Jerrith the Sage
Face bloodied, robe tattered and torn, I weep as Britain
burns. Cries can be heard through the night air carried upon the billows
of smoke, which rise to the heavens. The streets are empty, save for a
body lying here and there amongst the rubble. The guards have abandoned
their post and all hope is lost. Kelras stands atop of Castle Britannia
basking in the fires light and the raw power of total victory.
I start from my bed as I look into the eyes of my fearful apprentice Lady
Shawna. Sweat runs down my face as she holds me in an upright position.
I thought ye be possessed or worse, should I fetch a healer
the Lady Shawna asks in a cracked and shaking voice. Leave me, twas
just a dream, the fever makes my mind play tricks with my thoughts
I say as I wipe the sweat from my brow.
Still tying my robe belt around my waist I run
down the cobble stone street toward Castle Britannia. I breathe a sigh
of relief as I pass the guards at their posts. Good Eve to thee
sage one guards says as I rush past him. Having no time for cordial
banter I say not a word. I barrel head long through the doors as I collapse
in the stone chair by the reading table. I rest my head on the cold hard
marble surface of the table trying to quiet the cries of anguish that
ring through my mind. Damn this illness, tis making me quite mad
I say. as I push aside several tomes I have already read. I grab a small
book barely seen amidst the piles of parchment and I begin my research
There art only four of us left. Four, how
can four stand against and army? Who was I to think I could stop Kelras
and his accursed KnightMage? I risk all their lives, for what I do not
know. Tis only a feeling of right and correctness, a feeling I cannot
explain. We are hold up at the spring, tis truly the only safe place left
to rest our battle torn bodies. This will be the last time we shall come
to this tranquil place. Who would have thought a place like this could
exist so high upon the rocky cliffs. Sylia, Day six hundred and forty
two of the battle of with the Dark Knight Kelras.
As I flip the pages I come to realize that I
read one of the journals of the leader of the Heavens Knights. I
hold the book ever so gentle so not to disturb the honor of this great
hero. Several of the pages are burnt and the text is not legible. Dammit
I curse, for those pages surely contained the whereabouts of the magical
spring. Light flashes before my eyes and my skin feels as though it is
being poked with thousands of tiny daggers. The illness takes over my
body as I fall to the floor.
Still clutching the journal, I am carried to
the infirmary by the guards. I have pushed myself too hard and now I am
being made to rest.
The spring lies somewhere high atop cliffs. The
mountains are so barren and so widespread and we dont even know
if the spring still exists. All we have is hope.
From the Town Cryer - The Journal
of Ultima Online, Wednesday, April 14th 1999