Readers beware: this tale involves allusions to real life! With the permission of those to whom these real events occurred I share with you the double victimization tale of a man enduring stage four cancer prognoses and a whole sale ransacking of his home. Your gut my twinge with pain, you may even feel the bitter prick of guilt, but I urge you to read on. Face your demons, and see what you may have been able to prevent, or worse – what you perpetrated! ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Mobolin’s right index finger ached a little. It was a warning sign he knew all too well. Something was awry, and he arrived at the adjacent door of Fender too late… He entered to see the contents of the house strewn about in haphazard and careless fashion. This was not the doing of an ogre or ettin – they tend to smash everything in site and are only interested in shiney gold and bottles of the best brewed potions. No, no, this could only be the work of one of the most notorious band of thieves in the land! ************************************** Hours earlier Gray Cload reached for the brass door handle. He clutched his side with pain ten times worse than he’d known since he was first diagnosed with the terminal plague. For so long he had depended on his body to carry him into battle, but now his own body battled against him. The physicians of the realm had no explanation for his illness, so he had consulted the oracles and sages of the north. They spoke words from the future, and named his ailment ‘chancellor of the fourth stage’. H e knew not what that meant, but the oracles told him that even the advanced medicinal powers of ages to come could not thwart this plague. The cells of the body spawn hellish mutations which causes the body to destroy itself from the inside out. He gasped as he turned the brass nob, and stumbled out of his entry way. In his dazed and impaired state, he did not think to turn and utter “I wish to lock this downâ€. And so, as he stumbled towards Minoc to find some aid, his house was indeed left vulnerable. Yet the pain that seared throughout his abdomen gave him little pause to consider the trinkets and treasures he had collected. As he stammered into the forest his thoughts were only on survival. Not only would have to pass through the forest of the High Steppes, and could only hope he didn’t encounter any orc encampments. *********************************************************** Mobolin arrived at the Healing Hand as soon as he heard that his beloved relative had been admitted by the healers. “What is it Gray Cload, what has such a mighty warrior writhing in such a dreadful state?†“The oracles, have named it the ‘Chancer’s disease’ of the fourth stage. I know not what it means, but it is tearing me apart far worse than any dragon claw or snake poison has ever done†“How, how did you manage to get to the healers?,†Mobolin managed to ask still beside himself that his great uncle was in such a sad state. Gray lifted his feet in response, “With these trusty gleaves, I wanted through the High Steppes. I must have fainted somewhere in the wild, I don’t actually recollect walking through the doors here.†Suddenly Gray convulsed again with pain but managed to exclaim, “Lad, my will. It is in my small house. Please, I beg you fetch it while my spirit still strives in this land†Mobolin’s finger twinged with a slight pain. Something was amiss. “Uncle, when you left your house, did you manage to seal the door?†he knew before he finished there was no need to have asked. There was certainly no way he had managed to seal the entry way. ****************************************************** Searching through the rubble, Mobolin searched for the parchment his uncle spoke of; he searched for the family seal; Gray’s favorite ax; all were lost. Mobolin turned to the door, and fell almost crippled to his knees. How could he convey such an ill report that would surely be the last bitter taste his uncle would know of this world before parting… “Uncle, I’m sad to say that your life’s work. All you’ve fought so hard to maintain and pass down… it is all lost uncle, every. Last. Bit.†Mobolin, the man who had survived the tortures of the Lizard Forces; the man who had braved the torment of the Lich’s catacombs, now wept. The sparkling tears dropped upon the doorway threshold. ******************************************************** ******************************************************** Jupiter’s Appeal - To the perpetrators of this sad home intrusion, I implore that you put a temporary moratorium on the house of Fender Fellhammer (aka Gray Cload). Please set aside your heated rivalry. He is caught between the cross fire of two fiercely contesting forces, this man who has only ever truly aided those in need does not deserve to answer the full price of the alleged crimes of the King. If you have not yet purged the contents of his house, please, anonymously return said items via the Postal Service. Because this is a game, I don't often come right out and request items be returned or for ingame activities to cease. However, given first hand knowledge of the sheer capabilities of certain folks, I appeal to your good nature. Please keep in mind that folks like Fender / Gray Cload are absolutely no match for your ever vigilant patrol of every single door in the land. He has been caught up into a hell storm of the bitter rivalries caused from attempted defamation on both sides of a heated war. Again, I do not request this lightly, but I do so with the request that you keep in mind that not everyone who wanders in the land of UO:R is an expert of Razor, nor a master of home security. While Fender is mighty in spirit and courage, he is no match for your heavy handed citations. He is in truth ailed with the sickness alluded to in this tale, and as such I implore that you let this man alone as he wanders the realm of Sosaria as his last escape from this ruthless disease. You have my sincerest regards, - Jupiter Greystone
