Fagan's Letter to the Order of Smashdor

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Brother Stoute,

Praise be to St. Cuthbert! Perfection through Strength! I write this letter in hopes of finding favor with the Order of Smashdor. I was but a poor farmer boy, doomed to follow in my father's footsteps, subservient to my elder brother who would inherit the farm, until one day a follower of yours rescued me from my mundane life.

Aenlyss Nordox was seeking out an Ogre of incredible strength in my area, when he found him at my father's farm. The brave warrior felled the terrible brute easily enough, but not before his companion could capture my sister. It was I, Fagan von Feld, who took my Scythe and rammed it through the Ogre's chest, killing the awful creature. And it was with this act that Nordox introduced me to the Order of Smashdor.

I have spent the last two years training, honing my strength, so that one day I could become a champion of Smashdor like Aenlyss and yourself. I then set off into the world to try and prove myself worthy of your ranks.

My first stop was Dormantown. I had heard of a need of strong able fighting men in the town, and when I arrived, I made my way to the tavern, hoping to find promise of adventure and glory. What I found was a slaughter. Orcs invaded the city, uncountable in their number. I rushed to protect a breach in the north wall when a large orc cleaved me in two with a two ended axe.

I was saddened that my life had ended so quickly but I was surprised to find myself not entering what I thought to be the afterlife. Instead I woke to a world of shadows, along with everyone else who died in the massacre. I watched as gargantuan slugs consumed the souls of those who fell. I struggled as hard as I could, but I was unable to move. And then, over time, I began to feel. I could blink my eyes, I could clench my fist in anger, and finally, I could take my first steps. I began to approach the slugs, ready to kill them with my fists, when another soul who could move stopped me, and had me flee with him. There was a band of freed souls running, and we soon found ourselves inside a shadowy cave.

In the next room I saw my dead body lying on the floor, clutching my scythe even in death. I picked up my scythe, which was now wreathed in a shadow. My companions seemed to lay on the floor as well, each with a weapon infused with darkness. We moved throughout the cave, finding small insects wreathed in shadows, attacking us. They were no match for my strength and my companions' skills. We came upon a tomb, with a three headed skeleton inside. After many days we devised a way to reveal a passage, but not before we came upon many dangerous undead. They too did not stand up to my scythe.

We came to a room of statues. A companion of mine, a bard, told us they were statues of a long dead hero named Mygrandin Antaloose. He told me that heroes such as your own would've surely heard his name, as he was the greatest of all heroes of all time. He told me of the Marco wars, and of the Dei Exsilium. The history wasn't as interesting as what happened next.

Behind the statues was a man, covered in chains, which went into some shadowy wall. They were taut around him, and he struggled to hold them in place. He looked to be the strongest man I'd ever seen. Stronger than even Aenlyss. He told me his name was Patrick Stempilos, and that he was cursed to stay in this Shard of Dirate, known as the Forshantir, to hold the portal in place. He seemed panicked when Lars the Bard told him it'd been 1300 years since the end of the Marco Wars. He thought something was wrong. He then told us that we would need to ensure the safety of the Forshantir, or terrible things would happen.

He marked us on the forehead with his Mark of Heroes, and told us to go and leave the Forshantir, by killing the Shadow Beast. We left, and as we moved towards the exit, the floor erupted with shadowy stalks. We fought our way through scores of the tentacles before arriving at a colossal formation of what looked like hundreds of those stalks. Many of us fell in the fight with that Shadow Beast, yes even I fell cutting at it's heart. Daeron of the Grey Elves brought the beast down, and I felt myself awaken with a surge of power. I was stronger, faster, heartier. I felt indestructible. The rest of my party seemed filled with this energy as well, and with a renewed vigor, we stepped through the rift in space.

On the other side was the Forshantir, and behind it was a servant of the Slaughterer Erythnul. He tried to parley with us, to have us leave. We beat him within an inch of his life and took the artifact with us. When we went upstairs, we saw the hordes of Orcs still beating against the city walls, pouring through an exposed section of the wall. We grew enormous, and with unknown power we cleaved through the entire orcish army, forcing them to run scared of our wrath. When the battle was done we felt the power fade from us.

Now we are the champions of Dormantown, but without the power we had, we must grow stronger still. Mr. Stempilos looked me in the eye when he gave me the Life Pendant of Dira and told me I must grow stronger. When I hear the pendant's voice in my ear it tells me I must be stronger before I can use it.

The path of strength lies in the Order of Smashdor, Aenlyss taught me that. I want to join your organization, I want to learn what strength I have within me, and I want to see our enemy, the Erythnulite's, plans fail before them. Please Brother Stoute, consider me for your ranks.

Fagan von Feld

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