- 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
