What's that you hear...?
-
No screams of death as adventurer's and commonfolk alike fall at the hands of her minions. No cries of anguish as friend cuts down friend due to her spells of confussoin. No hopeless looks upon peoples faces, or murmerings of "Win will this end?" being uttered?
No, these things have not happened in or near the town, though it was not so just some short time ago.
The entity known as "The Little Lady", or in length "The Little Lady of Infernus", has been banished from the lands of Toril. No longer will she slay innocent lives, cast her foul magics upon the free people of this land, or set her undead upon children, cities, crops, and people.
What stopped this threat, who banished her?
Brave souls that many of you view as some type of pompous plague on this land, and others rightly see them as a shining beacon of hope.
The Divine Shield and close allies have risked thier live, neigh quite literally thier very souls, in a ritural to banish the little lady from this realm. Failure would have meant eternal damnation and yet, unselfishly, they attempted this act in hopes of aiding the common good of Narfell.
They have not asked for recognition, nor do they likely feel they need it, but it is the job of Bards to spread the words of heroes and few in this land deserve the title more than them at this time.
Any of you that have fallen victem to the Lady or her minions, or had close friends fall victem to her, should look kindly upon these souls. The burdern and fight against her likely drove them to the brink of madness and consumed thier time to try and find a way to stop her.
The Shield and thier allies, to the last one, have my undieing respect and thanks for thier acts against the Lady and the sacrifices they have made and were willing to make. It shall be nice to once more walk the land at night without fear of the abomination appearing from the darkness to once more terrorize the land.
-
A scroll of the finest imported silken paper is brought by a courrier and read aloud in a clear, melodious voice in the town square. It is then hung on the wall of the town hall for several days for passersby to read, before being taken down for delivery to the Temple of Tyr in Peltarch.
Its message is in the local dialect of Damarran, but written in the high style of the Tethyrian court chancery, a bold, flowing script in the clearest pitch-black ink, adorned with red-ink and gilt arabesques:
We, the Goodly Mages and Scholars of Spellweaver Keep, offer our deepest Thanks and Gratitude to those selfless, brave and radiant Souls who delivered us from this Foul and Ignominious Curse.
-
"Apparently deh incessant anna continous verbal barrage from a wee bard…."
- Heads for teh smithy to listen to the more pleasant noises of hammers hitting an anvil *
