get the chance to read it! I want all your juicy entrails... er I mean details! Yes, details. *wanders off to look for more cold pizza to go with his warm soda*
