Greetings and Felicitations, Delicious Friends!
Please permit me to introduce myself (a trifle forward, I know, but without a mutual acquaintance to do the honours, what else can I do?) My name is Vorwoda Hawksby - Lord Vorwoda Hawksby on the Surface, but I’m a bit vague as to the applicability of surface titles here in the Neath. Still, the Urchins have let it get about that I’m a nobleman, so there it is, I suppose, what? I’m a chap of early middle age, an operetta librettist, an amateur detective, an excellent swordsman, and a terrible shot. I came to the Neath, on a quest to avenge my beloved, a Lady tragically cut down in her prime by a villain who has fled here below.
In any case, it’s the "revenge" and "terrible shot" parts that bring me here, as the latter makes the former a touch difficult. I’m hoping to find a Patron who is a Shattering Force who might be willing to improve my marksmanship.
My current unmodified abilities:
Watchful: 89
Shadowy: 57
Dangerous: 76
Persuasive: 80
I’d be terribly grateful for any assistance!
And to gratify the OP’s request for a riddle, here’s one of my favourites, which I learnt as a child from my dear mother:
'Twas whispered in Heaven, 'twas muttered in Hell,
And echo caught faintly the sound as it fell;
On the confines of Earth, 'twas permitted to rest,
And the depths of the ocean its presence confessed;
'Twill be found in the sphere when 'tis riven asunder,
Be seen in the lightning and heard in the thunder;
'Twas allotted to man with his earliest breath,
Attends him at birth and awaits him at death,
Presides o’er his happiness, honor and health,
Is the prop of his house and the end of his wealth.
In the heaps of the miser, 'tis hoarded with care,
But is sure to be lost on his prodigal heir;
It begins every hope, every wish it must bound;
With the husbandman toils, and with monarchs is crowned;
Without it the soldier and seaman may roam,
But woe to the wretch who expels it from home!
In the whispers of conscience its voice will be found,
Nor e’er in the whirlwind of passion be drowned;
'Twill soften the heart; but though deaf be the ear,
It will make him acutely and instantly hear.
Set in shade, let it rest like a delicate flower;
Ah! Breathe on it softly, it dies in an hour.
With thanks in advance for any assistance,
Your Humble Servant,
Lord Vorwoda Hawksby
edited by Vorwoda Hawksby on 4/5/2019
edited by Vorwoda Hawksby on 4/6/2019
edited by Vorwoda Hawksby on 4/11/2019