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Larry Silverfall
He looked towards the home of the elves here in LoF, and heard their dying breaths begging for justice...but this was not his problem. In fact, it had been an elf that started this whole mess...and he felt the shadow within him smirk.
There had been something in what Myron said...here all pathways lead you to the grave...Mistral lives. This was finally beginning to make sense. In this game, Mistral was indeed as good as dead...but out there...somewhere...in another game, perhaps...she yet lived. He knew exactly what must be done. It was time to make a journey.
He wiped the mud from the Nightblade, a curious sword that had not even dulled in the horrible usage as a shovel just moments ago. He sheathed the cursed blade and bowed low to Myron, the last personage of this game that he would have contact with.
"I would love to say that it has been a pleasure being a part of this game, good sage...but alas I realize that such a lie would not escape your notice. As you said, there is naught but death here for me. I will continue to seek for my love, but in another part of this forum.
Good bye."
Larry turned to the side one last time, and eyed the hole he'd dug...wherin lay Chaos, his pet wolf. How he came to be here...Larry had no idea.
"Farewell, friend."
He turned and walked toward a path that lay stretching to the East.
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Larry Silverfall had walked for several hours, having long since past out of Ravenwood and into a murky area...a land that was not entirely here within the confines of LoF. It was a transitional land, Larry realized. This was where it was to take place...his passing from this game. He came upon his ancestral home, the Silverfall manor. Here, Larry entered the cold, dark home and threw off his boots and sword hilt. He found his bed and crashed down upon it, weary of this world and ready to sleep. When he woke up the next morning, he knew that everything would be as it should be.
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