It's been suggested that we should share the plans for a SWTOR anniversary event with the wider Saga audience. I hope you don't mind if I omit moving the whole thread here. I suspect some SWTOR players don't check all the boards just as not everyone checks the SWTOR boards, if you aren't in that game. That discussion is here:
http://sagafamily.org/index.php?topic=6213.0
At present, the plan is to have a sort of rolling party over the Thursday and the Friday, wrapping up with a Friday evening tavern/cantina hosted by Allen/Tuppen. If you aren't in SWTOR you obviously can't really join us in game, but feel free to hang out in Mumble at least and say "hi" to old friends!
Vil
In the stillness before dawn, a halfling slips through the door of the Tiger's Roar, her hand sure upon the door handle, but her steps hesitant, as if she is unsure what she might find. Closing the oaken door softly behind her, she stands in the center of the hall letting the comforting smell of dwarven ale and smoke-cured oak soak into her bones. Songs and tales, laughter and cheers, love and loss seem to rise from the worn floorboards to swirl around her. She pushes back her hood to reveal chestnut braids shot with grey and a face lined as much by laughter as by scars.
The hall is empty, lit only by the dying embers of the fire, but the halfling speaks as if to a friend. And it is an old, old friend. "Y' didn't think I'd forget you after all these years, did you?" she says softly. "I brought you a present. Eliezer wrote it. I don't even know if he still lives, and surely others he speaks of in here do not. But there's a kind of life that goes beyond this world. Somehow I think we all come home to this fireside in the end."
The small, sturdy figure kneels by the hearth, placing a leather scroll case on the stones there. If you look closely, you can see the crest of Erudin on the closure. "The learned fool was always writing. And thank Brell he did. He kept the story of the day the first log was laid on this hearth. I miss him. I miss them. Keep them safe."
Abruptly, the small figure stands and pulls her hood back up, her hands falling to their comfortable place on her hilts. The embers flare briefly in the rush of air as the door opens and closes.
(If you look within the case, you will find Eliezer of Erudin's account of a first meeting on the path to Runnyeye, a path that eventually led to Saga.)
((From the Saga Library Shelves))
Eliezer of Erudin
(3/15/02 2:38 pm
Reflections (Narrative)
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((A slight departure from my Journals, this is a narrative))
It was late in the afternoon on a crisp autumn day, and a chill was in the air as the shadows grew steadily longer in the vale as the sun moved inexorably westward. By now, most of the young Halflings of the Vale had already retreated from this end of the Thicket - dangeous at the best of times, the cover of night brought out even more of the deadly Pickclaw scouts and the Guards at the Wall were less likely to venture out at a distress call in the night...
Yes, much better to be safe secure behind a stout farmhouse door, or better yet, in the Weary Foot shrugging off the chill with an ale or warm spiced cider, but the lone figure slowly moving up the dirt path towards the mouth of the Liberated Citadel of Runnyeye has come for a purpose, and the threat of Goblins or cold of night will not deter him.
The Goblins watch the figure warily, from a distance. They will not approach him, at least not while the sun still shines, however faintly, and the charred corpses of two of the bolder of their number still smolder near a rocky outcropping - the last two with the temerity to challenge this Robed stranger. Tall and dark skinned, not at all like the Halfers they have battled for years.
Eliezer of Erudin frowned slightly as he gazed up at the darkening sky, silently calculating the remaining light. Timing was critical in this, and there was no margin for error. He picked up the pace slightly as he crunched through the new forming frost towards the small stone circle he had cleared near the mouth of Runnyeye. Dropping the bundle of sticks he had gathered, he dropped to one knee and began to arrange them in the hastily assembled firepit, anointing each twig with a cloyingly fragrant oil, and sprinkling a fine white powder around the edge of the circle as the preparatory chants silently rolled from his lips.
Bowing his head slightly, he reached out with his inner mind to gauge the gathering mana at the sight. The Thicket was strong with the haphazard and cluttered magicks of the Druids, but it could be harnessed by those with the proper training, and channeled for more constructive experiments, like this one. He could also feel the consciousness and hatred emanating from the nearby Goblins. He took quick stock of their numbers and disposition, then quickly dismissed them. Their presence would not affect the outcome of the spell, and by the time they had gathered sufficient forces from the bowels of the Citadel to challenge him, his work would be done.
As he opened his eyes, Eliezer could see the shadows from the high walls of the Vale had inched up to the edge of the stone circle. It was time. He needed to catch the last light of the day to channel the spell. Rising quickly, brushing an errant twig from the hem of his robes as he did so he licked his finger and held it out over the circle to test the wind. It was the biggest variable to account for... A sudden gust and all could be ruined... But for the moment at least luck seemed with him, it was calm.
Planting the Staff of the Wheel into the ground at the base of the Circle with a firm thrust, Eliezer quickly chanted the incantation of the Harvest, and was rewarded and the strong blue forces - raw mana - were ripped from the ambient environment - rocks, trees, even the air itself, charged by the Druidic Lay lines, was pulled free and channeled, leaving a BOOM like Thunder in its wake. Calling upon the Fires of the Burning Prince the firepit suddenly burst into flame, licking outward in a conflagration, and just as quickly dying to a low smolder - hot coals producing a thick cloud of smoke that rose to obscure the mouth of Runnyeye. Eliezer chanted faster and louder now, his thin, delicate fingers tracing elaborate patterns in the air in precise, practiced motions.
As if on cue, the last rays of daylight hit the glowing crystal atop the Staff of the Wheel, and was focused into the cloud of smoke. Shifting his sight through the Aether, Eliezer peered through the cloud into the mouth of Runnyeye.... Except that he saw not Today, but rather... into the past.
They gathered there, almost as he remembered... Its intriguing how the mind plays with memory and perception... The curious band of starspun companions. A day that seemed ripe with possibility. They moved freely, occasionally stopping to fell a Goblin who took offense at their presence. Ten strangers, most not familiar with all the languages being chittered and chattered about.
With a wry grin he could see himself, a young Apprentice in his threadbare Robes, kneeling on the stone floor attempting to meditate while Elves and Halflings bantered about in their incomprehensible speech... and he had thought Human was bad!
Of course, the attention of most was on Ankhara - or Ankles as she seemed to insist on calling herself. Ankhara was the Idealist. It was her vision that called this diverse group to battle... But sadly her losses in the coming months would be too much for her to bear.
Eliezer's eyes narrowed slightly as the imposing and buxom form of Terika appeared through the smoke. Terika was in league with the Heretics of Paineel... or so he thought. But the truth could never be known as her story was the first to end... Eliezer's mind was momentarily brought back to the day he saw her body lying lifeless in the Estate of Unrest, a victim of the soulless Undead. She might still reside there, tormented for eternity... His distraction caused the image before him to shimmer and fade, but he snapped out of his reverie and he returned his concentration to the spell, and the image sharpened.
Through the smoke he smiled as he made out the three Halflings sitting together near the mouth of the cave. Although only two of the three are alive today it seems. Tuppen, the innocent, Mungo, the Rogue, and stout hearted Mixxi, the aspiring Guard. Eliezer was sure all three felt their future was in the Vale at the time... How quickly that would change as they were turned out and exposed to the trials of Norrath. But other lost comrades beckoned as the smoke rose, and whipped, and thinned in the wind.
Paul and Jenna Mayfair, the young couple. Naive idealists, but at least they spoke a language he could understand. But the adventuring life and turmoil was not cut out for them. Last he heard they returned to the Karanas after the cleaning of the Bloodsabres corruption, and were raising a familiy on a Farm. He hoped they were happy.
Ovor, the stout Dwarf was next. A Miner by trade, Eliezer thought that something may have prompted his leaving Kaladim, a brush with the law perhaps? But whatever his past may have been, Ovor gave an honorable accounting of himself, ultimately settling in the Highpass, working with the Volunteer Regiment, and living life as a happy bachelor out of the Tiger's Roar Inn... But it had been awhile since they had spoken... Was he still there? Had he reconciled his past and returned home? Or had the treacherous Shralok Orcs or Mucktail Gnolls finished him? Life was hard in the Highpass, and death was not an uncommon end.
Finally, Eliezer could make out the familiar one-eyed face of Arion, War-Wizard of Qeynos. A good man, but a troubled one. Once a Paladin in training, an unortunate accident and loss of his eye ended his career before it began... But determined to serve Antonious Bayle and his beloved City, he joined the Magical College to study as a War Wizard. But alas, though his heart was in it, he did not have the necessary aptitude to advance further than the Apprentice ranks, despite taking advanced tutoring in the Library Mechanamagica in Ak'Anon. He returned sadly to Qeynos to hang up both his sword and robes, and work in his family's shops. Eliezer hoped he had found peace with himself, and joy in his path through life.
Eliezer stopped to gaze one moment more, at that fateful day that seemed a lifetime ago, and then a stiff cold wind dispersed the remaining smoke, leaving only the present and lifeless cave entrance.
By the time the Pickclaw Commander reached the scene, there was naught left but a scorched circle of earth, and a light fragrance in the air...
Eliezer stood in the cold night at the edge of the Kithicor Woods. The Dead were restless as Innoruuk's Will descended on the once peaceful forest. His Wards would help insure the safety of the Vale for this night at least, as he reflected on the past, and pondered his future.
When dawn finally came, the weary Wizard set off through the woods, with renewed purpose and determination. The prelude had been written, now the anticipation of an epic saga was at hand.