Punishment

Bannor lifted his head, he saw the school, heard the voices of the new and the brave, realised where he was. Westbridge, his old haunt. He smiled, thoughts flashed "back, I'm back". Bannor tried to stand but the weight on his back held him down. And so began his doom. Divination had revealed the hand of some unknown god, some twisted uber-being with a warped sense of humour had had the last laugh. Bannor's once powerful body was now a wreck, his arms, once brawny and rippling with muscle were now capable of lifting nothing heavier than a dagger or a light staff, his back, once the bearer of great weights was now thin and almost bent double, the signs of a hunch-back evident.. His days as a sword-wielder were over. The only saving grace was a strengthening of mind, a closer affinity to the weave. The real curse was not the decrepitation of body but the undeniable irrefusable inability to commit the acts of his prior life, oh he'd tried, but the resulting pain was intense and so, his life was lived, no joy, no satisfaction, just pain or mediocrity, the only minor satisfaction gained was the improving of his ability to work magics, the only inspiration, reason, to live was the desire to learn the name of the one who had so cursed him.