Morrigan
February 4th, 2010, 11:49 PM
The Last Words
by: Namoric
For this grey-haired old cleric, the winters seem to only get worse as the years pass. The old abbey is aging just as much as the cleric is, although the abbey grumbles less. The wind comes around the hill and hits the abbey hard on the east face during the winters. In years past, the cracks and crevices were kept filled with mortar by Arador, Namoric’s young Acolyte. Arador has long since moved on in the church and gotten a small abbey of his own somewhere on the outskirts of Fort Gwnytell. There's noise from the courtyard that stirs the cleric.
Namoric slowly gets out of bed, careful not to wake his new bride. She always seems to sleep later than he does - although she's slowly changing that habit. He walks to the fading fire, reaches over and places a small log in the fireplace to help take the chill off the room. There's a faint twinge in his back, from a fight a long time ago. Gritting his teeth he straightens up anyway. There's much to do today - on his last day here at the abbey. He announced his retirement from service a few days ago and has already been appointed a replacement. The church was kind enough to give him a small house on the country side that he can retire in, as they kindly took away the abbey that he had built.
The old cleric just doesn't have the adventure in him anymore. Now that he and his long-time adventuring partner were married, he couldn't bear it if something happened to her. She's his life - his love. There's more to protecting the ones you love than healing them. Sometimes you have to keep them out of trouble all together. This last point will prove the most difficult as the Mercenary isn't one in the habit of tending a flower garden.
"Lost in musings again, Brother?" Arduen was always the tactful one. Already with a flagon of Ale - his own brew - he had come to help Morrigan and Namoric move the rest of their belongings. "You and I both know you're ready for this. You've been at it too long. You've done your deeds, sang your songs and lived your glories. Go ... start another life and don't ever look back."
"You may be right, Arduen. It doesn't make it any easier." Namoric reaches over and takes Arduen’s drink, much to his dismay. Nam always hated admitting when his brother may be right. "Still ... why don't you make yourself useful for once and take this chest to the carriage." As Arduen turns and looks all too much like a scorned child, Nam wasn't sure if it was because he lost his ale or was put to work. Quietly, the old cleric walks over to the bed and gently touches the shoulder of his love. "Wake up. Shake the dreams from your beautiful hair my sweet. It's time to go..."
by: Namoric
For this grey-haired old cleric, the winters seem to only get worse as the years pass. The old abbey is aging just as much as the cleric is, although the abbey grumbles less. The wind comes around the hill and hits the abbey hard on the east face during the winters. In years past, the cracks and crevices were kept filled with mortar by Arador, Namoric’s young Acolyte. Arador has long since moved on in the church and gotten a small abbey of his own somewhere on the outskirts of Fort Gwnytell. There's noise from the courtyard that stirs the cleric.
Namoric slowly gets out of bed, careful not to wake his new bride. She always seems to sleep later than he does - although she's slowly changing that habit. He walks to the fading fire, reaches over and places a small log in the fireplace to help take the chill off the room. There's a faint twinge in his back, from a fight a long time ago. Gritting his teeth he straightens up anyway. There's much to do today - on his last day here at the abbey. He announced his retirement from service a few days ago and has already been appointed a replacement. The church was kind enough to give him a small house on the country side that he can retire in, as they kindly took away the abbey that he had built.
The old cleric just doesn't have the adventure in him anymore. Now that he and his long-time adventuring partner were married, he couldn't bear it if something happened to her. She's his life - his love. There's more to protecting the ones you love than healing them. Sometimes you have to keep them out of trouble all together. This last point will prove the most difficult as the Mercenary isn't one in the habit of tending a flower garden.
"Lost in musings again, Brother?" Arduen was always the tactful one. Already with a flagon of Ale - his own brew - he had come to help Morrigan and Namoric move the rest of their belongings. "You and I both know you're ready for this. You've been at it too long. You've done your deeds, sang your songs and lived your glories. Go ... start another life and don't ever look back."
"You may be right, Arduen. It doesn't make it any easier." Namoric reaches over and takes Arduen’s drink, much to his dismay. Nam always hated admitting when his brother may be right. "Still ... why don't you make yourself useful for once and take this chest to the carriage." As Arduen turns and looks all too much like a scorned child, Nam wasn't sure if it was because he lost his ale or was put to work. Quietly, the old cleric walks over to the bed and gently touches the shoulder of his love. "Wake up. Shake the dreams from your beautiful hair my sweet. It's time to go..."