RP Made Simple

The Story of Maryn Thayer

Section: Wayward Words | 1 Comment »

[Shaw turned to the gathering at Raven Hill. The abandoned inn's "guests" are a diverse group of horde. A story is told by the fire...]

I had originally heard this story back before the Third war at the Raven – during a storm that nearly shook the shingles off…

[Shaw pauses a moment.]

Let me start from the beginning…

Years ago, a woman named Maryn Thayer lived near Darkshire, just up the road years back. The daughter of a one of the local shopkeepers. A kind woman, one of those that would help at a drop of a hat if she could. Some would also say she was one of the loveliest young women you would ever lay eyes on.

A vision of beauty, indeed.

But as folks will be sometimes, there were those that envied her tranquil blue eyes and ravened silky hair. One poor soul was her sister, Jerra.

Jerra, though beautiful as well, was always overshadowed by her sister. As they grew older, she became more and more jealous and hostile in her feelings for Maryn.

“Sweet Mary”, they called her. Hearing that drove Jerra to fits.

One fall, Jerra had a plan to have some twisted sense of revenge. Maryn had be given a expensive looking glass by her father years ago for her birthday. Jerra decided take it and hide it from Maryn and claim it had been stolen. It was Maryn’s prized possession.

Knowing Maryn would be frantic until she found it, she had a passing stranger to write a note telling her the location of the mirror, and to come alone or never see it again. She then told the stranger a hastily made up tale of how she was an “evil” person and needed to be “dealt” with.

The stranger was reluctant at first, but agreed once a few more coins were added to the task. Maryn, upon reading the note found near her home, immediately set out towards Raven Hill, as the note said.

The sky was darkened that night, the stale air from Deadwind Pass flowing through. Not a good omen at all for anyone traveling late at night. A storm was brewing… and dark evil as well.

Maryn was driven to retrieve what was hers, but she was not a fool.

She took with her one of her father’s swords, which she knew quite well how to use. Riding towards the location, she spotted the stranger as wrote in the letter and dismounted, trying to be as prepared as she could as the first drops of rain pelted the road.

The stranger gestured to stop and held out a small bundle. “This be yours girl?” He asked.

“Tis mine!, it was stolen from my home.” replied Maryn. “How could you do such a thing?”

The stranger answered. “It is not I you need to point that sword at. Another paid me to harm you – but this would not be right.”

He then laid the bundle at his feet and took a step back.

“Who?!” demanded Maryn, the sword still pointed at the figure.

The stranger gave a description of the young woman and what she had told him.

“Jerra?” Maryn asked unyielding, as the downpour continued.

The stranger shrugged and nodded. “Don’t know her name, but she knew you quite well.”

Maryn lowered the sword slowly. “Then… what now?”, “Do you finish it and take your gold?”

The figure tossed a small sack down. “You can have the coin… she needs to be reckoned with, but not by me.” Turning his back to Maryn, he mounted his horse and headed towards Westfall.

“Thank you.” She whispered, knowing he could not hear and picked up both the bundles.

Quickly, she mounted her horse and rode toward Darkshire, to face Jerra for her crime… ahead of her, a set of horsemen approached.

The horsemen, though cloaked by the night and rain, were darker still. Issuing a shrieking howl, they galloped nearer and nearer, as if flying down the way. Maryn knew of these riders from old tales… the Black Riders of Deadwind Pass.

She knew she must flee or die trying. There was little debate on this.

Changing direction, she headed towards Westfall as well, since the Riders never seemed to attack the farmsfolk there. Galloping furiously, she passed Raven Hill with the Riders closing in, unhindered by the storm raging. Their dark forms riding closer, their shrieks chilling her to her very core.

“I must make it to the bridge…”, She told herself.

Nearing the bridge, her horse panicked – tossing her near the river. Her sword, cast clear from the tumble, splashed into the darkened water. All went black as the rain fell, the storm crashing and the approaching of dark horsemen loomed above her…

[Shaw's eyes dim for a moment.]

She awoke.

Still night, still storms lingering about. The stale air long passed.

She crawled to the river to wash her face. Upon  looking at her reflection, she recoiled in horror.

Her face was reflected in decay, as if death was staring back her. Her slender hands almost like claws and her once lovely face… mirrored by cold, damp… unforgiving…

Undeath.

Screaming and overwhelmed with repulsion at her visage, she clawed her eyes out, to never again have to see what she had become – and wandered sobbing back towards Darkshire as the cold rain poured down.

[Shaw looks towards the gathering, pausing in reflection of the tale.]

Both Jerra and Maryn Thayer were never seen again after that terrible storm.

Some time after, an spirit nicknamed “Blind Mary”, was spotted near Duskwood in the lonely home by the road.

She may still be there today.

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Note: This story is not an official lore piece, but an example of a folk tale that could have been told. I took the basic information from the quests and added some flavor and imagination. Accurate? Only as much as the game mechanic/quests allow. Entertaining? Indeed.

http://www.wowwiki.com/Blind_Mary
http://www.wowwiki.com/Dark_Riders_of_Deadwind_Pass