Bryce and I are writing this.  If you like it, please let us know.  Thanks!

QueAquila@hotmail.com

Well, it would seem that there is a possibility of publishing this.  So, I can only put so much on here.  I will post the whole story if it does not get plublished.    I have changed a few things and added some detail.  Eventually, this story may be cool.

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Page 1

Cito fit quod dii volunt

What the gods want happens soon.
~C. Petronius Arbiter

I am the one to spread the word of a God, not known but to a few ancient elves, his worshipers, and I know of him. I dare not speak his name for fear of his wrath. I stay far away from all undead for he can see through their eyes as he wishes it. I have heard some claim of a different god of the undead, but he is a lesser deity, and rules on a far away plane. The one I speak of lives on our world, not in some nonexistent other plane, and I assure you.  He is real.  His land is an area of Undeath and darkness, of which nothing living survives, for long.  I have seen and escaped his domain, and I am living still.  For how long I do not know,  his minions hunt me from dusk until dawn.  So I write this story so that others may spread the word of a great evil that is conquering by trickery and subtlety.  Perhaps, the knowledge I leave will save someone from making the mistakes I did.   

Greed is what killed my fellow adventurers, and a crypt full of undead, treasure and magic. A family crypt had been overrun with skeletons and zombies.  How hard could it be? The undead had been pouring out of the crypt night after dark.  Causing mayhem and destruction in the town.  They were offering a worthy reward for what seemed to basically be a cleanup job.

There were just the six of us.  Khyle,  a big brute who solved everything with a fight (or tried to when he could get away with it), but he loved a good joke, or even a bad one, and told them all the time, especially when fighting.  "Did you  hear the one about . . . "  Trog, a half-orc, a bit of a barbarian that always seemed to say the wrong thing at the wrong time.  Our Sorceress was  Kallindrea. Terrion, very Roguish, was very apt at picking locks and finding, then disarming traps.   Preylin,  was a ranger who has dedicated his life to hunting undead.  And of course, there was me, the healer of the group.

We had been doing this type of thing together for some time now.  And we had a system.  Lots of holy water, preparatory spells,  I could hold back much of the undead as the others beat them to pieces.  If any escaped, Preylin could track them down. Then we would  destroy the source, usually some Necromancer who thought it was a good place to practice his or her arts. 

This place was different.
 

Continued on  Page 2

Copyright 2002