The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum - View Single Post - Werewolf XLVIII: When Virtual Becomes Reality

Durelin · 07-04-2008, 01:42 AM

The sun had risen high into the sky by the time Durelin arrived at the town square (OOC: the center of town, whether it is square or not…or wherever the action is taking place), tossing her cloak over her shoulder to leave her sword's hilt uncovered. She absent-mindedly placed her hand on the hilt every so often, as she observed carefully the world around her using all of her honed senses. Normally she would be relatively at ease in a village such as this, especially in the light of day – though she never let her guard down – but…werewolves were among them. Nothing was what it seemed, day or night.

The villagers were beginning to gather, as word spread of the untimely demise of their mayor, the great Wight, and Durelin came to offer her abundant knowledge of the things of the wild and things of the Dark Lord. But besides her undeniable desire to help others, Durelin was driven by the icy-hot passion of revenge. Whenever she thought of her parents and what had been left of them when she found them that morning, her fiery soul froze over. They had murdered, mutilated, and masticated her parents in the night, those creatures…those werewolves.

She had been but thirteen years old, when she was left an orphan. She wandered for several days, perhaps hoping that the wolves would take her as well. But it was not to be, it was not her time. On the third day, she heard a gorgeous vibrato among the trees of the forest she wandered, and stole carefully toward the voice. She had come upon a group of elves traveling to the western shores! The elves took Durelin to Rivendell, to Imladris, to see Elrond himself, in the Last Homely House, and there she stayed for five years. She quickly grew fluent in the Elvish language and became skilled with a bow and sword, as well as with the lyre and harp, as well as with making lembas and braiding hair…

Durelin resisted a sigh. Oh, the memories…the sweet nostalgia of those happiest days after the loss of her parents…they gave her hope, even now, to save the children of this village from becoming orphans themselves. ‘Estel, o entulien mellon orlien larenia namarie mellon dagnir,’ she whispered an elfish prayer in her parents’ memory.

“My name is Durelin,” the wanderer of the wilds introduced herself, “and I hail from down the block. I am bound not only by my oath of revenge but also by my inherent good nature and benevolence, which beseeches me to help others, to aid this village in its struggle with these howling creatures of the darkest night. You have my one-handed sword of suffering and my bow of piercing, as well as my heavy shield of the stalwart, and my cloak of the shadows with +1 to my stealth level and detection.”

Last edited by Durelin : 07-05-08 at 3:45 am. Reason: signature.

(Really OOC: It’s almost 4 am here. All I can manage is silliness. Yes, yes, got carried away.)

07-04-2008, 01:42 AM	#25
Durelin Estelo dagnir, Melo ring Join Date: Oct 2002 Posts: 3,063	The sun had risen high into the sky by the time Durelin arrived at the town square (OOC: the center of town, whether it is square or not…or wherever the action is taking place), tossing her cloak over her shoulder to leave her sword's hilt uncovered. She absent-mindedly placed her hand on the hilt every so often, as she observed carefully the world around her using all of her honed senses. Normally she would be relatively at ease in a village such as this, especially in the light of day – though she never let her guard down – but…werewolves were among them. Nothing was what it seemed, day or night. The villagers were beginning to gather, as word spread of the untimely demise of their mayor, the great Wight, and Durelin came to offer her abundant knowledge of the things of the wild and things of the Dark Lord. But besides her undeniable desire to help others, Durelin was driven by the icy-hot passion of revenge. Whenever she thought of her parents and what had been left of them when she found them that morning, her fiery soul froze over. They had murdered, mutilated, and masticated her parents in the night, those creatures…those werewolves. She had been but thirteen years old, when she was left an orphan. She wandered for several days, perhaps hoping that the wolves would take her as well. But it was not to be, it was not her time. On the third day, she heard a gorgeous vibrato among the trees of the forest she wandered, and stole carefully toward the voice. She had come upon a group of elves traveling to the western shores! The elves took Durelin to Rivendell, to Imladris, to see Elrond himself, in the Last Homely House, and there she stayed for five years. She quickly grew fluent in the Elvish language and became skilled with a bow and sword, as well as with the lyre and harp, as well as with making lembas and braiding hair… Durelin resisted a sigh. Oh, the memories…the sweet nostalgia of those happiest days after the loss of her parents…they gave her hope, even now, to save the children of this village from becoming orphans themselves. ‘Estel, o entulien mellon orlien larenia namarie mellon dagnir,’ she whispered an elfish prayer in her parents’ memory. “My name is Durelin,” the wanderer of the wilds introduced herself, “and I hail from down the block. I am bound not only by my oath of revenge but also by my inherent good nature and benevolence, which beseeches me to help others, to aid this village in its struggle with these howling creatures of the darkest night. You have my one-handed sword of suffering and my bow of piercing, as well as my heavy shield of the stalwart, and my cloak of the shadows with +1 to my stealth level and detection.” Last edited by Durelin : 07-05-08 at 3:45 am. Reason: signature. (Really OOC: It’s almost 4 am here. All I can manage is silliness. Yes, yes, got carried away.)