The Passing of Cleric Time - DAoC - LOA Classic Story

[Morrigan]

The Passing of Cleric Time
by: Namoric

"Lad…let me tell you something," and Namoric goes on with a bit of a rambling tone in his voice. Arador knows this tone well, and settles in for a flighty tale of some such. "Now that I know her title and rankings, I also know that she's gotten permission from the guild to gather some rare components to have crafted a set of magical armor - much like the set I keep my in locker there. Now she knows that I know. And she knows that our band of friends will get together and help her get it... She'll be here within a couple of hours asking if I'm ready to go. Much like the time..."

"Lady Morrigan...coming here?" Arador asks a bit flustered, interrupting the old Cleric.

"Oh yes, Lad," Namoric chuckles, "any moment now. Run off, and have the monks get the evening meals ready."

"Yes, Lord." Arador says as he's already half way down the hall way. The young lad has had a crush on Lady Morrigan since the first time he saw her in the abbey one evening during prayer. The boy will have the meals done entirely too soon and it will be cold before she gets here, but he'll have it made with the best vegetables and meats available from the storage cellar.

He opens the chest at the foot of his bed and pulls out the hammer lying on top of a carefully stored pile of chain mail armor. T he hammer begins to glow at his touch and there's something about the hammer that seems to lend its strength to the old cleric. He starts to find himself looking forward to the coming adventure....

[Morrigan]

OK - here's the whole thing - only the last bit posted the first time.

The Passing of Cleric Time
By: Namoric

... as he turns a page he places his elbows on the worn table and puts his tired, greyed head in his hands. Gently rubbing his temples to relieve the headache caused from reading the religious text in front of him by candle light, he lets out a small sigh.

It's getting cold again in the rickety abbey he built so many years ago. The cracks in the stone work, like the wrinkles of his aging skin, get wider with every passing winter. He leans back in his chair, pulling his thick wool robe further up on his shoulders he lets his mind wander back through the last year. He wonders whatever happened to that young, foolish couple that married last winter, or what happened with the quest to kill those undead trees in Lyonesse. His trials lately have been just that - trials. With the rediscovery of Atlantis by all three of the sundered realms, the wars have died down but the magic released by the ancient realm has been too much of a lure for the tired cleric. His band of friends, the Lost Order of Akalabeth, had journeyed many times into the underwater realm, into dungeons of all kinds. The magic released has given his friends powers beyond anything he has ever imagined. Armed combat moves that robs the enemy of their very strength, spells curing the worst diseases on every person nearby, spells restoring the strength of others. It's truly amazing the power of the old ones.

He pulls tight on the robe as he stands up and shuffles over to the fire place to toss another log onto the burning pile. As he bends over to grab the log, he hears a tap on his chamber door. Smiling broadly to himself he thinks, "Silly child - he's been studying here for well over 12 months and is still afraid to disturb me."

"Arador," he says grinning, “When are you going to gain some confidence and knock on my door as if you really mean it? Open the door, and tell me what you need to tell me, lad."

Arador enters the room looking slightly embarrassed at his timid nature. "Lord Namoric, I've heard the best news from Othan!"

Namoric gets a curious look on his face, not sure what to take of news from the loudest, fastest mouth in Albion.

"... are you going to tell me, or just stand there?! Come on - out with it, lad, spill the news."

"Your friend, Morrigan Kildare, has recently been given the highest ranking within the Guild of Shadows!" Arador stands proud of himself now, seeing Namoric smile at the news. He pauses, pauses in mid toss with the log that is now in his hands and asks, "Tell me, lad, Othan told you - but where did the HE get the news?"

"He said that the news came from Lady Morrigan herself, Lord." he says, a bit confused as to why he would ask. "Ah, that figures," Namoric continues, "I'll wager my hammer here she's told the Othan, knowing he can't keep his mouth shut and the news will get back to me."

"Sorry, Lord, I don't understand what the concern is."

"Lad…let me tell you something," and Namoric goes on with a bit of a rambling tone in his voice. Arador knows this tone well, and settles in for a flighty tale of some such. "Now that I know her title and rankings, I also know that she's gotten permission from the guild to gather some rare components to have crafted a set of magical armor - much like the set I keep my in locker there. Now she knows that I know. And she knows that our band of friends will get together and help her get it... She'll be here within a couple of hours asking if I'm ready to go. Much like the time..."

"Lady Morrigan...coming here?" Arador asks a bit flustered, interrupting the old Cleric.

"Oh yes, Lad," Namoric chuckles, "any moment now. Run off, and have the monks get the evening meals ready."

"Yes, Lord." Arador says as he's already half way down the hall way. The young lad has had a crush on Lady Morrigan since the first time he saw her in the abbey one evening during prayer. The boy will have the meals done entirely too soon and it will be cold before she gets here, but he'll have it made with the best vegetables and meats available from the storage cellar.

He opens the chest at the foot of his bed and pulls out the hammer lying on top of a carefully stored pile of chain mail armor. T he hammer begins to glow at his touch and there's something about the hammer that seems to lend its strength to the old cleric. He starts to find himself looking forward to the coming adventure....