A disgraced warrior

The smell of sulfur and burned flesh permiate the air. Sweat from mining Mithril and iron ore make for uncomfortable armor. Dizziness takes over from the sap of an Undead Rogue, seconds tick away before I can regain my senses and try in vain to defeat the stealthly advisary. Tired from mining and stench that fills the air, a final cheap shot from the Rogue finishes me off.

After a long and lonely corpse walk, and ressurection, I call my mount and head back, head hung low for much needed rest and repairs. Whats this I see, a Tauran Druid aimlessly walking along the path towards Nethergarde Keep, he's stumbling and looks beat. Toying with the manbull I ring my mount around him, taunting him, pushing him towards the Basilics, when the manbull goes into cat form. The chase is on, I get ahead of him, dismount, draw my phantom sword and shield, hardened steel crashing against the soft furry flesh, he goes out of cat form, entangling roots squeeze my flesh, metal crashing and slashing against flesh. My strenght is quickly draining from me, this young Tauran is a challenge, mustering all the rage I can, I stage one final attack, more entangling roots, body wont move, sword missing wildly, my mangled and stunned body falls to the red dusty ground.

Looking at my crumpled body from above, I am disgraced to be warrior. Was it the heat, the noxious smell, or the superior skills of a younger Druid. Only the defeated and the victor truly know.
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