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Post by DM Hawk on Aug 25, 2011 15:13:26 GMT -5
From tavern to tavern, throughout the King's Forest and outward to the municiple drinking holes in Suzail, Marsember, and Immersea table talk mentions a raid upon Espar. Some say the reavers pillaged the town to carry off casks from the Battlestorm Brewery. Some claim that Storm Haven was the target and that axes were taken to the door.
Some claim the raiders to be orcs...
...or goblins...
...or hobgoblins...
...or zhents...
or the angry spirits of fallen Purple Dragons of old, with King Azoun IV at the head of a vengeful tide...
Whatever the details, one thing is common throughout the tales.
Espar mourns.
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Post by Kolfrosta on Aug 26, 2011 12:40:46 GMT -5
A swordswoman is seen, working through the night, in pouring rain clearing the bodies. She works in silence, the adventurers are gone, and all that is left is to see to the soldiers that they may lie with honor until thier priest may speed them onward to more glorious battlefields that wait in the beyond. The Purple Dragons are arranged along Storm Haven walls: arms folded across thier chests, thier swords placed with care under thier folded hands, thier shields at thier feet. Then ones with heads, she gently closes thier eyes.
The orcish bodies, on the other hand, are dragged out the north road and unceremoniously left in a pile along side the road.
In the morning, she finishes the task, and while the bodies are removed or left for the priests to attend to, left behind are the other tell-tales of battle, scorched earth and pools of blood.
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Post by dracofaerie on Aug 30, 2011 10:44:15 GMT -5
A man in the uniform of a firstsword, red hair, sliverly blue eyes walks down the line of the fallen.
On each he prays and sings to the morning lord, the song of rebirth, of them greeting a new dawn.
Some will, and to them he greets their return, staying with them and healing and reassuring them as they return to the living. Giving each enough time to recover from the trauma of their deaths.
For a few, they do not return and for them he sings them their last rites and lingers with each briefly until looking up and walking over to the next one.
It is just another day on patrol, some are more pleasant.
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