A hunched woman approaches the Eastern Gate walking clumsily, hugging the wall. Her thick mane of hair is disheveled, the skin of her face appears to be red raw like it were dunked in scalding water. She pins a parchment to the gate with heavily bandaged hands.
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O Bane, hast thou forsaken me?
O my beloved town, what has happened within your walls?
The Red Baron, the bastard mage has infested you
With his filthy breath and his demented words
He counts, cold as a stone man
The ticks of life that remain to be lived
Before he fries the life out of me
Rude, raw, uncouth, merciless he babbles his misspelled runes
And I burn, baby do I burn!
O Sirani, hast thou forsaken me?
Where are the captains that once made this town famous?
Where are the champions that villains feared until the end the world?
Where are the paladins that would blow our mind and the oliphant while piercing the heart of the wicked?
Where are you Altrixes, where are you Rolandses (the true ones)?
Where are you Harok when I writhe in the direst strait?
The sisters themselves keep a silent watch, afraid or complicit
The frying goes on. Fry baby, fry!
A sole innocent soul, an elven voice rises up, a peal of astonishment, an appeal
But he crushes it under more ruthless brimstoned spells
Woe betide the Red Baron!
Leva Beliu
Objurgation to a beloved city
Moderator: Gamemasters
Re: Objurgation to a beloved city
A single word appears to be burned across the parchment.
Consequences.
Consequences.