Curse

Marcus The Cube · Jan 28, 2008, 11:00 PM // 23:00

Yes, we did it, the concept of a guild that focuses on having fun together did work!

We have seen good times and hard times and can happily announce that SOJ will celebrate his 2nd anniversary tomorrow, January 29th 2008.

Listen carefully to the story one of our member heard at Gunnars Hold campfire

Not even the warmth of the blazing hearth could keep back the chill of the Shiverpeak winds as the warriors huddled together, passing around a cup of mead and joking of past exploits. Slowly, however, the chatter slowed to a halt as a wizened old man cleared his throat. Despite his small stature, he appeared to command great respect from the muscly giants surrounding him.

"Friends," He said quietly, "tonight, I have a special tale to tell you."

"Tell us about Magni again!" Roared one norn, swilling ale mid-sentence and dousing his foot-long red beard.

"Nah, Magni's an oaf," Replied another. "Tell us the story of Olaf, son of Olaf, son of Olaf. I like that one."

"Which Olaf?" came a voice from the back, and the conversation once again returned to laughter and brawling. Slowly, however, the voices quietened again, waiting on the seer's words.

"No, friends," he replied. "Tonight, I will tell you a tale of the future. I speak of the fall of Gunnar's hold; the searing of Olafstead, and the near end of our people.

Outrage swept across the crowd like a storm of voices, all loud and agressive, shouting down the seer. One norn even went for his weapon, but was quickly subdued by three others. to level a weapon against the seer meant death.
One norn at the front of the group growled "there'd better be some purpose to this folly, seer. The norn are unchanging, unafraid, unbeatable."

"Indeed you are, my friend, indeed you are. But even the mighty oak cannot survive the storm. Not unless something stands between it and the gales. Great evil stirs, greater than the destroyer, more powerful than Abbadon, more maleovalent than the lich. It wakes to the south, to the the far reaches of Tyria; beneath our very feet. It will be the end of us all."

One of the younger norn, barely 7ft tall, said in a timid voice, "what can we do? Is there nothing that can withstand that power?"

Silence set on the camp for the first time that night, each norn trying to avoid looking at each other as they expressed a new emotion - fear.

But the seer smiled. "There is one defense, friends. The Sword. The Sword of Justice."

"A blade?" Roared one Norn, standing up and beating his shield with his knuckles. "Give it to me, Seer, I shall wield it!"

"The sword is not a weapon, Bran. It is an ideal, an order, a guild, if you will. The knights of the sword, as they call themselves; are legendary knights who travel the lands, giving up everything in the name of good. I have seen Swords lay down their lives for people they barely know; unite factions hellbent on each others' destruction; and even enter the gates of the underworld itself, all for the good of the weak and innocent. The swords are the only hope of us, the Norn and all of Tyria."

The seer stood, pulling back his hood, suddenly looking half his age, a young man again. "My name is Bestian Trueflight. I am an emissary of the Swords. I bring requests to bolster our ranks. My friends, I ask you - will you join us?"

As one, the crowd stood, raised their weapons and roared "AYE!" The sound beat even the howling Shiverpeaks winds, sweeping across the valley, echoing from the tallest peak to the depths of the darkest dungeon, warming the hearts of the true and honorable, and striking fear in all who fear the light of justice.