The Morghun Host (title image)

OOC Info
The Unit
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Pretty Shiny things, for Twiglet

Twiglet, a story for you.

A story of shiny things........ Hmmm.


I was perhaps around eighty or so when this happened. The world was getting back on its feet properly after the cataclysm, many of the nations of the world were beginning to become what you will recognise today, and I was financially insolvent. This happens when you are wandering the world, alone, and little more than a teenager. I was in dire need of some spendable money, for I was bereft of most things. I had my dagger, and the clothes on my back, and precious little else. Stout armour and a good sword was what I really needed.

I was wandering when I happened on a rather shabby looking group of ruffians, camping in a body of trees. How they laughed as they divided their spoils between them! They had killed some caravaneers, and plundered their wares, (so I overheard). They had a fire going and were snapping branches from trees to feed the blaze. "Ksherea*" I muttered to myself, and set to thinking how best to deal with them.

Night drew in. I made my move. There were five of them, and only one on sentry. It was easy to creep up on him, slit his throat, and steal his cloak. I used this guise to wander up to the camp, and dispatched the only other wakened man in a similar fashion, as he thought I was his returning friend. The others died in their sleep. How sad! I went to the pile of loot they had beside the fire. Gold! Baubles! Gems! And some weaponry besides! I availed myself of the latter, especially a evil looking, gleaming sword, inset with panels of gleaming purple amethyst (I still have it! ask me and I will show you.) next I took a handful of gems, all glinting like crystallised blood in the light of the camp fire, thence I stuffed my pockets with gold and silver coins. Having buried the rest (against hard times) I took my leave.

Needless to say, in my inexperience, I not only spent it all with unseemly haste, but forgot where I had stowed the rest! (That may be down to the amount I drank over the next few weeks)

So young Twiglet, somewhere out there, buried beneath a huge spreading oak, is a kings ransom in jewels and coins, just waiting to be found.

Source: S. Erridge

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