From: clkdmenace@aol.com (ClkdMenace)
Date: 10 Apr 2000 20:30:51 EDT
A weary and grief stricken Roland Salsinger slowly made his way into the Arena. He knew it was time for his departure and he was saddened. He had gained much during his time in the arena. The title of Baron, friends in Dalamar and his Loyals, glory in his skill, respect for his prowess and recognition amongst his peers, but he'd lost much, much more. His second wife, Luthien, gone. The Dueling Praxeum, destroyed
by his enemies. His skill, gone, faded with age and lack of use. His titles, gone and forgotten by most. His accomplishments within the ring, seen as simple stepping stones in today's dueling arena. Dalamar, his mentor, was dead and his reign a distant memory in most men's minds. All that he worked for had fallen, he was a broken man and a cancerous man. For whatever he touched seemed to be cursed to death and misfortune.
This realization had always lingered in his mind, ever since his friend Andrais aided him in fleeing to RhyDin. The aging swordsman sighed, his time was at an end and he need only wait out the rest of his days. What little respect he still had he hoped to keep, he decided that a letter to the public would be seen as just another retirement and looked over. His leave would be permanent, he would leave this place and never return, lest he return
and curse the entire populous.
He left his fallen banner in one of the shaded corner stones and had the following engraved upon its face:
Remember me
as the arena's last.
For this place holds
my treasured past.
So do never touch
my fallen shield,
Or on you shall
my curse so build.
R
With his engraved, crimson shield (that is, the fallen banner) in place, Roland drew his sword, The Salsinger. The very blade who contained a piece of his soul and he left it there, suspended with the shield to watch over the arena's inhabitants. He left it to guard his fallen banner, for he wished to remain alive though this tombstone of remembrance.
And so did Roland Salsinger exit the arena, teary eyes and distraught, for he knew he could never return and he knew his time was very limited.
The Fallen Shield (Roland)
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From: jonalyn@aol.com (Jonalyn)
Date: 10 Apr 2000 21:57:36 EDT
She wandered into the basement, and as was her wont, her gaze fell upon the wall bearing the banners, escutcheons, tapestries and colors. As she slowly paced the long length of that wall, with only the voices of Hubie and Marcus to break the echoing silence of the cavern, she paused before the banner of Redwin, then that of the Darelir. Something seem to pull at her, something in the shadows. She smoothed her gray
cloak and continued her slow pace.
Though the shield lay in shadows, the blade drew her nearer. The Salsinger. Roland was never far from that weapon. She turned, her gaze sweeping around the vast cavern, yet all she saw was young Marcus standing at the end of the bar, shoulders drooping.
Well did she know that blade, for she had aided in the crafting. The warning she had murmured to Roland that long ago fate touched eve whirled in her thoughts as a tear glimmered unbidden upon her cheek.
The shadows deepened. An eldritch glow seemed to emanate from the area as she came nearer. She stood stock still, a shiver creeping slowly down her spine. Her gaze fell upon the shield suspended with the blade; the words upon it burning their way into her memory and her very soul.
In silence, she stood, all the memories of the elfin warrior swirling in a wild kaleidoscope of images though her mind. The night he had wed the elven queen, the mad rush from the arena to find Luthien laboring to bring forth their son, Rehn. She recalled his triumphs, his defeats, his joys and his deepening sorrows. She would remember, and in the remembering he would live in her thoughts forever.
She stood there, her head lowered. Only then did she realize how near the tears were. She turned slowly, making her way to young Marcus. She gently tousled the youngster's hair, then gently smiled at the child. "Lad, ye, nor anna 'o ta lads ist ta touch either blade or shield an' if'n ye notice anna nigh, call out ta 'em, th' tis nae ta be touched, aye, laddie?" The youngster nodded slowly, his usual impishness subdued.
Again her gaze drifted toward the shadowed corner, on hand lifted to her heart in silent salute in remembrance of the warrior. She turned again, a wistful smile upon her lips, her voice the barest of whispers, "An' other wh' shall e'er be remembered for th' fire wh' burned within'."
Her strides carried her to the back stairs, the soft shimmer of azure as she vanished momentarily tracing a shadow on the first step.
Date: 10 Apr 2000 21:57:36 EDT
She wandered into the basement, and as was her wont, her gaze fell upon the wall bearing the banners, escutcheons, tapestries and colors. As she slowly paced the long length of that wall, with only the voices of Hubie and Marcus to break the echoing silence of the cavern, she paused before the banner of Redwin, then that of the Darelir. Something seem to pull at her, something in the shadows. She smoothed her gray
cloak and continued her slow pace.
Though the shield lay in shadows, the blade drew her nearer. The Salsinger. Roland was never far from that weapon. She turned, her gaze sweeping around the vast cavern, yet all she saw was young Marcus standing at the end of the bar, shoulders drooping.
Well did she know that blade, for she had aided in the crafting. The warning she had murmured to Roland that long ago fate touched eve whirled in her thoughts as a tear glimmered unbidden upon her cheek.
The shadows deepened. An eldritch glow seemed to emanate from the area as she came nearer. She stood stock still, a shiver creeping slowly down her spine. Her gaze fell upon the shield suspended with the blade; the words upon it burning their way into her memory and her very soul.
In silence, she stood, all the memories of the elfin warrior swirling in a wild kaleidoscope of images though her mind. The night he had wed the elven queen, the mad rush from the arena to find Luthien laboring to bring forth their son, Rehn. She recalled his triumphs, his defeats, his joys and his deepening sorrows. She would remember, and in the remembering he would live in her thoughts forever.
She stood there, her head lowered. Only then did she realize how near the tears were. She turned slowly, making her way to young Marcus. She gently tousled the youngster's hair, then gently smiled at the child. "Lad, ye, nor anna 'o ta lads ist ta touch either blade or shield an' if'n ye notice anna nigh, call out ta 'em, th' tis nae ta be touched, aye, laddie?" The youngster nodded slowly, his usual impishness subdued.
Again her gaze drifted toward the shadowed corner, on hand lifted to her heart in silent salute in remembrance of the warrior. She turned again, a wistful smile upon her lips, her voice the barest of whispers, "An' other wh' shall e'er be remembered for th' fire wh' burned within'."
Her strides carried her to the back stairs, the soft shimmer of azure as she vanished momentarily tracing a shadow on the first step.
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From: taylara@aol.com (Taylara)
Date: 10 Apr 2000 22:46:10 EDT
Stepping into the Arena, she ambled down the stairs seeking some quiet reverie. A solemn gaze to the banners overhead; Dalamar, her's......a cant of her head she peers further down the line. Pacing the length of the banners, she sought but one.
Standing admist the collection a soft glimmer of light caught in the corner of her eye. Walking to what seemed a sword she stopped cold in her tracks. Reading silently tears well in her eyes. Dropping to her knees, delicate fingers wipe at her tears.
Her thoughts drift back to her times with Roland and Dalamar, the lessons learned and Roland practicing for the Warlord Tourney that would earn him the Twelfth for the first time.
"First Dal, now Roland...... I shall miss ya", her words softly saddened. Reaching out to touch the hem of his banner, she turns to leave as tears trail down her cheeks.
Date: 10 Apr 2000 22:46:10 EDT
Stepping into the Arena, she ambled down the stairs seeking some quiet reverie. A solemn gaze to the banners overhead; Dalamar, her's......a cant of her head she peers further down the line. Pacing the length of the banners, she sought but one.
Standing admist the collection a soft glimmer of light caught in the corner of her eye. Walking to what seemed a sword she stopped cold in her tracks. Reading silently tears well in her eyes. Dropping to her knees, delicate fingers wipe at her tears.
Her thoughts drift back to her times with Roland and Dalamar, the lessons learned and Roland practicing for the Warlord Tourney that would earn him the Twelfth for the first time.
"First Dal, now Roland...... I shall miss ya", her words softly saddened. Reaching out to touch the hem of his banner, she turns to leave as tears trail down her cheeks.
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From: knight7044@aol.com (Knight7044)
Date: 11 Apr 2000 18:09:06 EDT
Sir Robert walk down the wooden stairs of the arena to get a mug of ale as his brown eyes looked to the banner the sword and the words of roland he recall what little he knew of roland and the Queen Luth and castle question and Val his king he ran back up the stairs and out to the now Castle Question mostly ruin's and search for his one stone building he live a short time found under some stones
he removed and found his old surcoat of Questrion the Silver Griffon on a field of black returned back to the banner of roland knee before the sword and banner touching nothing lower his Question surcoat...I will miss you my friend..as he placed it before the banner a lone tear fall to his surcoat of Question and the memorys it carryed then he slowly got back to his feet and turned and clamly exit the hall of honor's know as the arena....
Date: 11 Apr 2000 18:09:06 EDT
Sir Robert walk down the wooden stairs of the arena to get a mug of ale as his brown eyes looked to the banner the sword and the words of roland he recall what little he knew of roland and the Queen Luth and castle question and Val his king he ran back up the stairs and out to the now Castle Question mostly ruin's and search for his one stone building he live a short time found under some stones
he removed and found his old surcoat of Questrion the Silver Griffon on a field of black returned back to the banner of roland knee before the sword and banner touching nothing lower his Question surcoat...I will miss you my friend..as he placed it before the banner a lone tear fall to his surcoat of Question and the memorys it carryed then he slowly got back to his feet and turned and clamly exit the hall of honor's know as the arena....