September 3rd - Resurrection

The giant had fallen, in which I had some small part. With no other foe to challenge me in melee, I sheathed my sword and pulled out my bow, intent on snagging earthward some vain enemy who had managed to kiss the sky. Unscathed, unnerved, unwavering, I bent the bow and ...

died.

And suddenly I was alive and well and back in Sweden. There was Tyr'n observing me with his cool, dispassionate eyes, his hands hidden within the folds of his robe. Another priest of his order (a master, I discover later, and the one responsible for bringing me back) exhaled in relief, nodded at Tyr'n and excused himself.

This was no house of Elrond, full of life and song, but a cave of surgical purpose, dark and dreary, clean yet saturated with the stench of death. There was light, but it seemed to draw the shadows in rather than cast them away. I had never seen Tyr'n look so comfortable as he didhere. We were both in Sweden, but only one of us was truly home.

"You passed away, but have now returned. Rise, there is work to do." I never expected Tyr'n to smile, and he didn't, but can a Elvish Necromancer make a joke?

And then I remember seeing Prindle drop lifeless to the ground in much the same fashion as I must have. "How is our little cousin?"

"He has gone wherever Pixies go when a Lich would see him dead." Poor, sweet, inane Prindle. He had nothing to trade for life, like my own potion of longevity.

"And so it was the Lich after all?"

"Of course. A powerful spell. You should consider yourself honoured to fall to such a worthy foe."

By now I'd gotten off the bed and I was reaching for my gear. "All wizards are cowards. I have looked every being I have killed in the eye."

Tyr'n nodded and this time he did smile. "So have I. But some I have had to ... animate after the fact in order to accomplish the task."

I intend to work out my frustration on Norse armies.

Longsword

You North have found the right of it,
The sword must needs be long,
But ere you hammered your first iron flat,
We had put our great steel into song.

My favourite, Anor, that fell from the sun,
Tempered by Tethrin Veralde',
Wielded to end a great darkness that gripped
Our shores and our skies and our vals.

A Song for the Lich

Can that which is dead die again?
Undead is different you say?
Living or no, bone shall eat steel,
Euranna! I'll sing as I swing.

September 1st - Prindle Day

A voice in the dark: "Let today be known as Prindle Day!" Today I donned my new Elvish chain. A nice fit. Nice and free after months in the dragon scale. There was this tree-climbing "incident" where it came in handy. Gods know I would still be on the ground being eaten, left for dead by my party, if I had been unable to climb.

Damned wolves. What have they left in my blood? And that nerdy gnome and his fortress cube; of all the times to be experimenting! These wizards and priests will be the death of me - our side or theirs, it seems to make no difference.

August 27th - Ashes

So the Temple of Elemental Evil has burned for its sins. Now what comes? A Norse army, intent on stamping out yet another wildfire, some undead monster with bagpipes (sigh), perhaps a dragon as well. Does this land not know rest? Would that I could retire long enough to at least make a new bow.

Still, I long for battle beneath open skies after so long in the dungeon. I feel as though I have been through the forge, folded and hammered into something sharper, stronger and greater than I once was. Now is the time of Fjord! May Odin and all the rest take pity on these vile raiders. I will be rid of them long before I have become a god myself. Now, which rings to wear into battle ...

Ring of Free Action

No wizard can hold me, beguile, defeat me,
No priest can call heaven or hell down upon me,
No warrior save one could press an attack,
And hope to gain still standing and hale.

A ring, one of many, so subtle and great,
Is but a part of my raiment of refuge,
The greatest of which can never be parted,
The blood of an Elf, the undying flesh.