Ruins of a Home

This is hard. I am flying fast and trying to talk this out. Not easy. But here it goes.

We teleported to the site of the old colony, or rather, on the hill overlooking it. My aim was a bit rusty and Barrel ended up in a tree--he seemed happy about that and it took awhile for him to come down. Pitter was shaking the tree for awhile and then broke it in half--weak trees. Throwdown looked on in exasperation. Arry was gauging the air and ISear just stood tall. Me, well, I ran.

I ran down to the old town, the town I knew and loved. I could not contain myself. I am rather ashamed at how it just overcame me like that. Caution thrown to the wind, I went screaming down. I could almost hear the battle, see the fires, the orc grunts and the steel upon steel. My blood ran hot while my heart grew cold.

My sword pulsed in my hands, my throat gave a cry for Kord as I ran into the middle of the raging battle. And then I stopped.

There was no battle. There was barely any hint of a town. All around were decaying ruins. The most stable structure left was the temple of Kord. I thrust the doors open and cried with the horror of what had been done.

The walls were lined with the remains of my brethren, the brave followers of Kord that stayed behind to give us time to flee. Was my father amongst them, I wondered. The orcs had defiled and profaned this temple to Kord. It was overwhelming.

I ran out and got sick, cried, yelled with vengeance. I had always known that this was what we would find, but to find it, well, that was something harsh.

The others came down. They all looked away except Arry. He fixed me in the eye and asked me to stay with him to right the temple. The others flew off towards the darkness in the north. Arry and I are flying right now to catch up with them.

But once they had gone, Arry walked into the temple, said a few words, sprinkled some holy water, and the temple was cleaned and restored, filled with the divine wonder of Kord. It is like the great brawl room that is the great hall of Kord.

Arry motioned to me to come to the altar. There, at the head of it, was a stone tablet embedded in the floor with a sword lodged in it.

"Mord, do you know what this sword is? Can you read that tablet?"

"Of course, I can read it. I can read anything. Let me just reach out and, ow!" Electricity arced through me from the tablet, shocking me, but I defiantly held on, reading through the pain what was on the tablet.


It chilled me to think about that.

"Mord, I think this is where your father is. As he was a great orc chieftain before joining with us, he is probably the greatest traitor. I think they used powerful magic to seal him deep underground, a living torment for all eternity, denied the right to die, denied the right to be resurrected, denied the right to an after-life. It is a terrible fate."

"What can we do uncle?"

"Powerful magic can only be broken by even more powerful magic. And I feel that this is wizard magic. We need a wizard. That will take time. We will come back. But let's get the sword."

I grumbled, and then reached to take the sword. My hands grasped it and fire rinsed over me, burning me, scorching me. Arry kept healing me as I pulled on the sword. We were both nearly drained when finally the stone cracked and the sword flew up into the air and got stuck in the ceiling.

Arry shook his head, shot his hand out crying out, "Sword of Drok, come to me!" And the sword flew to him.

The sword of Drok? What was that?

"Come Mord. We have spent enough time here. We must go. I will tell you about this sword later."

Father, with the grace of Kord, I will find a way to release you.

Mords of Wisdom: The nightmare of a slaughter is not soon forgotten.