The Journal

The shadows danced in the small room of the inn as the figure sat writing at a small desk. The light from the lantern made an eerie glow as it mirrored off the soldiers armor at the foot of the single bed. The figure sat back for a moment to look over his writing re-reading over to himself what he put in the journal...

The fates are a weird entity when the chaos erupted and I lost all I had including my wife and son I thought everything would be undone. I journeyed the lands using my talents to gain what coin I could but in the back of my mind the craving of power still resided. I remember when my loving wife first noticed it, she was a talented mage though she preferred the art of the healer. She had to know about the darker powers of conjuration and necromancy of course as all mages learn of the balance of magic. I think she saw the fires in my eyes as she would read to me the stories of the dark necromancers and the powers they achieved. I even think as she found me reading the books myself on occasion a fear rose within her. It was my son that brought my senses back to the light as she would tell me. She would say I was a changed man when I first looked upon those red orbs starting at me at his birth.


Alas they are gone and I alone have survived and the lure of power is ever more inviting now. I bide my time as a soldier making coin and gaining experience in the arts of the mace and shield. The other soldiers respect my ways of tactics and battle and my mercy that I allow to none, though at times I feel they fear of me. What they do not understand is that I yearn to lead an army of my own and the power it holds. Oh but what an ultimate army to have of the dead to be under my full control and to crush all who would oppose. Tomorrow I make my way to the library to gain books on the art of necromancy and the secrets of the ancient mages of this land. My wife and son will forever be remembered but now they do not hold me back to find that ultimate power I have craved for so long. My old life is gone in the ruins of the chaos and a new one begins that shall bring fear and suffering with it...

The Decent

The snow fell over the mountain as the wind was calm and the sun was high in the sky. A lone figure stood on an out cropping of rock peering over the ledge. About 30ft below covered in snow the ruins of an old civilization looked back at the figure.

He silently made notes in his head as he checked over his gear. His enchanted daggers and bow were fastened in place, while his potions and scrolls were tied to his belt. He shifted in his black leather armor and looked to the sky to see where the sun was positioned. He pulled his hood over his salt and pepper short cropped hair, while his hazel eye scanned the area. The other eye was a white orb with a scar that ran from his temple to his cheek. Covering the scar best it could was a light blue tattoo of intricate lines on the side of his face.

He reached into his pack and brought out a small journal to look over his notes. From the information he gained he learned that below him in the ruins held a den of the undead that were said to be controlled by a necromancer. There was a bounty for the necromancer and because of the figures hatred for the undead and the reward which always helped it didn't take much for him to pursue the bounty.

He looked again to the sky and smiled "Well it's now or never, if I live through this it's a new tale for the ladies and if not it's a joke for my fellow bards to sing of, yes this is my life". He laughed to himself and then sighed, and without thinking jumped off the mountain. Plunging down like an arrow he started shouting words of an ancient language that made his body shimmered and become almost like a ghost. He crashed down upon the wall of a now fallen tower without taking a hint of harm and shimmered back to his original form. He leaped off the wall and started making his way to the opening of the ruins accepting whatever the fates held for him within...