Our story starts sometime before Y'dar's warband ever got close to Limmer Hill. I was in the Northlands, searching for the herb known as Bugle, when I came across a fort. It was nearing nightfall, and my pack animals, two sudhod'ya I called 'left' and 'right', were growing tired. Whipping them the final distance I demanded entry and accommodation within. Cowed by my elven magnificence the guards gave me entrance, and I was shown to some meagre rooms: unfortunately the best they had.
I met the lord of Limmer Hill fort at the meal that night, a sudhod'ya named Rutal, and his wife and daughter, who were both rather lovely. As I had been my usual charming self, I was of course expecting a nocturnal visit to my bedchamber from one (or both) of the two ladies. When the knock came, soon after the rise of Ashan's moon, imagine my surprise when the supplicant at my door turned out to be Rutal! This put me in somewhat of a delicate situation. He was my host, and as a guest I was obliged to be obliging. However, I found him to be crude and uncultured, and knew from my travels that he was cruel and capricious. In order to be polite, I gently prevaricated. Growing desperate and pitiful, he offered me his most valuable possessions. Wishing to be rid of him I said that I would think on his offer, and he left. Shortly after, his wife came secretly unto me.
The next day Rutal laid siege to me again, again promising me all his riches. To dissuade him I told him that such a love was forbidden in my culture. Despondent he left. That afternoon as I bathed, his maiden daughter came unto me. When she left she was maiden no longer. At dinner that evening word came that an elven warband approached and would probably attack on the morrow. After viewing their encampment from the ramparts I privately resolved to provide my kinsfolk with what help I could. I went to Rutal, and to distract him from any pre-emptive attack he might make on the warband, I said that I had relented, and invited him to my bedchamber that night.
That night he did indeed come, and I betrayed his trust and lust with a bitter kiss. Leaving him, I went to the courtyard well with certain of my herbs, so that when Y'dar and his Gaesatae attacked they faced a foe without a leader, and with barely any men well enough to fight.
The bard who composed the Ballad of Limmer Hill ignored my part, but I forgive him. His head was turned by the blud and thunder of the warband, and he knew not what he did. I only tell this story now to set the record straight, and so that you might bask in the turbulence of my magnificence.
How do you know my tale is true? Well, there are two young sobaks in the Northlands who have my eyes, but slightly more accessible is this trophy I took from Rutal's body:
