-                    PREFACE                                 I am My-Fetu born sired of Calatus, of the                  clan of the ShadowWeaven, of the race of                    Halfling, of the people named Voranu. These                 are the chronicles of my participation in                   the quest to free the Tome from the clutches                of the Dead Lord.                                                                                                      -Day 1                                                       I was summoned by messenger to report to the                priests of temple P'Tah in my home haven of                 Enu. An acolyte loomed before me at the                     vestibule, and issued me to the chamber of                  the high priest S'Tak and bid me sit.                                                                                   As my eyes became accustomed to the gloom                   I made out the shadowy figure of S'Tak, his                 snowy white beard glowing faintly. I                        advanced towards him but drew up short as                   he held up a single gnarled finger. I was                   frozen, my breath caught in my throat.                                                                                  He finished his ruminations and raised a                    wizened face towards me. A single brow                      shot up. "So this is what the race of                       Halfling has to offer" he said. "Ah well, the               foundation of a building cannot be judged from              it's entrance". He lowered his finger and I                 was released.                                                                                                           "The future of the Voranu rests upon the                    shoulders of you and your party", he said.                  "The danger is grave. You must proceed to                   Shardmoure Keep, on the northern reaches of                 the Bright Lands. Waiting there will be                     the Dead Lord with his minion, the King of                  Shadows".                                                                                                               I protested. "The Dead Lord is but a myth                   used to frighten the young", I said. "Tell                  me not of fantasies."                                                                                                   "QUIET!" roared the druid master. "Forsooth,                I tell you now in truth. This generation has                much to learn of the Time of Legends. The                   age of childhood is passed."                                                                                            I protested more, to little avail. Now I and                my three companions find ourselves journeying               to the northern reaches, our wallets containing             letters of writ drawing upon the coffers of the             order of P'Tah.                                                                                                        -Day 12                                                      This day we have reached the Dragonspine, the               home of the Grimhaden, the squat softspoken                 masters of the stone. The race of the                       Grimhaden are taciturn, tending to themselves,              there attitudes doubtless brought on by the                 cold starkness of their mountain retreats.                  This was a time to rest our weary bodies and                replenish our stores. P'Tor, the blunt warrior              of our traveling party, seemed at peace among               the lands of his people. We presented our letters           of writ with little use.  The Grimhaden                     pay scant attention to those they deem                      lesser among Voranu. Only the agreements                    of the Accord Codex ensure that they abide by               the rule of the High Council. If not for                    P'Tor drawing upon the favors of his extended               family we would have gone hungry.                                                                                      -Day 15                                                      We crossed into the forests of Dryaden. The                 Dryaden are a quiet race, looking down                      imperiously on those not of their kind. From                my time with Nandori however, I know that they              have a humorous streak, which they                          strive to keep hidden from the others of the                Voranu.                                                                                                                 As we crossed the Solemn river, we surprised                a Dark Monk. The follower of darkness glared                and cast a single firebolt that singed                      my  tunic. Another flash paralyzed P'Tor,                   placing him under a Hold Spell. I muttered a                quick release spell, freeing him to wreak havoc             with his short sword. We made short work of him             after that, suffering only minor wounds.                                                                               -Day 19                                                      We have finished our northern trek at the gates             of ShardMoure Keep. After dealing with the                  Ogre guard positioned at the entrance, we                   have made our way inside. The entrance has                  closed behind us. We have but one way in which              we can travel, forward into the gloom....                  -EOF