Gelbra Manor


Alpha Tester
Jan 1, 2006
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*The following is concept text for a map*

Gelbra Manor sits deep in the forest. Once a private home of nobility, it has crumbled to quiet ruin. In one of the rooms, the following letter was discovered.

To my fairest Aneska, whom I will love ‘til the earth crumbles into dust.

I am Gelbra, master of a thousand spells, keeper of a hundred grave secrets, and, ultimately a fool. When we met I was still young, practicing sparks and flames in the garden, worrying my parents and disturbing the butterflies and wasps. The biggest monsters I faced were in my dreams. When my father brought us together I was overjoyed, though the nervousness of youth was the source of much embarrassment and laughter upon your part.

Still though, I traded sparks for your smiles, and flames for your enchanted face. We grew together in those early years, changing together, experiencing new things together. You learned to play the flute and piano, I learned to create walls of flame and tremendous storms. When we ventured into the forest I captured great bears with my illusions, and you would sing of my accomplishments.

When my father died you were there to comfort me. You understood my thirst for revenge. You understood the way my knuckles grew cold. You understood the fire in my eyes. When I led our guard against the Orcs you followed. When we cornered their leader and he begged for his life in his brutish tongue, you watched. You were there when I burned him alive in his hovel.

But you turned away from me after that. I could never understand why. You couldn’t meet my gaze. You stopped answering my letters, you stopped being at my side. You weren’t there when I sat upon my father’s chair.

I am master of a thousand spells, keeper of secrets, but I lack the thing I desire most in this life. The heart of my dearest friend. Though spells of rock keep us safe, and spells of fire destroy our enemies there is no spell I know to break that shell that you have built. The ice in your eyes quenches my flame. The fear in your voice extinguishes me utterly. So here, I write, drunkenly, in my father’s study, my confession.

Though fire can but burn you, the waters of wine will not sate you, and all of earth cannot buy you, I have but one option left. I call upon the wind, which levels mountains, which tears down trees, which whips relentlessly and scratches away at the surface of the most impenetrable fortresses. I call upon time, whose touch none of us are immune to.

I call upon the endless storm, which now binds you to this place. Perhaps one day, when your defences are finally as dust, you will find some way to love me again.