**OOC**
An anonymous player has requested I pass this story along to you all.
<blockquote>"Perhaps it is time," he spoke aloud to himself, "perhaps it is time to leave this place."
He reconsidered his choice of words. Place? This place was his home. A home that was now a mere shadow of what it once was. He continued pacing the darkened room, carefully avoiding the crumbling bricks beneath his feet. He was beginning to come to the realization that his home would eventually become his tomb if things did not change.
It had been ages since he spoke to another, although on occasion someone would still wander into his home. He would never speak to those individuals however, instead he chose to lurk in the shadows, in fear that someone might be coming to enact revenge against him. He still considered the possibility of revenge, even after so many years had passed. It had become an obsession for him, an overwhelming paranoia that had gripped him for so many years. Who would be the
next to enter his home? Would it be just another harmless adventurer that had simply stumbled upon the cave? Would it be another miner looking for a hidden stockpile of precious ore? Or would it be someone from long ago, coming to seek revenge against him for his past crimes? Perhaps even the son or daughter of someone that had fallen victim to his past atrocities. There were so many possibilities that it was pointless to even try to consider all of them.
But it didn't matter. He still considered every possibility, over and over again. He was losing a grip on his sanity. Even his perception of reality was fading. He feared as if he was drifting back into the same state of mind that had harmed so many in the past. He needed to escape his home, if just for a moment. Maybe that would help heal his diseased mind.
He wandered out into the cave and looked about. A pile of discarded ore and a rusted pickaxe, an indication that no one had entered the cave in quite sometime. He leaned forward and peered out towards the cave's exit. The sunlight burned his eyes to the point that it was almost dizzying. He took a knee and then sat himself down upon the floor of the cave. He pulled a book out of his satchel and started writing hastily.
His writings were the only thing keeping him sane, or at least that is what he believed. To anyone else, the writings were garbled nonsense.
They had slowly deteriorated into words and symbols that only he could understand. His panicked writing continued into the night. Eventually he wiped his brow and rose to his feet.
"It must be nearly midnight by the eastern sky." He thought to himself. "Enough of this for one day. Time to go home."
He took a few steps backwards until he could feel the carved stones beneath his feet.
"Frostflame," he whispered.
And with that he was home to begin another day.</blockquote>
An anonymous player has requested I pass this story along to you all.
<blockquote>"Perhaps it is time," he spoke aloud to himself, "perhaps it is time to leave this place."
He reconsidered his choice of words. Place? This place was his home. A home that was now a mere shadow of what it once was. He continued pacing the darkened room, carefully avoiding the crumbling bricks beneath his feet. He was beginning to come to the realization that his home would eventually become his tomb if things did not change.
It had been ages since he spoke to another, although on occasion someone would still wander into his home. He would never speak to those individuals however, instead he chose to lurk in the shadows, in fear that someone might be coming to enact revenge against him. He still considered the possibility of revenge, even after so many years had passed. It had become an obsession for him, an overwhelming paranoia that had gripped him for so many years. Who would be the
next to enter his home? Would it be just another harmless adventurer that had simply stumbled upon the cave? Would it be another miner looking for a hidden stockpile of precious ore? Or would it be someone from long ago, coming to seek revenge against him for his past crimes? Perhaps even the son or daughter of someone that had fallen victim to his past atrocities. There were so many possibilities that it was pointless to even try to consider all of them.
But it didn't matter. He still considered every possibility, over and over again. He was losing a grip on his sanity. Even his perception of reality was fading. He feared as if he was drifting back into the same state of mind that had harmed so many in the past. He needed to escape his home, if just for a moment. Maybe that would help heal his diseased mind.
He wandered out into the cave and looked about. A pile of discarded ore and a rusted pickaxe, an indication that no one had entered the cave in quite sometime. He leaned forward and peered out towards the cave's exit. The sunlight burned his eyes to the point that it was almost dizzying. He took a knee and then sat himself down upon the floor of the cave. He pulled a book out of his satchel and started writing hastily.
His writings were the only thing keeping him sane, or at least that is what he believed. To anyone else, the writings were garbled nonsense.
They had slowly deteriorated into words and symbols that only he could understand. His panicked writing continued into the night. Eventually he wiped his brow and rose to his feet.
"It must be nearly midnight by the eastern sky." He thought to himself. "Enough of this for one day. Time to go home."
He took a few steps backwards until he could feel the carved stones beneath his feet.
"Frostflame," he whispered.
And with that he was home to begin another day.</blockquote>
