It is with some trepidation that I take pen in hand once again. For this time I encountered possibly the worst thing that could ever happen to me. But like all things, each coin has two sides, each gem has more than one facet, and for every mug poured there’s another waiting. Indeed, though the worst event of my life occurred, I also had the best of all things happen to me.

I traveled to Ravenholt this past week, trailed by the demons that lie within the deep recesses of my mind. As you might recall, my last trip to the town was plagued by Gabriel’s poor condition. Knowing more now than I did then, I hope I can explain to you what ails my friend.

Gabriel is apparently afflicted with some sort of disease or "taint". The nature of this taint is based in chaos but comes from a realm called the Void. The Void is an area of utter emptiness, darkest shadow, and a complete lack of anything. But, like most other realms, it is ruled, or at least occupied, by a sentient creature that the surface dwellers of our land, Tyrra, have named "The Reaver".

The Reaver does not just occupy the Void, though. It also is part of it. The swirling chaos that is the Void gives shape to the Reaver. The void seeks out other worlds and "devours" them, if you will. Taking life and substance from them until they are drained and become part of the emptiness as well. During this process, the Reaver devours the life essence from spirits of the living to satiate its own inestimable hunger. It drains its victims until all that’s left is a creature of chaos devoid of self-will and elemental in substance. These creatures unquestioningly obey the Reaver and bring it offerings of food (in the form of spirits) to avoid its wrath.

Sometimes, to aid its conquest of other worlds, it will poison, or taint individuals of that world. These tainted creatures are dominated by the will of the Reaver and proceed to lure others to their deaths in the gullet of the vile and pernicious one.

Unfortunately for the Reaver, when it encounters a new world, its ability to interact with that world is tenuous at best. In further discussions with Gabriel, he tells me that the Void actually tries to coerce him into accepting some kind of power. If he does, than the Void truly gets control over him. But for Gabriel, the strength of his resolve and his will to resist are directly proportional to the love of his friends and their support of him. I’ve noticed that in times of conflict among members of Stormwatch, Gabriel becomes physically weak. When the team pulls together, he is strengthened.

But Gabriel is not the only one in town with this taint upon his spirit. For one reason or another, other heroes have ventured to the realm of the Void to accomplish obscure tasks, and some of those have come back with the taint. Arachor Stormhaven, leader of Anvil (the town protectorate), Sir Delahr of Eastwyck, and Willow Treespeak are among others inflicted with the disease. So far, no one’s found a cure, but they’re trying.

Speaking of Sir Delahr, I am reminded of yet another demon plaguing my thoughts. I recently received a letter from an old friend, Malace of Eastwyck. He wrote the following:

I responded quickly to this message and received two others:

This news was very disconcerting, as Delahr has been a long-time friend of mine. He was, in fact, the second human I met upon my arrival to the surface world. The first, of course, was Old Man Koryon.

It was with these demons as companions that I trudged my way to Ravenholt once again.

On the outskirts of town, I came upon Gabriel. My elven friend was better since last we met, saying that he was able to fend off the will of the Reaver. He concluded that, perhaps, he was in a better state of mind because almost the entirety of our team, Stormwatch, would be attending this gathering. Our ranks quickly grew as we joined Thrakkish, the white-haired Sarr warrior, who seemed to be in very high spirits indeed as he bounded up to us and gave a hearty welcome. Borax soon arrived, as did Tristemere, Chastity, Koryon, and Nork. Much to my surprise and happiness, my combat teacher, Bishop showed his bearded face; I’d not seen him in quite some time. The Mighty Vincent slunk around the corner of the inn we would be staying at just as Tempus and Jatrina the Stone Elf came into view from up the road. Vy, a new member of the team and of the race of the dark elves greeted me with a toothy grin. Adrian "war-Dog" could already be heard singing a lively tune from inside the inn.

A young human by the name of Nevil was present – I think I’ve mentioned him before. He was a nice young lad from Dragonshire who became knight of said county, but stepped down when his Countess left her position. The lad still has his boyish features, but now they seem marked by something besides age. Perhaps the best definition of it would be experience. He no longer possesses the look of a wide-eyed man-child, but has the hardened expression of a warrior of some age. It is comforting to know that he’s not the ingenue I first met a few years ago, but it’s also disappointing to see him lose the innocence of his youth. He asked to join us in our travels this weekend and all readily agreed.

In short order, we made ourselves at home and proceeded to bring each other up to date on events. It was learned that in the next couple of days, a few major events would take place. Prince Blackfox would be arriving and a couple of tournaments and a grand ball would be held in his honor. The nobles would have one to themselves, as would the common-folk. As a team, we declined to enter the tourney as we had other things to occupy our time (Gabriel’s condition). We were not surprised, however, when the Mighty Vincent chose to enter the tourney himself. As for the ball, well! One might expect to see elves frolicking about at such a gala. But dwarves? I don’t socialize, don’t frolic, and most of all, do NOT dance!

Another topic we discussed was the arrival of the nefarious and evil group known only as the Black Rose. My last encounter was blissfully hazy, but I’ve heard enough stories to piece this together; they are a highly powerful, skilled, and intelligent group of undead assisted by evil living beings. On a one-on-one basis, any individual of this group is powerful enough; liches, death knights, revenants, and spectres as well as necromancers and evil fighters occupy their ranks. But when they use their high intelligence and work together, they become a truly imposing and frightening force to be reckoned with.

Someone had received news that they would be arriving in town at some point during the weekend to settle an old vendetta with members of the court of Eastwyck. While we weren’t sure when this would be, we could safely suspect that it would be at night, as the living dead have no tolerance for the light of the sun.

Another recurring topic was that of the Necropolis. My last trip there had left a deep impression upon me. My purpose there was to fool one of the leaders of the city, a large, bat-winged demon-creature named Gorgorath. Then, my group was to destroy the magic bells and escape with the spirits of the young lads of Dragonshire. After our successful attack, the city fell into a state of semi-dormancy. But tonight, the undead city was stirring with activity and various folk had deemed that some major action was to be expected in the next forty-eight hours. All these forces of darkness must be after something to take such an interest in a little border town like Ravenholt. We could only ponder what that something was.

It wasn’t long until we found out. We took to the field to patrol as we usually do, only this time, our number was larger and our force stronger. The sky was lit by millions of points of light, and the moon was so large as to put a weird pallor upon all whom gazed upon its face. The night air was hardly bitter, for we had the warmth of our companions to keep us and protect us. Not only were we out there, but members of Anvil were as well. Heroes of legend like Vastan, Arachor, Kestryn, Brendel, Dougan, Garth, Johan, Calvin, and Donnel traveled in Anvil’s ranks. I felt that together, our two teams would be unbeatable. As usual, my feelings were betrayed by a sudden stillness to the air.

The sounds of the night were abruptly cut off as the rumble in the earth foretold of the small army approaching the field of Ravenholt. The forces of darkness flowed over the outlying fields like a hungry wave devouring all in its path. Soon, the moonlit field was awash with the bodies of the dead. Animated and hungry, they pressed toward the larders of Ravenholt, in this case, the field we were upon. Within moments, the entirety of the field was covered in a thick blanket of dangerous walking dead.

The battle was fast and furious; members of Anvil, Stormwatch, Eastwyck, Westmarch and various guilds took the battle to the enemy. Wherever you turned, zombies, skeletons, ghouls and wights were attacking townsfolk. Within the first ten minutes of battle we realized we were in trouble. Many spells had been thrown, many warriors had taken wounds, and still the horde rolled in on us like the evening tide. From our embattled positions, I was able to make out the outline of a hilltop. Upon that hilltop stood the beast in all it’s fury - Gorgorath. His seven-foot frame made his minions appear tiny and under the full spread of his bat-like wings, his countenance was terrible to behold. He glared down from the top of the hill upon us all with a baleful gaze, raised his ebon wings high over his head, and from beneath them poured forth the masses of undead like sticky-sweet syrup or hot tar.

Hundreds of the creatures came and still the townsfolk fought on. They knew full well that to admit defeat meant certain death, but not the restful sleep of the fallen, nay – the tormented spirits of those that fell this night would be turned into more of these undead that came at us in droves. Like our experience in the realm of Nikijo the death knight, these fallen ones would turn on their family and friends, seeking to devour their flesh and drink of their blood.

To make matters worse, Gorgorath wasn’t the only great power on the field. He was accompanied by a small number of Death Knights. These Death Knights were strange however, for they seemed to be affected by spells in a different way. Perhaps it was that they had more stamina, or perhaps they were created differently. We are never really sure what is happening where the Necropolis is concerned and few can even guess as to what strange experiments they perform there on the spirits and bodies of the dead.

Then I remembered Malace’s warning letters. Could these be the Pestilence Knights he spoke of? Then a thought occurred to me – Sir Delahr might be among them! I began to seek out the individual Death Knights to see if I could recognize any of the corpses, but the battle was so fierce at points that I often found myself coming across the same ones over and over.

Finally, coming at us in the dark was a form in black plate mail. The gleaming black metal covered almost every inch of its wearer and a full helm covered its head, but its glowing eyes gave it away as one of the undead death knights. Stormwatch moved as one, Thrakkish in particular taking the offense and bringing the fight to it. In a brief moment, the sound of swords ringing of armor was as one long bell tone, and the creature fell. Nork called out tentatively, "Delahr?"

The creature upon the ground hissed in its death throes, though I don’t believe we truly vanquished it. Then it answered, "Aye. ‘Tis I."

A new group of undead came at us at that point and we were forced to beat a retreat to regroup, but not before I saw the undead form of Delahr stand and head back towards the one called Gorgorath. It wasn’t until much later that we came across Delahr again.

This time, it was Gabriel and I, separated from the main group, that saw him. He was lying on his side on the ground as if resting. Townsfolk would approach the dark form then run in fear when they realized what it was they were looking at. I watched as a zombie wandered too close as well, but the Death Knight formerly known as Sir Delahr struck it a mighty blow and it crumbled to dust before my eyes. It was at that moment that I thought we might be able to save him. Perhaps we could talk to him…

Gabriel approached him and the two spoke briefly in hushed tones. Then Gabriel stood up and said to me, "He seeks his Baroness." We sent a runner to get her and stayed to be sure that Sir Delahr, even in his weakened condition, would do no further harm to any ignorant townspeople. The Baroness soon arrived. She and her court disarmed Sir Delahr and took him to the guild to see if he could be saved. I understand that they did indeed return him to life, but his spirit was weakened in the process.

It seemed the battle would last forever, but finally, either because Gorgorath may have run out of minions, or more likely, that he was merely stalling us – distracting us from some event unseen, the dark one left the field with an evil hiss and puff of smoke. The smoke, blacker than the night, rose from the ground, swallowed Gorgorath and drew him back into the earth from whence it came. I do hope that we will not encounter that particular being again too soon.

We continued to patrol the fields to clear up remnants of Gorgorath’s army, and we stopped by the healer’s guild for a brief rest. Inside, the healers were attempting to bring Sir Delahr’s spirit back from the dead. Baroness Ganthe stood outside waiting and greeted me.

"Hello Drano." She said. "How goes it?"

"Well enough," I replied.

Then she seemed to almost break down for a moment. She lost some of her hard… "edge" I guess you’d call it. Then she asked me a question.

"Drano, how old are you?"

The question, possibly the furthest thing from my mind, gave me pause. I had to actually think about that one for a moment.

The Baroness laughed, "Drano, if you have to think that hard about such a simple question, you must be practically venerable!"

I chuckled to myself, then pronounced, "ninety-four summers, this one past."

"Wow!" she said. "Now I don’t feel I have the right to feel as old as I do anymore."

"Well," said I, "dwarven years are not measured exactly the same as humans, you know. But still, the sands of time are beginning to slow my pace a bit."

This made the Baroness laugh yet again. "Surely, you must have many, many years left to you good dwarf."

"Perhaps" I thought. But in the thinking I thought also that I’d not felt young in quite some time.

Then the Baroness put her mask of authority back on and excused herself, heading for the interior of the guild that she might greet her knight back to the land of the living.

Later that night, members of the team took me to the local mage’s guild for my annual check-up. We’ve made it an unwritten rule that each member of the team should be examined on a semi-regular basis for taints upon the spirit and marks upon the mind. Our travels often take us to realms outside the norm to meet creatures out side the norm and perform tasks outside the… - well, you get the idea. We want to be cautious that no member of the team comes down with a debilitating problem that could have been prevented or cured by a check-up at the guild.

A trip to the guild consists of a meeting with the local guildmaster/mistress or one of their apprentices. They place you in a protective magic circle and cast some sort of spell to "see" your spirit in its pure form. It will also show problems with the body that might not be seen on the surface. For example, the ex-countess of Dragonshire was impregnated by one of the evil Brood. The egg was gesticulating inside her for some time until one morning, the little brood erupted from her and slew a majority of her court. A trip to the guild would have shown the egg and perhaps, a cure would have been applied. AT the very least, the unwitting members of her court would have stood a chance.

Anyway, my trip to the guild was brief. The young mage examined my spirit briefly and declared everything "OK". This seemed to amuse Koryon who had accompanied me. Humans…

The next day, someone had learned that the Black Rose had indeed arrived. The undead band could not travel in the light of day, but sent forth minions to do its bidding. It was discovered that these minions were assaulting the cave of a great and powerful magical creature. This creature, frighteningly enough, was also undead. A great golem of bone, which stood nigh eight feet tall and struck its enemies with clawed hands and gnashing teeth. Why, you may wonder, would we be concerned about undead attacking undead? Well, come to find out, the Black Rose was trying to capture this great golem and use it against us. The golem, a creature of magic, sought our help.

A large group consisting mainly of members of Anvil and Stormwatch gathered and headed off into the woods to find the trail that led to this golems lair under the premise that they would aid the golem against the Black Rose - the greater of two evils. Gabriel beckoned me to his side, but as usual, I was a little more than slow to respond (early in the day, you know). We soon found that the group had gone on ahead without us. But we were not deterred; due to Gabriel’s skill at tracking and woodsmanship (elves… hrumph), we were able not only to catch up, but also to actually arrive at the lair ahead of the other larger group.

We took the opportunity to scout out the area. This proved worthwhile as we discovered two entrances – the main cave entrance and a concealed one near the rear of the burial mound. Through both of these entrances we saw many undead. It looked like ants entering an anthill. Large numbers of revenants streamed into the structure and sounds of battle could be heard inside. Sickening crunches of bone emanated from the cave as we listened to the Bone Golem destroy one after another of the intruders. We knew however, that nothing could stand up to this forever. Sheer numbers would eventually overcome the golem.

Just then, Vastan leading the way, the rest of the strike force arrived. Vastan quickly took charge of the situation and split the group into two smaller ones, preparing a pincer attack from both entrances. I turned and noticed Tempus in my group – this was good. A stronger celestial mage and warrior I have yet to fight with. Just before we broke and assaulted the portals, Vastan turned to the ensemble and said, "Destroy as many as you can. We’ll meet in the middle."

We surged forth into the two cave entrances, hacking down undead all the way. Once inside, our group quickly set up a defensive core and sent strike teams out to search the caves for the Bone Golem. One team discovered the creature up to its elbow-joints in revenants and speedily set about freeing it. It appeared we had arrived just in time. Our attack allowed the golem to regroup. It moved in our direction and joined us, somehow realizing that we were there to help. Tempus approached the creature and the two spoke in hushed voices. Well, at least they seemed hushed over the din of ongoing battle. I had troubles of my own, you see.

The most defensible area in the caves was a large chamber with three exits. >From these poured wave after wave of revenants, all bent on the capture of the golem. I found myself with sword in hand once again, covering an exposed flank here, fighting my way to a downed warrior there, casting healing magic left and right. Really, I have to try to get Bishop to train me with a blade a little more. My skill is passable, but strictly for defense. Many times I found myself facing three of the undead at a time. The only thing, I believe, that stayed them was my countenance and resolve.

One of the strike teams soon reported that the other group was likewise engaged in the caves below us. There was apparently no way for the two groups to unite. Immediately thereafter, Tempus explained that the golem could not leave its lair with us until a noble of the land released it from its vow of protection. I guess a vow is a pretty darned powerful thing. He said that there were no nobles with us, but what he intended to do was blast his way back out of the caves, fly to town and retrieve a noble of the land for this purpose. Another small strike force was rapidly assembled to get Tempus to the mouth of the cave. After that, we would be embattled until he returned.

I squinted through the darkness of the cave and the sweat pouring from my brow, trying to remember why I would be here doing such a ludicrous deed – fighting endless waves of undead until, hopefully, Tempus returned. If he didn’t, we were surely destined for death – all for a golem; a construct of magic that in another situation, might have been attacking us. The fight seemed to be lasting forever. It was only due to the assistance of the wretched golem that we were able to hold our own for what seemed like forever but was probably about a half-hour.

Where speed is concerned, few can compare with Tempus. He cleared the miles of road back to town and brought back a noble in that time – a feat I believe few in this world could have done. The flash of spell-fire alerted me to Tempus’ return. He blasted his way back into the cave with the aid of the noble court of Dragonshire. The Lord released the golem of its bonds and we quickly mounted a retreat. Outside, we met up with the other group and realized that the mission was a complete success – not a single warrior died in combat. Wounded and exhausted, we turned the golem out into the wilderness and headed back to town.

The afternoon was disturbed by visits from Willow Treespeak and Alaric. Alaric, who hadn’t been seen in Ravenholt for some time made appearances throughout the day and spoke to many of his old friends. Willow, on the other hand, was about on slightly less pleasant business.

The little elf had fallen to the dark taint that infected Gabriel and her appearance had changed. Instead of the happy little wood elf (dryad) that skipped happily along, deep dark lines marred her face and her hands ended in long, wicked claws. Instead of a young sapling, she appeared as a twisted oak. She would appear on the field and hunt down townspeople at random. Every time the constables caught up to her, they would hack her down. This didn’t end her life however. She would reappear at some point, bent upon the destruction of another.

At one point, she went after Chastity. She walked right past a bunch of other people and proceeded on a direct course for the Sarr maiden. Gabriel swiftly moved to intercept. When Willow snarled and barred her claws, Gabriel went into a flurry of motion. When the dust cleared, there was no sign of the twisted nymph.

Shortly thereafter, Gabriel sent me to the guild for my semi-annual checkup. I explained that I’d been last night, but he would hear none of it. The results of the examination, however, were the same as before, though a different apprentice saw to the examination.

At that point, Brendel Poundstone of Anvil rousted me from my thoughts. He said Dougan Steelforge was attempting to have a meeting of the dwarves of Ravenholt. "This is good, " I thought. "We haven’t had any racial unity as of yet during the past four years that I’ve been in Ravenholt. "Why not?" After all, I liked Dougan and Brendel. Perhaps this would be a good thing.

Soon, Borax, Brendel, Dougan, Bishop, myself, and a dwarf from Eastwyck named Culain Steelforge found ourselves in a room drinking and discussing the merits of different ales and wines and conversation was very light and pleasant. We discussed the forging of fine weapons and armor and eventually, we found ourselves mulling over the idea of a dwarven adventuring team. A group of specialists, if you will, that, having an affinity for the earth, would probably succeed in underground spelunking endeavors. It was agreed that we would try it in the near future and a toast was made to our eventual success. Then, things got serious for a moment. Dougan held forth a hand full of stones. We each picked one and he performed a ritual to bond a part of our spirits with the stones – kind of a culmination of the meeting and our resolve, I guess. That done, we turned back to drinking for a while before various schedules caused the meeting to break.

Evening brought with it tales of the nefarious Black Rose. It was believed that the town would be attacked late at night by the undead forces of the Rose. A local seer estimated the time of attack to be approximately 1:00 in the morning. But despite all the tales of murder, mayhem, baby snatching, torturing, and horror, the locals would not be kept from their evening’s entertainment. The Grand Ball would commence at sundown.

For hours I hemmed and hawed my way around going to the event. No booze, no fellow dwarves, just a bunch of posh people standing about in masks and costumes making small talk of things I had little desire to know. Vy, Gabriel and Chastity from Stormwatch would be going as well as Vastan, Kestryn, Arachor and Liri of Anvil. When it all boiled down, it was decided that I should accompany Gabriel as his condition with the taint might cause him to suddenly sprout claws and start attacking people. Go keep an eye on a tainted, clawed, wild elf they said… Fine, fine… I guess they figured I wouldn’t be lured by the temptations of the extravaganza.

So I headed up to the ball with Chastity, Gabriel, and Vy. Then I promptly placed myself at a spot along one wall and proceeded to watch the elf go about his merry-making. The joys of guard duty are seldom seen in the proper light. For me, it’s a chance to organize my thoughts and appreciate certain finer things in life. Now you might see my position guarding Gabriel (or the other feast-goers) as a trial to be overcome. But I would not want anything to happen to him that I could prevent. If he started to feel the urges of the taint, I’d want to be there to offer moral support and healing if necessary. If he did sprout claws and attack, I’d want to be there to subdue him and protect him from the harsh justice of the local constabulary.

Things seemed to be running along smoothly, so I wasn’t entirely upset when Liri of Anvil came over to chat with me. She looked pretty smart in her gypsy clothes and feathered mask. We talked for a short while about this and that and I began to think that these human social gatherings weren’t all that bad, when, like all good things, it came to an end. Gabriel was ready to leave and we did so, taking to the field for our nightly patrol and to prepare for a meeting of Stormwatch, Anvil, Eastwyck, and the Codex. The purpose of the meeting was to figure out how to prepare for the arrival of the Black Rose.

Baroness Ganthe ran the meeting, most of which was lost on me, but in the end, we decided to set explosive traps about Eastwyck’s cabin and our own. Westmarch would patrol the field for scouting groups and give us warning if our plans were in danger. Then, the entirety of Anvil and Stormwatch would wait in our cabin for the inevitable arrival of the Rose, whom we believed, would head directly for Eastwyck to settle some old vendetta. When Eastwyck got their attention, we would pour out of our cabin and surround them. Unfortunately, the best laid plans of mice and men are generally for naught. In retrospect, I believe the Black Rose felt it would do well to lure us out of town into the woods to defeat us, while we believed we’d lure them into town where we would have the advantage. In any case, what happened was a standoff. We couldn’t figure out why they weren’t coming into town after us, and I’m sure they couldn’t figure out why we weren’t going out into the woods to hunt them down.

The long and short of it was this – a seer predicted they would attack at about one in the morning, but they didn’t even send in a scout group until well after three in the morning. The scout group that the Black Rose sent consisted of about twelve revenants and one death knight. Sure enough, the group went to door of Eastwyck cabin and taunted them to "come out and play". Well, after waiting in ambush for hours and hours, there was no holding back the forces of the town as they streamed out of our cabin and decimated the undead. The death knight, seeing his plight, beat a hasty retreat into the woods, leaving his minions to slow us down enough for him to escape.

The entirety of the town was now on the field and some hasty plans were made for groups to get together to form "undead hunting parties". Then, those parties were broken up into individual groups of people who would keep their eyes out for each other. It is common practice for hunting parties to contain at least one warrior and one healer as well as any other talents that might be around. But always have a healer with a group. I looked about in dismay as I heard myself being grouped with perhaps two of the mightiest, mobile, fastest warriors in Ravenholt – Gabriel and Forest Lord Ehawk. Ugh! (On the plus side, I can’t imagine two better warriors for me to have keeping an eye out on me.) I knew then that this night was going to be one hell of a workout.

The rest of the night was a blur of motion. One fight to the next, I tried my best to keep pace with the two wild elves as they blazed their way through the woods in search of undead. Many times I found it easier to follow the sounds of fighting and the corpses that they left behind as I made my own way through the dark of the deep woods at that late hour. Finally I got a breather. The Forest Lord had to attend some other business, so it was just Gabriel and I that headed towards the sound of battle as someone shouted, "I’ve got him! I’ve got the Death Knight! Over here!"

We ran through the woods into a clearing where we saw numerous members of Anvil and Westmarch engaged with the Death Knight’s minions. Someone shouted, "In there! In there! The Death Knight ran in there!!!" The spot he was pointing to led to a trail. On that trail was a bridge that spanned a small creek. We quickly dispatched the remaining undead and ran into the woods, Gabriel just two steps ahead of me.

The moon was low in the sky, so when I tell you it was almost as dark as the caves, I’m not kidding. The bridge was lit a little, however, as the moonlight reflected off the water. We reached the bridge in a line, Westmarch on the right, Gabriel on the left, and I right behind him. Just then, shuffling across the bridge toward us were more of the foul undead. It seems to me that the Black Rose must have a field somewhere where they grow these undead. There are so many and they all seem bigger and tougher than any others do. They shambled towards us, flesh dropping from their mottled faces. Their bony hands clenched old rusted weapons and shields, and they swung them with the careless ease of those who don’t get tired. One of them, behind the others, raised glowing hands and began the incant for a spell of necromancy. I quickly threw a spell of the earth at him, hoping to interrupt his evil magic, but the undead form took my spell and threw his own into the front line of fighters just as they were engaged by its weapon wielding brethren.

The spell was a powerful one – one I’ve seen used only once in a great while - the spell of death. If some form of magic doesn’t offer protection, the death spell instantly kills the target. Fortunately, the recipient was so protected, and I hastily gave him another. The warriors of the front line were well engaged. At one point Gabriel took a hit by a particularly festering corpse, and the blow caused Gabriel to pause. His eyes grew wide as he watched his arm shrivel up and wither under the powerful blow. Undaunted, he turned his good arm, the one with the sword in it, on the rotting zombie. I reached forward to call upon other earth healing magic. I felt the power of mother earth flow through me into the wound as the arm grew out, like a lizard’s tail, until it was whole once again. On my right, Lord Feral of Westmarch raised his arms, as if in response to the undead caster, and let loose with a flurry of magic that sent the undead warriors to their final rest.

Although the fight was brief, it was long enough to allow the Death Knight to escape into the woods. We debated for a moment as to whether we should to go after it when we heard a voice call out from the woods to our right. In a high, crazed, raspy voice, it called, "Over heeeere, heeeeroes. It’s meeee… Renfieeeeld!" Renfield! I’d heard of him. He was some kind of ghoul with high intelligence, not the normal mindless undead we so often encounter, but one of the greater, truly diabolical ones. He was taunting us, trying to get us to go after him on the woods so that the Death Knight might escape. Fortunately, Baron Northridge of Westmarch was with us. He was even now stalking the hiding place of the cowering Death Knight.

Suddenly, we heard another shout, "Over here! I’ve got him!" Well, that decided it for us. We were off into the woods to go after it. The court of Westmarch ran ahead to catch up to their brave leader while Gabriel and I jogged along behind. At one point we entered the deep woods and realized we couldn’t see Westmarch ahead of us, nor could we see Anvil behind us. Then we realized that Anvil was no longer following us, but we figured we’d better catch up to Westmarch in case they needed help.

The darkness of this late hour and the setting of the moon caused us to slow our pace however. That and we were forced to move slowly so as to be quiet. If for some reason the Death Knight or Renfield had got behind Westmarch and were headed back our way, we were in deep trouble. So we moved as quickly as we could far into the deep woods. I probably would have been very afraid being out this far had I not been with Gabriel, the natural woods-elf. But because he was there, the woods didn’t seem so dark or deep, and the danger seemed less threatening. That’s when he turned to me, put his lips near my ear, and really made me afraid.

"You know, this is probably a really stupid thing we’re doing." He said.

If he could have seen my expression in the dark, he would probably lower his opinion of my courage.

After about a twenty-minute hike, I heard a noise that chilled my blood. Behind us on the path, some distance away yet, a twig snapped. Someone attempting to be stealthy was following us. We quickened our pace and soon came upon Westmarch who was headed back our way. They were exultant in their triumph; they had defeated Renfield and chased the Death Knight to the end of the path. At the end of the path was a small lake and the Death Knight had run into it to escape the Baron and his court. Just then, our pursuers arrived. A few stray undead that were probably still trying to save their master. We made quick work of them and headed for home.

As we exited the woods onto the field, we looked up into the coming dawn and thanked each other for a job well done. So it was that the Black Rose failed to gain whatever drives them to make the journey into Ravenholt. Then, it was time for some much-needed rest.

The next day seemed like a day like any other. I got up, got suited up, breakfasted, and wandered about the cabin. Many other members of the team had gone to perform one task or another, and I was left with Bishop, Borax and Vincent. But something didn’t feel quite right. There was a dark… taste to the air. Hard to describe, but Bishop figured that if it really bothered me, I should take a quick trip to the guild. So, once again, I trudged over to the guild and bothered them to examine my spirit. Like before, nothing was found. So I trudged my way back to the cabin.

The afternoon was warm and lazy and we spent a part of it lying about on the porch of our cabin, speaking of light things and such for a while. The ex-Duchess Alexia and an associate of hers – a lizard woman, visited us. Or at least that’s what she appeared to be, for she had green scaly skin and claws instead of hands. But she was well spoken and obviously had the favor of Alexia, so we didn’t think much of her at the time. We overheard them talking about some ritual that they needed to cast and the need for some adventurers to accomplish a task. They intended to open a gateway to the Void and send a small group of adventurers to retrieve a piece of some great puzzle. They had all the components they needed, but they needed the group.

Alexia glanced around and said, "Well look here! Adventurers!"

We of the prone and lazy club were not amused by the obvious excitement in her voice, but nonetheless we rose to sitting positions and listened to her request. A group was gathered consisting of Borax, Bishop, The Mighty Vincent, me, and two members of Anvil – a young woman named Cleary, and Culwyn, a stone elf. I still felt a premonition of evil and said as much to Thrakkish. He said, "I don’t know what’s bothering you, Drano, but if it will help you feel better, then take my lucky bracer. It hasn’t failed yet – I’ve never died while I’ve had this on."

I hate to admit it, but that did make me feel better and I gladly accepted the bracer. Soon, we were standing in a circle next to the lizard-woman as she spoke the spell that would open the magical door to the Void. She brought he hands together at her side, crooked her fingers, and pulled simultaneously upwards and down. Between her hands opened a glimmering portal that we needed to pass through. I held my breath and stepped forward and through…

…Into nothing. Literal nothing. There wasn’t a single blessed thing anywhere. All we could see was each other. Then the lizard-woman appeared and bade us "think" ourselves forward to an unknown point of light. Like a star glistening in the night sky, the point of light winked at us and then grew steadily larger as we hurtled towards it. The light was in fact another portal like the one we passed through to get here. On the other side was a cave entrance.

Here, the lizard-woman explained to us the object we sought – a piece of paper or a scroll with strange writing on it. It would help her understand some long-forgotten spell. Also, some creatures would be attempting to thwart us on the way through the caves. These creatures were the products of the power of the Reaver, the ruler of this realm. The Reaver devoured spirits and left behind these husks which would animate and serve the Reaver.

We readied our weapons and prepared for battle. This would be perhaps the finest example of teamwork that I’ve seen. We stepped through the cave entrance with Bishop leading the way with me close behind. The Mighty Vincent and Cleary were in the middle and Borax brought up the rear. We were immediately assaulted by the Reaver’s creatures, but were unchecked as we blazed a path through the caverns to one filled with water. Here, Bishop covered the rear with Borax while Culwyn and I watched the water for signs of more of the creatures. The Mighty Vincent and Cleary, their small size and obvious help, crawled into a nearby passage that was filled with webs. They managed to crawl under the web-work and called out that they were in a small chamber on the other side. Within moments, they called out that they had found the scroll and were hurrying to join us. We left with the same speed that we entered and barely suffered wounds as Bishop’s sword cleaved the path to the portal.

We made it back to Ravenholt almost without a scratch, but Borax suggested that I take a trip to the guild with him to be examined for lingering signs of the Void. The trip was brief and once again, uneventful.

We went back to our relaxing on the porch, enjoying the afternoon sun and the sigh of the breeze through the trees. The only interruption to the serenity of the moment the sounds of light and pleasant conversation. Kestryn was regaling us with a tale of her past adventures when a dark elf approached the porch. Id heard of this one; his name was Leviathan and he used to serve Duke Andros. He already had my respect – the few times I’d had the opportunity to be around when he was, I found the elf to be very noble in manner and deed. He was very much different than the others of his race that I’d come across. He was well-known throughout the town and acted both bravely and nobly in the name of the Duchy.

Leviathan approached those gathered on the porch and stated that he was off to aid some lizard-woman in recovering a piece of some puzzle. Someone mentioned that we’d already done that, but he insisted that perhaps there was more than one piece. He was looking for aid in his endeavor and had already gathered a couple of warriors and a healer. He then asked Kestryn for help. The young elven rogue resolved to aid him but the group was still looking for one more – a healer in particular. I mentioned that I had been to the plane of Void just a few hours ago and that I had used so few spells that I thought I might be of some assistance. The dark elf looked me over then agreed that I would join his group.

I know Kestryn a little bit – I had trained under Cynesra for some time, and Kestryn was one of the white sarr’s closest friends. She even helped me in the training for one of the powerful spells of the ninth circle – the spell of death. I was given permission by the elf-woman to cast the spell of death upon her. Under Cynesra’s close supervision, I did so. Then Cynesra cast the spell of life immediately upon her dear friend. I can only imagine the level of friendship and trust that the two must have for each other to allow such a thing to happen.

With the respect for Leviathan and the inherent trust of Kestryn, I felt no misgivings about accompanying the group to the Void. I gathered my belongings and told Thrakkish of my plans. He once again offered his lucky bracer for my welfare. I thought, perhaps, that I didn’t need the item this time as the previous excursion into that dark realm had gone so smoothly. But all the same, I took it – something was still nagging at my senses, warning me of some unforeseen danger.

Our group assembled near the porch just as the lizard-woman arrived. She stated that she had been unable to find the proper ritual components to cast the spell of sending, but believed that she could use substitutes and part of her spirit to "force" the ritual. So it was that we watched as she held out her hands, crooked her scaly fingers, and stretched open the fabric of reality to create a portal to the dark realm of Void.

The glimmering portal opened yet again and the same things happened – the darkness, the point of light, the wrenching feeling as we passed through the portal on the other side. But this time, we arrived at a different spot. The cave entrance looked much the same as the other one, but the lizard-woman warned that the Reaver was becoming aware of intruders in his realm and had stepped up his guard. I quickly took in the group I was with – Leviathan, a dark elven mage of great ability, Kestryn, a rogue of phenomenal skill and warrioress of some. These I knew. The others consisted of three human warriors (I think they were warriors) – a large one that fought with two blades, a medium-sized one with dark hair and a sword and shield, and a smaller one with blond hair and a sword and shield. Joining them was an elven healer of some skill. I still don’t know their names and am not sure I was ever properly introduced. Nonetheless, we prepared to enter the cave and confront the Reaver’s minions as we had before, and to return victorious with the scroll.

Upon first entering the cave, I realized this would be much more difficult than the last trip I made here. The Reaver had sent stronger minions to safeguard its possessions. Still, we began to hack and slay our way through the underground labyrinth towards our goal. This cavern was by far more convoluted than the last. The twisting tunnels gave us a difficult time as we tried to keep our sense of direction while fending off the chaotic creatures that threatened our very lives and searching for the one smaller tunnel that would lead to the scroll. Leviathan took charge of the group, directing some of us to guard the rear while others were to forge ahead and take control of a given chamber while others searched for the parchment.

While I fought, I thought what a fine leader this dark elf was. It was too bad that the group he was leading was apparently unused to taking commands for they were slow to respond to his wishes. I often found the young blond warrior in trouble, trying to defend himself from a group of the foul creatures of the Void. The large human fighter fell a few times – I don’t think his skill with the two blades was quite up to snuff for this particular endeavor. But to his credit, he never backed down from a fight or showed sign of fear. He stood tall and proud against the ever-encroaching and seemingly endless horde of Void creatures. More than once, however, the young lad was simply too wounded to continue. Then either the elven healer or I would administer healing magic and put him back in the fight. Kestryn, used to dealing with authority, stayed close to Leviathan and brandished her sword and board with extreme competence and skill. She was able to keep the nasties off of Leviathan allowing him to cast his destructive magic and clear paths for us to take.

I found myself playing the part of rear-guard. As usual, my skill with the sword is passable, but I’m really only skilled in defense. I would hold the pulsing horde behind us, using my own healing magic to keep myself in fighting condition. Then, every now and again, the dark-haired human would come by, look at me, sigh in exasperation, and barrel into the corridor, cutting a swath of destruction. He never asked me for healing after such a push, but I believed he took some form of it from the elven maid. I took a moment to readjust my armor and sniff my armpit… nothing wrong there. Maybe he has something against dwarves, I thought.

After some time, and many rooms, we finally came to a chamber filled with a pool of water. A small tunnel led off in to the side, looking a lot like the one I had seen earlier today. Leviathan had to hunch down to get a good look in the tunnel. I remembered how easily the Mighty Vincent and Cleary had circumvented a similar passage earlier that day and wondered how the big dark elf would do it. Then, to my never-ending amazement, he showed me a form of dark elven magic that I’ve never seen. He literally shrank right before my eyes and scurried into the tunnel like the Mighty Vincent. I was so surprised that, for a moment, I let down my guard. That was when a sudden flurry of attacks by one of the Void creatures caused me to stumble back and fall.

Kestryn was on her toes, though. She quickly reached into a pouch at her hip and drew forth a small bottle of blue liquid. As I lay gasping at her feet, she uncorked the bottle and poured the sweet-tasting substance down my throat. I felt a warm feeling in my gullet and the pain of my wounds subsided enough for me to regain my feet. I quickly cast a powerful healing spell upon myself as well as a few magic protections, grabbed my sword, thanked Kestryn and was ready for battle once again. Next time I see Leviathan do that trick, I’ll be better prepared!

I fought alongside the large human, our blades keeping the creatures of the chamber at bay as they came at us through the pool. These creatures were much more aggressive than the ones I’d fought earlier, hurling what I originally thought were small head-sized stones. But much to my dismay, I soon discovered that the stones were actually balls of pure elemental energy. My protective magical shield against such things sputtered and fizzled under the initial volley, then I took a direct hit by one. The ball of elemental energy splattered against my shield like a bubbling ball of acid, hissing and sputtering as it splashed. But the finely crafted shield Sir Delahr had given me held against the blow and proceeded to protect me when the pointy claws of the creatures tried to rend my flesh from my bones.

Behind us, Kestryn backed up the other two warriors. The blond played a conservative fight while the dark-haired one made more forays out into the previous chamber. The elven healer checked on Leviathan’s status in the tunnel. He shouted that he had found the scroll and would be out in a moment. Just then, a flurry of attacks brought down the large warrior next to me. I reached down and cast more healing into his form, gave him a quick hand up, then stood my ground as another wave of claws came at me. I held off a number of them until the fighter got his bearings, but just as he stepped up, I fell again to another ball of the elemental energy.

Once again, Kestryn’s quick reactions got me back on my feet. Another healing potion was poured down my throat and I was up again. I cast healing magic on myself once more and set myself for another onslaught of the creatures.

It was about this time that I realized I was running out of healing magic. I had only a handful of healing spells left, but they were very potent ones. But I did have some smaller spells that I thought would be useful. One was a spell that caused the target to avoid me. I proceeded to use these shunning spells to keep the creatures at bay while Leviathan made his way out of the tunnel. Then, he was out, and we were ready to make our push to get the %^& out of there. Leviathan shouted above the din, "We are pulling out, NOW!"

The dark-haired warrior forged ahead, pushing through the ever-increasing ranks of the creatures, Leviathan brought the middle of the group consisting of the large warrior, healer and blond fighter. Kestryn and I brought up the rear, harried all the way by the swelling ranks of the elementals.

We fought our way back, chamber after chamber until, I believe we were near the entrance. We were in a small room with three exits – one led to a long hallway that would take us out of the caves, the other two were filled with the slavering jaws and threatening claws of the minions of the Reaver, eager to slay us and devour our flesh. Kestryn held the furthermost exit to the rear, I held the one to the right of her, and Leviathan and the others pushed their way down the remaining hall to make a path to the exit. Sweat poured from my brow as I took quick inventory of my remaining spells – one shun spell, three healing spells of the eighth circle and two of the powerful spells of the ninth that would bring the dead back to life – not much at all!

Leviathan interrupted my thoughts. He was in the last exit to the room, the one that led to the portal, and he was shouting, "We have to leave right now or we’re not going to make it!"

Kestryn only took two steps from her outlet before the Reaver’s minions charged her. She went down with a scream in a spray of blood as the creatures slashed at her retreating back. Faster than I believe I’ve ever moved in my life, I hurled my last shun spell at the lead creature, stemming the flow of them from that particular passage for a second. Then I stretched forth my hand and hurled a healing spell that would cure even the mortally wounded upon her bleeding body. Her eyelids fluttered and she scampered back to regain her feet. Unfortunately, the passageway I was guarding took advantage of my distraction and surged forth, claws ripping my armor to shreds and rending flesh from my bones. I staggered back and used my second to last healing spell upon myself. The power of the spell was so great that all my wounds closed in an instant. I gripped my sword with renewed resolve and held forth the shield bearing the emblem of my fathers and my clan. If ever I needed the strength of Clan Battlehammer, it was now. Planting my feet, I barred the entryway to the passage out to all but Kestryn.

Then, with the heat of battle at its most intense, things seemed to slow down. Kestryn, blood from her previous wound spreading down her tunic, turned toward the egress and began to run. The creatures of the void poured through the remaining doorways into the room like a dam that had just overflowed its walls and burst. The onslaught of elemental energy flew at us in such numbers that an onlooker would think it was raining acid. The balls of energy splattered on the wall, the floor, and Kestryn. Her eyes grew wide and she lurched forward with a look of horror upon her sweet elven features as she fell into the corridor at my feet.

I held my hand above her prone and battered form and let fall the last of my healing magic. As the small ball of white light fell from my fingers toward the elf, Leviathan reached from behind me and grabbed the lass, pulling her to her feet and back into the passageway to safety. I turned to the coming wave of doom, snarled, grit my teeth, and roared my defiance as it crashed upon me. I parried with my blade and blocked with my shield, but all for naught as the tide of doom smashed into me. I fell back into… death…

I did not die quickly, though. No, but I didn’t feel the stone floor as the back of my head crashed into it. Nor did I feel the rending claws, like so many daggers as they ripped and tore the muscle from my bones. As the last light of life left me, I could see hallway behind me. There were more bodies down, the big fighter, the blond warrior. But where was the dark-haired one? Leviathan, the elven healer, and Kestryn tried in vain to gather their forces at the portal, but then the healer got cut down. Her eyes rolled into her head as she fell. As her head hit the ground, her hair passed through the portal, and it seemed to suck her in. One moment she was there, then the next, she had passed beyond.

I heard Kestryn shout as if into a bottle, "but we have to get the others!" Her voice sounded strange to my ears jut before they were ripped from my skull and devoured. Then, she too was pushed through the portal as the unconscious weight of Leviathan fell into her outstretched arms, his sudden weight causing her to stumble back. As the light of the portal flickered and went out, so too did the light in my eyes…

I found myself drifting. I was floating in the air above the body of a fallen dwarf who seemed familiar to me. He was obviously of Clan Battlehammer, his shield blazon told me as much. Then I realized that something was looking for me. I don’t know how I knew, but I knew it was the Reaver, the devourer of spirits. I knew fear then and knew also that I must hide lest the Devourer find me. I drifted through the passageways looking for a place to hide and think. I soon came to a room filled with water. There, in a dark corner, I sat and waited avoiding the eyes of the Reaver.

As I sat, I thought, not of death for I did not feel dead. But I also didn’t realize who I was. My identity was taken from me. All I knew was that I didn’t want to be eaten. Then I heard sounds of battle and muffled shouts. Someone was calling for a fellow called Drano. Odd, that. I wasn’t too concerned about the sounds of combat though, as I had no real form to be endangered by steel or spell.

Then I felt something strange. It felt like a heartbeat. The beating heart was right next to me as if pressed upon my skin. But I had no skin to speak of. The heartbeat was beating a little quick, as if someone were excited about something. Then a warm fuzzy feeling came over me. It was as if a furry body was next to mine only… I had no body. Then I heard a female voice speaking in quiet tones. The voice was telling some sort of story that caught my ear… only I had no ear.

Now I was curious. I wanted to hear the story that the voice was telling but it was drowned out by the sounds of the combat and the infernal yelling for this Drano person. I found myself upset and figured I’d go see what the ruckus was all about. I began to drift out over the water and the fuzzy feeling grew warmer. The beating heart next to me felt stronger with each turn of the passage and I felt I could almost hear the woman’s voice but for the sounds of the battle.

As I rounded a corner, I saw all matter of chaos happening. There was a group of people fighting a large number of the Reaver’s minions. These minions seemed to be even larger than the ones I’d seen previously, but I figured all the activity would divert the Reaver’s attention from me. I needed to hear that story!

I drifted closer, above the din of combat, and glanced about. There was a dwarven warrior in dark mail studded with the crest of a unicorn and battle-hammer. He stood firm in the chamber as a white, furry sarr warrior pounced about the room laying waste to the Reaver’s minions with a pole-arm. He was wearing a tabard of blue and black marked with a symbol. The eye-of-the-storm symbol seemed familiar but I couldn’t recall seeing it. Next to him, a human mage shouted to the skies wielding the strangest of weapons. It was this mage that shouted the name Drano over and over. I took a second glance at the strange weapon and saw it to be a dismembered claw of unusual size attached to a stout handle forming a kind of mace or club. The claw seemed familiar as well, but I don’t know why.

A red-bearded dwarven mage was also present, holding in his hand some kind of stone. The stone drew my attention for some reason, but it looked like any other rock I’d ever seen. Curse that human mage! I have half a mind to shove that weapon in his…! Ooo! Look! There was a dark elf. The elf’s eyes were alight with the delight of battle and he danced around as if at some grand ball. What drew my attention to him was what was in his hand! He held a mug of some kind of ale! Blast! But I felt thirsty then! He seemed to see me then and offered the mug. But my spectral hands couldn’t grasp it and then the tide of battle drew him away.

I looked up and that’s when I saw her – a white-haired sarr woman sat cross-legged in a glowing circle. The creatures seemed unable to penetrate the circle and so she sat comfortably in its safety. The beating of the heart was stronger now in my ears as I gazed upon her with ghostly eyes. She clutched something to her bosom and was reading from some leather-bound book. This was the owner of the voice that I was looking for! I attempted to get closer but the circle blocked my advance. Oh, but I wanted to hear her tale! All of a sudden, all was deathly quiet and the silence caused the woman to pause and look up.

I followed her gaze to the downed forms of all of the other adventurers. The creatures of the Void were moving about them preparing to feast on their flesh. I felt sad then, but pleased that I could finally hear the voice of the sarr-woman. A movement out of the corner of my eye grabbed me, but failed to draw the attention of the milling masses. The red-bearded dwarf lay on the ground, bleeding but conscious. He quietly cast spells of healing on his comrades who all lay perfectly still in the overbearing quiet of the moment. Then, as one, the adventurers leapt up, blades singing and spells flying, decimating the ranks of the Reaver’s creatures. As they did, I spotted what was in the dark-elf’s other hand.

He was wielding a shield with the crest of Clan Battlehammer. How did a drae elf get that? Curious, I drew closer. Surely, it was the crest of the hammer and foaming mug! I couldn’t imagine what dwarf would give one of these to a dark elf! Was this one a tomb-raider? Did he slay the dwarf I saw in the cavern earlier?

I followed the dancing dark elf as he fought, hypnotically drawn to the shield. It seemed so familiar! Then, the sarr-woman stood up and drew her hands down in front of her. As she did so, I sensed the magic of the circle fade. She called to her companions to join her in the safety of the circle, which they quickly did. I followed the bearer of the shield into the circle as well when suddenly, in an opposite motion from before, the sarr-woman drew her hands up and the magic of the circle was reactivated.

The dark elf looked at me then and gave me a toothy grin. The whiteness of his teeth shone out from his black skin brighter than a sunrise as he proffered me the mug of ale. I could almost taste it as he tipped it back for me, the contents spilling on the floor, and I thought, "Gee, this dark-elf isn’t so bad after all – I could get to like him!" Then there was a flash and all was dark.

I opened my eyes and drifted again, through the blackness toward a point of light. The light turned out to be another circle. But this one was different. It was much larger and almost drew me towards it. Inside stood a man in a hat. He seemed to notice me and looked in my general direction, sensing rather than seeing me.

He spoke then, "Spirit. Come this way."

Spirit? Was that who I was? I looked behind me to see if he was speaking to someone there, but all I saw was the blackness. The name "spirit" didn’t feel like it was mine though. So I drifted around some more.

"Spirit," he said, "come this way. Come to the light."

I gazed about and suddenly one thought came to my mind. I wouldn’t feel so strange and alone out here if Chastity was about. The man seemed to hear me as if I spoke and turned toward another direction. All I saw was empty space, but he said to the blackness, "The Spirit seeks one called Chastity."

Soon, a young, beautiful human woman joined the man in the circle. Her brown hair waved gently in a breeze that I did not feel and her eyes sparkled in a non-existent light. She smiled at me as if she knew me and said, "Hello Drano."

Now was I Spirit or Drano? Wasn’t there someone just looking for a fellow named Drano? Then a large white cat joined the two in the circle. The cat looked similar to some old cave drawings I’d once seen. Its long whiskers flickered and its large fangs gleamed. It padded silently up to the side of the human woman, its flanks showing powerful sleek muscle as it moved. But I was not afraid. I felt I should know these two – the woman and the cat. They seemed familiar but I couldn’t recall having ever seen them before. Then the cat did something downright unsettling – it winked at me.

The man spoke then to the woman; "Chastity, this spirit is strong. This should go well." Then to me, "Spirit, Chastity and Jatrina are here. Will you come into the light?"

The cat almost smiled at me in its own feline way as I hesitated. This was Chastity? It must be. I had a picture in my mind of a sarr-woman, not a pure feline. Then, the human woman gazed at me and spoke, "No, Drano. It’s me, Chastity."

Something sure was strange around here, but admittedly, I felt better. I knew having Chastity there would make things feel better. I moved towards the circle then, but as I passed through, things changed.

The blackness faded as the man spoke, "Spirit, rejoin us. You see a wide-open plain. The grasses bend gently in the spring breeze and you can hear the twittering of the birds nearby…" and indeed these things started to take form around me. The grasses began to appear and the birds began to sing but I shied away from them. How uncomfortable it seemed. I’d been brought up among dwarves in the deep caves of the mountain. I remembered that now. I couldn’t go towards the unfamiliar openness of the fields! And birds! Really! Where were the sounds of metal being worked? Where was the heat of the forge?

The man seemed to detect my discomfort and bade me, "Spirit, come back!" Then he tried another tactic. "Spirit, you see a wide open sky. It is night and the dark canopy is covered with thousands of points of light. You are on the ocean. The rolling waves lap gently at your boat and all is peaceful."

I nearly screamed as the blackness was beginning to form into an ocean. The water was so deep and the boat so small! Why was I here?! I didn’t want to be here! I’d drown for sure! I began to draw away again, this time more forcefully. The man seemed to sense my extreme duress and then Chastity spoke to him.

"Let me handle this." She said confidently as she turned her sparkling eyes my way. "Drano. Come here."

The scenery changed yet again into a deep forest. Not a mountain cave, mind you, but I guess the big cat would be more at ease here and I certainly didn’t wasn’t to get the cat upset! There was a path leading through the forest and the human girl and the white cat stood upon it beckoning me to join them. I adjusted my belt and moved to accompany them on this walk through the woods.

We traveled for only a little while when we came around a bend in the path which opened into a clearing. In the clearing stood a wooden structure, a tavern. Chastity pointed to the building and asked, "Want to go in?" It seemed like a nice place to take a rest, so I responded, "Beer?" This made her pause for a second, then a sad burst of laughter boiled forth as she said, "Sure." So we wandered inside. The interior of the tavern was warm and cozy thanks to a fireplace on one wall. The bartender was large and rotund with a bald spot beginning to appear on his head. He shined the bar with an old rag and looked up. "Sir? Ladies? What’s your pleasure?"

I sat down at a nearby table while Chastity got a round of ale. The big white cat padded up and seated itself to my left and Chastity sat down behind me. Next to the cat stood Leviathan who raised a glass of wine in a toast. To my right sat a fellow I recognized as Sir Delahr. He looked a little peaked but I thought some ale would set him aright. Kestryn stood behind him already lifting a glass of elven wine to her lips. Borax and Bishop were at a nearby table and across from me was Thrakkish, perched upon his chair as if ready to pounce. I chuckled to myself and thought, "What a nice place this is. All these friends, good ale, a warm fire, what more could I want?"

That thought seemed to do something. My whole world lurched and turned upside down, spinning end over end until I realized it was I spinning, not the world. And I fell and fell, until I hit… hard. I opened my eyes to a world of pain. I grimaced as the light of day hit my face. Then the world began to come into focus. I looked up into the wet sparkling eyes of Chastity. Her furry sarr face was upside down though. Then I realized she was seated behind me, cross-legged with my head in her lap. I grit my teeth against the pain and rolled my head to the left. There sat Jatrina the stone elf. Her face was a mask of emotion but her eyes belied her stoic countenance. Next to her stood Leviathan, a serious look on his dark face. To my right knelt Delahr, knight of Eastwyck. Behind him stood an apparently distraught Kestryn. Lines of worry showed on her gaunt features. Over Jatrina’s shoulder I saw Bishop and Borax’s concerned faces.

Then, I noticed the young sarr Thrakkish poised above me with a mug of some brew. "Drink this," he said. "You’ll feel better."

The stuff smelled like ale but must have had some kind of medicine in it, for it tasted like regurgitated swill. Fortunately, he managed to pour the majority of it onto my chest instead of into my mouth and I was grateful to him for that. It took a few moments for me to come to my senses enough to ask, "What happened?"

The group eventually explained to me that I had died in combat. My spirit would normally be drawn to this healer’s circle to search for its body, but because I was on the plane of Void, my spirit was trapped there and had to be released. Kestryn explained that a rescue party was sent in to recover the fallen, but they were only able to find the others; I was nowhere to be seen.

Then Leviathan approached and apologized profusely for his poor leadership and for the cowardice of the dark-haired warrior who had thrown himself through the portal early on in our retreat leaving us there to face our respective destinies. At this point, I’d recovered enough to appreciate his position, but found I could not accept his apology. His leadership was not in question at all; he did a fine job. The dark-haired warrior was also not his fault by any means and I told him so.

Unfortunately, in the telling of the tale, my companions grew angry. I could see in many of their eyes a desire for revenge. I tried to dissuade them explaining that another man’s courage or lack thereof cannot be held accountable for this turn of events, but they did not seem to be swayed by my explanation. They asked me, "Would you have left them?" I could not lie. I would not. This fellow may not have been a hero this day – perhaps he was just scared and ran. But then again, I am no hero either. But they did put aside their issues with the individual for a while as they escorted me back to our cabin for some food and good ale.

After a nice dinner, Gabriel approached me. He seemed sad, as if he felt badly that he could not have gone to the Void to get my spirit. I knew, though, that the taint upon him would only have worsened had he gone and may have been detrimental to the whole rescue operation. We spoke to each other for a moment without saying a word, then he said, "You should probably go get checked at the mage’s guild. We want to be sure that your time in the Void didn’t leave a taint upon your spirit as well."

So I trudged off to the guild again. Once again I met the guildmaster’s apprentice who, I believe, knew me on a first name basis by now. He examined me once again and once again, found no problems.

So I made my way back toward the cabin. On the way there, Leviathan met me. He approached me and spoke, "Drano. I truly feel badly about what happened back there and wish to offer some form of recompense. I will seek out the dark-haired warrior and exact from him an apology and some sum of gold."

"Stay your hand, good sir." I replied. "An apology from those that don’t back it up with their true feelings is as worthless as an empty mug. As for the coins? I have no need of them. I have something far more valuable than money…"

It was at that time that we came to the cabin. There, Borax was cooking up some more meat over the fire, and Vy, Tempus, and Jatrina were enjoying the fruits of his labor. Kestryn stood speaking with Vastan, Gabriel and Chastity. Bishop, Koryon, Nork, the Mighty Vincent, Liri, and Cleary were sipping at beverages. Thrakkish sparred verbally with Tristemere and Adrian. Leviathan gazed at them then looked at me and said, "I see what you mean."

I looked at the others and thought, as long as I have Tempus to wield my right hand, as long a Bishop will watch over me with his blade, as long as Vy will bring me beer and Chastity will lead me from the grave, as long as Thrakkish will wear the symbol of our united team, and as long as Tristemere will tell my tale and hold a special place for me next to her heart… I will need for nothing.

-- as seen through the eyes of Drano Battlehammer -- October 5, 598