P
Prince Caspian
Guest
Greetings, all!
Come, come. Have a seat. Would you care for a crust of bread? I cooked it myself. You know, at the Yew Abbey I was known as The Feeding Friar -- if my discourse could not lead you to the virtues, the brothers said, my cooking certainly will! (chuckles)
There has been much talking about our latest successor to the throne, Casca. I myself pilgrimed from Yew to Britan to hear his words. While he claims to be a servant of the people, I do have my doubts. I see bleak things ahead, and the time is now to join as one.
And to do so, we must steel our resolve, and work shoulder to shoulder. It is at this critical time I ask those who have swayed from the path of righteousness to come back into the fold of virtue. Those with scarlet names above their heads. The player killers of Sonoma Felucca.
Some would say, like my cousin Caspian, that they are unredeemable and untrustworthy. I say that is the easy answer for those with closed hearts. Sometimes I would bake bread and some of the loaves would not rise. Perhaps the yeast was too sparse, the flour too heavy. Or perhaps it was the work of fate. The reasons are varied. Most cooks would throw such loaves away, but I instead use them to feed the nuthatches, sparrows and mice that abound near the abbey. There is always some usefulness to be found in everything, if you would take the time.
I must admit that the words I most hear from my redemption proteges is "Corp Por." And yes, I spend a great deal of time changing out of white robes. But I tell you, I AM making a difference. Much as the bee stings the bear gorging itself on its hard-earned honey, I can tell that their conscience has likewise been pricked. After all, in a manner most solemn they consider their sins aloud before they lay me low.
And as much as they say "LOL n00b", "ROFL", "PWNED" and "Go away you roleplaying nutzack," I know that deep down they want to use their martial exercises and talents to defend Britannia and all that we hold dear. So what if they gank a well meaning soul once... twice... or sixty-five consecutive times at the Destard spawn... the numbers make little difference.
Now, I must be gone. There are wayward souls in need of my wisdom and counsel. Farewell, friends!
(Brother Hubertus is my Felucca rp Character who wanders the land trying to redeem the souls of Player Killers and murderers.)
(I spend a lot of time as a ghost with him.)
Come, come. Have a seat. Would you care for a crust of bread? I cooked it myself. You know, at the Yew Abbey I was known as The Feeding Friar -- if my discourse could not lead you to the virtues, the brothers said, my cooking certainly will! (chuckles)
There has been much talking about our latest successor to the throne, Casca. I myself pilgrimed from Yew to Britan to hear his words. While he claims to be a servant of the people, I do have my doubts. I see bleak things ahead, and the time is now to join as one.
And to do so, we must steel our resolve, and work shoulder to shoulder. It is at this critical time I ask those who have swayed from the path of righteousness to come back into the fold of virtue. Those with scarlet names above their heads. The player killers of Sonoma Felucca.
Some would say, like my cousin Caspian, that they are unredeemable and untrustworthy. I say that is the easy answer for those with closed hearts. Sometimes I would bake bread and some of the loaves would not rise. Perhaps the yeast was too sparse, the flour too heavy. Or perhaps it was the work of fate. The reasons are varied. Most cooks would throw such loaves away, but I instead use them to feed the nuthatches, sparrows and mice that abound near the abbey. There is always some usefulness to be found in everything, if you would take the time.
I must admit that the words I most hear from my redemption proteges is "Corp Por." And yes, I spend a great deal of time changing out of white robes. But I tell you, I AM making a difference. Much as the bee stings the bear gorging itself on its hard-earned honey, I can tell that their conscience has likewise been pricked. After all, in a manner most solemn they consider their sins aloud before they lay me low.
And as much as they say "LOL n00b", "ROFL", "PWNED" and "Go away you roleplaying nutzack," I know that deep down they want to use their martial exercises and talents to defend Britannia and all that we hold dear. So what if they gank a well meaning soul once... twice... or sixty-five consecutive times at the Destard spawn... the numbers make little difference.
Now, I must be gone. There are wayward souls in need of my wisdom and counsel. Farewell, friends!
(Brother Hubertus is my Felucca rp Character who wanders the land trying to redeem the souls of Player Killers and murderers.)
(I spend a lot of time as a ghost with him.)