I’m slowly dying, like everyone else. It feels like just yesterday I met my traveling companions, I was so naive, so easily impressed. Brute force versus my arcane might, I was so overmatched a lowly Orc could intimidate, hell even me my own compainions dismissed my worth. Yet through it all I have found brute force is an illusion, while the dagger wielding rogue is rolling around in the dirt trying to flank him prey or the barbarian blindly charging forward into fight, I can launch my attacks from afar with only the most intelligent of opponents recognizing I’m even there. My glass jaw is my biggest worry, I have once visited the realm of the dead a place I intend to avoid forever! My growing power is intoxicating, I far exceed the power of my kind, I could hold my own, no I could defeat Queen Yolanda. But that is not my purpose in this world, I am to face and defeat the chosen five that is my purpose, my door to immortality. Yes I need my compainions to complete my task, I am not strong enough yet to defeat them one on one, I emphasis yet. As much as I long for this battle I also fear it, fear their power. As strong as I’m becoming it could all come tumbling down as fast as a house of cards. Their raw power, how do I achieve it without losing my soul, that is the real question, isn’t it?