Charger of the Fallen

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by Fylwyn

I don’t hold with the overblown, self congratulatory boasting of adventurers, I find them lacking the facts, the substance, that prove a compelling read. So why, you might ask, gentile reader, have I rendered my thoughts in this same medium? Having expressed my disdain for the dubious tales of others, this must seem hypocritical or self indulgent.

I have little defence, save that posterity must have a record of this discovery and I am the only one who has the knowledge, and can tell the tale. As I am a retiring person, not prone to boisterous revels or even the presence of others save the closest of friends. I set out alone, I had no particular destination in mind and it was after weeks of wandering that I encountered the most marvelous sight.

You must understand. I was in a mountainous area, surrounded on all sides by majestic snow capped peaks. The air was crisp and refeshing and a pleasant stream burbled past. I decided to refill my drinking skins from the cool water flowing by, and it was then that I made my first startling discovery. The water was black!

No, I know what you’re thinking, the water must have been very deep, or the stones themselves black. But this was no illusion, the water was no deeper than a foot and the liquid a silky black color quite unlike the normal clairity one sees. I was mystified, of course. What could cause one of the most basic elements of life to change in such a manner? What might this portend?

As I mused over the implications, I was startled from my reverie by a noise, not unlike the snorting of a bull. Imagine my amazement when I turned to see what might have crept upon me and beheld a jet steed of such noble proportions that I felt I must be gazing upon the paragon of horses. From the proud arch of the neck to the powerful of muscles just under the skin this equine shown with unmistakable magic. Unconcerned with my presence, the lordly creature drank calmly from the strange water. With each gulp of the liquid, the stallion’s coat dulled and became thicker, coarser. The glorious cascade of mane darkened till even the word pitch cannot describe the utter absence of color. I was witnessing a transformation that I feared harmed this magnificent beast and so I took the only action that seemed reasonable at the time.

I yelled, I screamed, I shouted… I shoved against the creatures mighty body trying to force it away from the tainted water, But, alas, to no avail. Once, the equine turned and gazed upon me with bright, intellegent eyes, before returning to quench its mighty thirst. In horror I stood transfixed as the final metamorphosis took place. And then, abruptly I knew nothing more.

I awoke, bound roughly and lying on my side. I was clearly the cause of an argument between several people, who could only be my captors. My head pounding and blood thrumming painfully in my bound limbs. I strained to hear the conversation. I overheard just enough to become very afraid. For you see, gentile readers, these people who call themselves the Cult of the Fallen are servents of Mondain. Though dead, the legacy of the wizard lives on in theminds of his followers. They work for vengence alone, for teh corruption of Sosaria and the destruction of all who stand against them.

I escaped, as you surely have devined, for how else could I give warning? The story of my flight is not important and so I will not waste further ink on discussion of it.

Be warned, my readers… be warned. There are those, amongst us, who seek the unravelling of Sosaria. -Fylwyn

Last modified: May 12, 2011

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