Mule sat next to the iron pot stirring it lazily as it burbled over the low fire. He’d already boiled the water they had found in a nearby stream, and had added the rabbits they had gathered while hunting. Some wild mushrooms and a few tubers he had gathered rounded out the camp stew he had been making.

He looked up at the sky and watched the clouds skid their way across the vastness of the heavens. He couldn’t help but grin. He didn’t like being underground. Maybe that’s what it was. Out in the open, things felt… right again.

Of course, his return to Falcon’s Hollow was not something he was looking forward to either. Maybe it will be time to move on to somewhere more interesting.

Grinning, he pulled his violin from its case. Tuning it as he drew the bow across the strings, he began to play a simple, but jaunty tune.

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Daylight! How long had it been? Weeks? Months? Time had lost meaning under the dream witch’s spell and through the Kobold mines. Yet now the warm sun shone down on him as the group emerged from the caverns. He stood for a long time warming himself letting his mind drift back to his childhood.

He had snuck away from the others to a small clearing in the woods. It was a sunny mid-summer day and the air carried the scent of warm dirt, smoke from cooking fires, and the sound of other children playing far off. But Lorn had his book, and as he did every day he practiced. Saying the words, making motions, yet as of yet nothing had happened. It had been several months since he had been saved by the mysterious magic user yet by now he was hoping something would happen.

Frustration was beginning to take hold and his concentration was failing. This is how it always went. Lorn was beginning to think that he would never be able to cast a single spell. Lying back in the grass he stared at the passing clouds. They twisted and shifted upon themselves forming complex shapes. Lorn felt things moving and shifting within himself, a peace and clarity. Sitting back up, he flipped to a random page and focused. The shifting continued, like a gate moving. Reciting the words and moving his hands, he suddenly felt a surge. The ground beneath his hand began to frost over and the blades of grass turned to ice. His first spell! The power flowing through him, though brief, was amazing and he knew that he wanted more.

A throat cleared behind him and he saw the group was ready to head out. His moment of elation was broken by the harsh return to reality. They were free from the mines yet his purpose for the journey had not been met. Though he felt that he had grown in some abilities, he had not managed to discover any magical artifacts, no scrolls to learn and put in his book, not even a bag of magic dust.

He followed the group with his head low lost in his thoughts. The only spark of hope was that they were headed to a town. Civilization. This Falcon’s Hollow must have a magic shop, maybe some scrolls, or, and Lorn’s heart leapt at the thought, a wizard to work with and learn from.

Lorn’s hope fell as they entered the town of Falcon’s Hollow. It didn’t appear to be a center of high magical learning. The best he could hope for was replenishing spell supplies. Though the carnival seemed to at least be some sort of diversion, possibly win a scroll as a prize.

They were on the road back from Candlestone Caverns, having foiled a Drow plot to invade the sunlit lands. Camp had been set up for the night and the fire was nicely warm. They had even had fresh fish for dinner that evening! He had gems in his pockets and the stars were shining brightly. Desna was smiling down upon the world this evening. It was a night for celebration, not flame-staring. The small talk had dried up and Thwin was bored. He rose, dusted off his cloak, and began to dance. He decided to partner with the flickering shadows cast by the fire. As he danced, he could almost imagine the shadows as three dimensional objects which he tried to dart between. After a few moments, someone around the fire began to clap a beat and his mind drifted back almost sixty years to his time in Cheliax.

In Westcrown, under Madame Centrillia’s patronage, he attended balls every two weeks. He was her pet elf and she displayed him on her arm like other women displayed expensive broaches. She dressed him in the finest clothes, fed him the finest food, and introduced him to the finest people. In return for the lavish lifestyle she provided, he played the role of handsome dance partner to the wealthy young women who attended her lessons. They adored him, and Centrilla grew richer as more young women came to her dance lessons.

Thwin learned a great deal about humans during his time with Centrillia. The social gatherings they attended always consisted of the same group of people from the wealthy, but not noble, families. He mingled among them, more observing than interacting, learning their secret plots, their penchant for politicking, and the facial and physical manifestations of their lies. To his surprise, he discovered that Humans fascinated him. They lived fast, furious lives and constantly strove for goals. Elves lived at a much slower pace, knowing that they would likely live to see the effects of actions taken when they were fifty. Humans were preparing for death by then.

The clapping stopped, but Thwin continued dancing. He followed the shadows dancing on the large stone close to camp. Moving with the ever-changing shapes projected by the flames, he admired the fluidity of his own motions. He decided to improvise and incorporated the waving hand movements of the belled dancers of Varisia, trying to touch the shadows. He suddenly stopped moving, attention fixed on his left hand. The tips of his fingers were gone! More quickly than an eye blinks, they reappeared as a shadow cast by Mule shifted with the light. Thwin clinched and released a fist. His head jerked to the shadows on the rock. The tales are true! There is substance to the shadow! He quickly tried to reach behind another shadow, but without success. I will do this again!

Dancing and boredom completely forgotten, Thwin slowly walked back to the fire and sat down between Lorn and Mule. He was deeply absorbed in his thoughts as he repeatedly brushed his thumb against the fingertips that had disappeared. How long he sat there thinking and intently staring at his hand, he couldn’t say, but when he finally looked up he thought he caught at least one of his companions quickly lower a raised eyebrow. “I’m not mad. I’m just…” he said as he smiled in wonder, “newly aware.”

I don’t know how I’m alive. I’ve been beaten to a pulp, battered to within an inch of my life, and have almost bled out multiple times.

I’m going to have to spend some time at the chapel of Iomedae if this keeps up, because her cleric is the only reason I am still alive.

I have managed to scavenge some better armor from a corpse of some strange dwarven creatures that can change their size. Luckily, it still fit.

When I stop to think about it, I bring nothing to the table. I’m just a brute who barely knows which end of a weapon is the dangerous one. Just point me towards a foe and let me hit it until one of us falls down. I have no stealth, I have no healing, and I have no magic. At least as a mercenary, I was always one of the last ones standing. Now I’m the first one to fall.

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By only the grace of Iomedae, we still have Mule.

I can’t believe how close we were to losing him. Iomedae forgive me for getting too heated in battle and forgetting my duties as a healer. I find myself growing more comfortable with my longsword and wanting to cut down my foes. I will need to learn to reign myself in more and pay attention to my surroundings. I will never forgive myself if I let one of my friends die while I sought to feed my bloodthirst.

Becoming an adventurer has brought out a side of me I never knew existed. I must pray for guidance to control myself.

We go ever deeper into the caves. I admit I am wondering if we will ever return home. We still don’t really know what lies ahead or if we are prepared to face it when the time comes.

Iomedae, give us strength.

The last things Lorn could remember were searing pain and fire before collapsing unconscious to the dungeon floor. Opening his eyes he found himself lying in a sun-warmed field staring up and big fluffy clouds drifting slowly on the gentle breeze. Moving slowly to test for broken bones or missing limbs, Lorn was shocked to find no injuries. The peace of everything surrounded him and he began to have the terrifying idea that he had died and this is what the afterlife was like.

Standing up, he cursed himself for his pathetic abilities. Force missiles! That’s all I have to contribute is pathetic force missiles! He thought to himself as he picked a direction and began walking. Trees swayed far in the distance and the large open field was devoid of any other life leaving little to help know where to go.

I’ve been at this for years and what do I have to show for it? He continued his private admonishment. I’ve found no magical items. Haven’t learned any new spells. The spells I do have I can only remember a handful and they are barely even helpful. Anger pushed pass the peacefulness he had woken up to and his pace quickened. I’m just a failure at everything, farming, hunting, magic and now apparently life!

As he marched faster towards the tree line lost in his self-deprecating, a second set of footsteps matched his own several yards behind. “Don’t mistake inexperience with failure young wizard,” an old grizzled voice spoke to Lorn’s thoughts causing him to jump out of his skin. “You have had no teacher and done little to put to practice the magic you do know. How can you expect to grow without stumbling?”

Clutching his chest, Lorn turned to face the unexpected companion. He faced an older man in flashy robes. “You are the one that saved me as a kid and left me the spell book.” Lorn stood in shocked amazement to be face to face with the man who had sent him on his path.

“I am and now maybe I can help you again. You keep looking for magic but you aren’t using it. I wizard grows from using spells battling others.”

“But I’ve done all that. Should I be finding scrolls of power or stuff like that?”
Chuckling, the wizard shook his head, “You’ve been using magic in a stress free situation. There is no challenge. It’s like how a warrior becomes stronger but carrying more, a wizard gains spells and power from casting in dangerous situations. You are pushing yourself for the spell.”

“I just don’t understand. All the other wizards I talk to just say it comes from use and that I need to find items and scrolls of power.”

“Thanks not how magic works,” says the wizard putting a calming hand on Lorn’s shoulder, “It will just come when it is time. With all you have done on you current quest you will see what I mean soon. Just remember that the power comes slowly at first but grows quickly down the line. Persevere and you will be a great wizard.”

Before Lorn could respond the warmth of the sun washed over him and he felt the world slipping away. Next he knew he was back on the dungeon floor being healed by bursts from Angeleia. The wizard’s words echoing in his ears as them made their way to a safe place to rest. That night while refreshing his spells, he found that he was able to remember one more spell than he could before. Smiling, he went back to his book pushing harder than ever.

Thwin removed the leather armor from the troglodyte druid and began to readjust the strappings to fit him. This armor was of obviously better quality than the set he currently wore. It was much more stylish too, bracts of black, slightly reptilian-looking leather, interwoven in a spiraling pattern. Angeleia had confirmed that this armor was magically enchanted as well. Enchanted armor! This was the kind of reward he was hoping for.

As he tightened the last strap securing his new armor, Thwin glanced at the body of the druid lying on the ground. His chest tightened slightly. The gray dwarf-like creatures and the troglodytes might be working together against the Drow! We might be killing unwitting allies! He puzzled through multiple permutations. The dwarf and trog dead were laid together. If they were enemies, why would they put their corpses together? A mausoleum commonly agreed to? Some dark realm tradition? The bodies showed evidence of battle…with the Drow? The kobolds? It seemed more likely that the dwarves and trogs were allied against the Drow. Or was it?

They could also be working with the Drow. A coordinated effort seemed unlikely, as all of the stories he had heard and the treatises he had read suggested that all of the races of the Underdark harbored some level of enmity towards each other. Still, he couldn’t discount this possibility. Maybe slaves or hired henchmen of the Drow?

Thwin pursed his lips in dissatisfaction. There would be no clear answer unless they questioned one of the creatures. That was something he wanted to avoid. First, there was no guarantee they could extract the truth. Additionally, trying to lead a captive around in these caverns would be unwieldy and dangerous. Besides, Thwin thought to himself, whether they’re working for or against the Drow, if they have ventured this close to the surface, they could pose a serious problem for the kobolds. Yes, all things considered, it was best to just keep going on their current route. The others might feel differently, but if they weren’t bright enough to consider the situation more closely, Thwin would make the executive decision for them.

Peace. Finally, a night without that dreadful demon woman whispering threats of death and destruction in his dreams. That night Lorn had truly restful sleep for the first time in a long time. The Arcane power swirled within his dreams, showing him all the potential he had. The power to stop cruelty and help those that needed it.

Slowly waking, Lorn listened to his surroundings. He could hear the steady breathing of Mule and Angileia. Sitting up Garrok let out a low growl warning Lorn of his proximity. “Just sitting up,” Lorn said quietly as he scooted away some. Some distance off he could hear the rhythmic mumbling of someone deep in prayer.

Lorn never understood religion. His people had deep reverence for the land and nature. It was their provider for food and shelter. Many prayed to the gods of the land for good harvests and fruitful hunts, yet Lorn felt it was all in vain. Would the gods give to some and forsake others? Why? Is a murderer who prayers for forgiveness less listened to than the family that prays for justice? Lorn had spent so long relying on himself and the power within that he had lost sight of why people cling to religion. At the end of the day he had to live with himself and his actions. His own conscience was his guide and if he could not be proud of himself and his actions then that is what makes him a good or bad person.

The prayer had stopped and Lorn sensed movement near him. Again he slid a little further away from where he had heard the growl thinking that Garrok may be trying to get close for a snack. He bumped into what felt like legs and a hand clamped down over his mouth before he could yell to the others.

“It’s just me,” whispered Thiwn into Lorn’s ear.

“Blasted rogue! It’s too dark in here to be sneaking up on people like that.” Thwin chuckled and sat down next to Lorn. Steadying his breathing from the shock Lorn looked towards the cave exit. “Was that your praying I heard?”

“It was, “ Thwin replied flatly.

“Interesting, I would not have expected a rogue to be much into prayer. But then I haven’t met many rogues.” Lorn trailed off realizing he had probably voiced his thoughts more than he should have.

“Hmmm,” Thwin smirked and raised an eyebrow. “The best of all rogues are flexible and able to prepare for many eventualities. So, you now have a model by which to judge all other rogues.”

“So what are your thoughts on the situation?” Lorn shifted the conversation awkwardly.

“Well, we found the Kobolds, but we still need to figure out what’s going on with them. I don’t think we can just walk out and say ‘Hi’. What we need is some way to gain audience with their leader.”

“Well if that enchantress was what was stirring them up we could be viewed as heroes. On the other hand she may have been friendly with them and we could end up a main course.”

“Agreed, and if we charge in killing everything on sight there are probably way too many of them for use to get though. What we need is to find a way to get them to trust us.” Lorn felt Thwin’s eyes on him and knew that he was going to end up having to risk something for this.

It could not be just coincidence, but truly a divine plan that guided him to this place. The surprisingly resilient female Elf turned out to be a cleric of Lamashtu – sworn enemy of Desna. Horrific experiments, a multitude of corpses, and invasive nightmares that drained people of energy were the abominations the cleric brought into this world. Only now did he understand the level at which Desna hated Her foe. A century of training, a series of seemingly random events, and a group of adventurers he met in a tavern in an Andoran backwater town brought him to this place to defeat the depraved devotee of the demon goddess.

Following the battle with the evil cleric, the party finished exploring what the muddled dwarf referred to as the “Gallery of Wonders”. Thwin’s mind was otherwise occupied with his internal monologue during the process. Was this Desna’s only plan for him? Was he to have any relevance to Her after this point. It was not beyond the Gods to use mortals at their whim. His musings continued for hours, with no clear answer as they “camped” in the deserted temple of Torag. After his evening prayers, he had no answer from the Goddess. Even more concerning to him was that, for the first time in almost a fortnight, the butterfly was absent from his dreams. He roused with his mind racing with the unanswered questions from the previous day.

As the party moved on to explore the large cavern to see if they could find any signs of the kobold clans, Thwin was definitely not on his game. He could not recall the features of the fungal crawler they encountered and he failed to notice the mobile fungi until they were on top of the party. Now, the front line fighters were seriously weakened. The party rested after the battles, finding what little shelter they could amongst the giant fungi. Despite being within a thousand feet of the Kobold guards he and Angelia discovered, they felt relatively safe.
Thwin prepared for his evening prayers and sighed. It had been three days since he had seen the night stars. They were a comfort to him. He cleared a small area on the floor in front of himself and pulled out a piece of chalk from his pack. He drew the constellation containing the star Cynosure, long thought to be home to Desna. He settled in cross-legged before the drawing and concentrated on his memories of the real thing. “As you will,” he added before the ritualized prayers.

That evening’s trance visions found Thwin walking amongst the heavens and a multitude of familiar and unfamiliar realms, familiar and not. Traveling at impossible speeds, he traversed these places one after the other in rapid succession for what seemed like hours. His dream self eventually reached a pinnacle where he could observe a panorama of the incomprehensibly complex paths he just traveled. As he watched, all of the complexity faded away, until only the star Cynosure remained. He roused shaken, unsure of the meaning of his visions.

Per his normal routine, he immediately looked around to make sure all was in order. He stood up, stretched and began to walk over to rouse the wizard, Lorn. He covered the distance between them much more quickly than he should have. Thwin’s eyes widened. This was how his father moved because of the granted grace of Desna! Thwin had to be sure and wound his way through the mushrooms, quickly collecting three pebbles. He recited the words of the spell and made the required motions. He then gently flicked one pebble at a small mushroom which burst into pulp at the touch of the pebble infused with some of Desna’s power. Thwin smiled broadly and touched the holy symbol he had carved. “As you will.”

What am I doing?

I think its a fair enough question.

Growing up, I was fed stories from my parents about the wondrous adventures of legendary heroes. People who’s actions shaped the world around them. Vast riches plucked from the depths of the world. Fantastic magic used by Noble Heroes and Foul Villains.

And now I am on an adventure, and I don’t know if I think much of it. At least with Mercenary work, you knew what you were getting in to.

A man with a sword in his belly was pretty much done. No longer a threat. Now I’m facing bug-like creatures in the depths of a lightless cavern that will pump you full of venom. Or dark clerics who can fill my mind with such powerful unreasoning fear that I couldn’t find my courage for who knows how long.

I almost didn’t come back.

I didn’t want to come back.

But something, something about the folks I was going to leave behind made me return. I couldn’t just leave them. Abandon them to whatever fate they would endure.

I will die down here. I have no illusions about that. It was luck that it hasn’t happened yet. But my luck can’t hold out forever.

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