As I stand in the once proud city, tears came to my eyes. All that I saw before me was emptiness...
I can remember the years before, when all was good. How I would stop by H'laande's tavern for a drink and a good meal, how peaceful the city was, only occasionally broken by bear attacks or a young one falling off of the lifts. I never knew true chaos then, something I still only vaguely remember now. I was part of a joint organization between the Felwithe and Kelethin to protect the forests of Greater Faydark. Commitioned in the Kelethin trading district, I would apprehend the occasional theif and fight off the undead here and there.
In 72 BF, fear loomed over the city like a shadow. The Battle of Goblin Coast was a common topic of discussion, even years afterwards. Word came back from the front of the incoming Iksar armies. Fear grew with every step the army took towards the city. I cannot remember now the horrors that came afterward, but I can tell you this. The final battle for the Eleven homelands was long and tragic. Many of my dear friends die that day...
I was lucky enough to have survived. However, I was afflicted by a terrible necromancer disease. I fled the area and hid in the Obsidian Shard mountains. As the disease took hold, my grasp on my sanity weakened. I was haunted by images of death and torture.
One day, however, a traveling nomad came across my makeshift home. I can hardly remember him now, or even determine if he was a part of my visions, but because of him I learned of a new magic that allowed me to manipulate reality and eventually banish the images from my mind. This former gaurdian now stands before you a weakened apprentice of the manipulative arts. I hope, in time, I will be able to reclaim that fair city, but, for now, I seek to regain my former glory...
I can remember the years before, when all was good. How I would stop by H'laande's tavern for a drink and a good meal, how peaceful the city was, only occasionally broken by bear attacks or a young one falling off of the lifts. I never knew true chaos then, something I still only vaguely remember now. I was part of a joint organization between the Felwithe and Kelethin to protect the forests of Greater Faydark. Commitioned in the Kelethin trading district, I would apprehend the occasional theif and fight off the undead here and there.
In 72 BF, fear loomed over the city like a shadow. The Battle of Goblin Coast was a common topic of discussion, even years afterwards. Word came back from the front of the incoming Iksar armies. Fear grew with every step the army took towards the city. I cannot remember now the horrors that came afterward, but I can tell you this. The final battle for the Eleven homelands was long and tragic. Many of my dear friends die that day...
I was lucky enough to have survived. However, I was afflicted by a terrible necromancer disease. I fled the area and hid in the Obsidian Shard mountains. As the disease took hold, my grasp on my sanity weakened. I was haunted by images of death and torture.
One day, however, a traveling nomad came across my makeshift home. I can hardly remember him now, or even determine if he was a part of my visions, but because of him I learned of a new magic that allowed me to manipulate reality and eventually banish the images from my mind. This former gaurdian now stands before you a weakened apprentice of the manipulative arts. I hope, in time, I will be able to reclaim that fair city, but, for now, I seek to regain my former glory...