Post by Kolfrosta on Dec 14, 2010 7:07:45 GMT -5
Prologue: DR 1164 The Year of Long Shadows
Donegal looked out over the small foggy moonlit grove. He was soaked from the constant cold mountain rain, but, according to the locals in the pub, this was indeed the witch's hut. Pulling his horse up at the door, he hitched the steed and entered the small dank hut.
The smells within assaulted him, almost causing him to wretch; the scent of herbs, and powders, and possibly, something died. The only light, was from the fireplace, and something bubbled in a pot over the fire. He silently prayed it wasn't something he would have to eat.
Before his eyes could adjust to the darkness, an old cackled voice broke the silence, "Someone comes to Madam Zerobi?"
"Aye! I do seek the service I was told you offer."
"Come then, Madam Zerobi cannot see so well anymore. Tell me what it is you need done? A Curse? Someone has insulted you? A woman spurns your love? Madam Zerobi cures all this."
Trying not to breath too deeply, Donegal crosses the small room, stepping around whatever lay on the floor. Each floor board creaks with his step. Something brushes past his leg, yet when he looks, he sees nothing. Turning once more toward her, "I need a blade blessed."
"A Blessing indeed? Tell Madam Zerobi what it is your desire..."
He draws the blade, "This blade, I wish named The Oath, and in the name comes the binding. The one who weilds it, must always be true to the the Crown and Realm of Cormyr, they will serve with loyalty, they will act with honor, with chivalry, and for injustice, they will serve vengeance"
"Hm. Madam Zerobi can do this. But she will need a fee. Ten thousand golden coins will suffice."
"Ten Thousand!", He growled, "Two thousand and you live the rest of your wretched life. I'll not be swindled by some common ...hag!
The silence, hung in the air. Then the old woman cackled. "A wise man your are, Donegal Cormaeril. It is plain to see you cannot be swindled, or tricked. Well done. I will do this for you. For two thousand golden lions of Cormyr."
That she knew his name, did not strike the young lord as strange at all, after all, he -was- a Cormaeril, naturally, everyone should know who he was, and treat him accordingly. Yet, here he was, far from home, exiled for his name, and his uncle's treason. "Exiled", because he had friends in the right places, at the right time to warn him of his impending execution, and the guards sent to secure him for such. But he was never disloyal, and served the Crown well, when it suited his purpose. And he was bound and determined to set it "right", somehow.
"Aye then..this is how it goes:
For the ideals of chivalry, For honor, courage, bravery and Loyalty.....
I bear this oath in the Service of the Crown of Cormyr, that it will ne'er be raised against her....
And to Her foes, it will bestow justice unforgiving....
But above all, I will protect, and defend, Her and Her folk.....
And if to protect and defend is too slow....then vengance will come for the fallen."
The old witch nods, then begins preparing various oils, herbs, powders, and things Donegal decides he doesn't want to know what they were. She sets candles about the work area, lighting them, yet somehow the light in the hovel does not seem any brighter to Donegal.
"Young master and lord, I will need your assistance of course. At my nod, you must cut your right hand with this dagger, and bleed into the sigil here.", she says, as she pointed to the crest on the blade with one hand, and hands him the wicked looking dagger with the other. "Be careful deary, it's sharp", she cackles as she finishes her work.
The the old crone begins her chant, using words Donegal had no chance of understanding:
For the ideals of chivalry, For honor, courage bravery and Loyalty.....
I bear this oath in the Service of the Crown of Cormyr, that it will ne'er be raised against her....
And to Her foes, it will bestow justice unforgiving....
But above all, I will protect, and defend, Her and Her folk.....
And if to protect and defend is too slow....then vengance will come for the fallen.
And further more it will come to pass, from now until forever and a day, one only of each generation of this man's family will live to see the blade to the next generation,
The bearer of the blade will believe this is the finest blade they shall ever see, forsaking all others,
and thus it will lead them one by one to death, thier spirits bound to the realm of the living until the end of time and a second,
Until one will come and die at the feet of the Crown which they defend and protect, fullfilling in full, The Oath of Cormaeril."
She then nods to Donegal, who carries out her instruction, wincing as the dagger bites his hand.
"Thus I curse this brash fool and rude lordling of Cormyr and his line, who is lord and noble no more.
"Tis done my lord.", as the sound of thunder rolled through the sky outside.
He grunts as he binds his hand up, then passes her a sack of coin. "Tis all there. Good eve, madam."
The cool fresh breeze felt good after being in that stifling dark hut. Then came the rain, and he silently cursed this foreing land. He mounts his steed and whirls him around to head back off the winding roads of Rashemon, heading back toward Cormyr. And on the wind, he wasn't sure, but the thought he heard the cackling of an old crone....
He pulls up and looks over his shoulder. Then shook his head, grins a bit to himself, "You're getting spooked over nothin' Don. But, Hm...even she knew who I was...I can't go back, Not with...the name of Cormaeril."
He considers, and gazes to the sky, filled with thunderclouds. One catches his eye, as a great tower rising above all other clouds. Then he grins.
"Donegal Greytower. Has rather a ring to it"
He spurred his horse into the night, heading back to the inn he passed the night before.
//author's note. Subject to revision
Donegal looked out over the small foggy moonlit grove. He was soaked from the constant cold mountain rain, but, according to the locals in the pub, this was indeed the witch's hut. Pulling his horse up at the door, he hitched the steed and entered the small dank hut.
The smells within assaulted him, almost causing him to wretch; the scent of herbs, and powders, and possibly, something died. The only light, was from the fireplace, and something bubbled in a pot over the fire. He silently prayed it wasn't something he would have to eat.
Before his eyes could adjust to the darkness, an old cackled voice broke the silence, "Someone comes to Madam Zerobi?"
"Aye! I do seek the service I was told you offer."
"Come then, Madam Zerobi cannot see so well anymore. Tell me what it is you need done? A Curse? Someone has insulted you? A woman spurns your love? Madam Zerobi cures all this."
Trying not to breath too deeply, Donegal crosses the small room, stepping around whatever lay on the floor. Each floor board creaks with his step. Something brushes past his leg, yet when he looks, he sees nothing. Turning once more toward her, "I need a blade blessed."
"A Blessing indeed? Tell Madam Zerobi what it is your desire..."
He draws the blade, "This blade, I wish named The Oath, and in the name comes the binding. The one who weilds it, must always be true to the the Crown and Realm of Cormyr, they will serve with loyalty, they will act with honor, with chivalry, and for injustice, they will serve vengeance"
"Hm. Madam Zerobi can do this. But she will need a fee. Ten thousand golden coins will suffice."
"Ten Thousand!", He growled, "Two thousand and you live the rest of your wretched life. I'll not be swindled by some common ...hag!
The silence, hung in the air. Then the old woman cackled. "A wise man your are, Donegal Cormaeril. It is plain to see you cannot be swindled, or tricked. Well done. I will do this for you. For two thousand golden lions of Cormyr."
That she knew his name, did not strike the young lord as strange at all, after all, he -was- a Cormaeril, naturally, everyone should know who he was, and treat him accordingly. Yet, here he was, far from home, exiled for his name, and his uncle's treason. "Exiled", because he had friends in the right places, at the right time to warn him of his impending execution, and the guards sent to secure him for such. But he was never disloyal, and served the Crown well, when it suited his purpose. And he was bound and determined to set it "right", somehow.
"Aye then..this is how it goes:
For the ideals of chivalry, For honor, courage, bravery and Loyalty.....
I bear this oath in the Service of the Crown of Cormyr, that it will ne'er be raised against her....
And to Her foes, it will bestow justice unforgiving....
But above all, I will protect, and defend, Her and Her folk.....
And if to protect and defend is too slow....then vengance will come for the fallen."
The old witch nods, then begins preparing various oils, herbs, powders, and things Donegal decides he doesn't want to know what they were. She sets candles about the work area, lighting them, yet somehow the light in the hovel does not seem any brighter to Donegal.
"Young master and lord, I will need your assistance of course. At my nod, you must cut your right hand with this dagger, and bleed into the sigil here.", she says, as she pointed to the crest on the blade with one hand, and hands him the wicked looking dagger with the other. "Be careful deary, it's sharp", she cackles as she finishes her work.
The the old crone begins her chant, using words Donegal had no chance of understanding:
For the ideals of chivalry, For honor, courage bravery and Loyalty.....
I bear this oath in the Service of the Crown of Cormyr, that it will ne'er be raised against her....
And to Her foes, it will bestow justice unforgiving....
But above all, I will protect, and defend, Her and Her folk.....
And if to protect and defend is too slow....then vengance will come for the fallen.
And further more it will come to pass, from now until forever and a day, one only of each generation of this man's family will live to see the blade to the next generation,
The bearer of the blade will believe this is the finest blade they shall ever see, forsaking all others,
and thus it will lead them one by one to death, thier spirits bound to the realm of the living until the end of time and a second,
Until one will come and die at the feet of the Crown which they defend and protect, fullfilling in full, The Oath of Cormaeril."
She then nods to Donegal, who carries out her instruction, wincing as the dagger bites his hand.
"Thus I curse this brash fool and rude lordling of Cormyr and his line, who is lord and noble no more.
"Tis done my lord.", as the sound of thunder rolled through the sky outside.
He grunts as he binds his hand up, then passes her a sack of coin. "Tis all there. Good eve, madam."
The cool fresh breeze felt good after being in that stifling dark hut. Then came the rain, and he silently cursed this foreing land. He mounts his steed and whirls him around to head back off the winding roads of Rashemon, heading back toward Cormyr. And on the wind, he wasn't sure, but the thought he heard the cackling of an old crone....
He pulls up and looks over his shoulder. Then shook his head, grins a bit to himself, "You're getting spooked over nothin' Don. But, Hm...even she knew who I was...I can't go back, Not with...the name of Cormaeril."
He considers, and gazes to the sky, filled with thunderclouds. One catches his eye, as a great tower rising above all other clouds. Then he grins.
"Donegal Greytower. Has rather a ring to it"
He spurred his horse into the night, heading back to the inn he passed the night before.
//author's note. Subject to revision