Grayson looked concerned after putting down the letter from his friend, Tanos. He leaned in his chair, a slight creak in the floor as his weight shifted backwards as he thought more about Tanos’ words. What little sunlight that escaped the trees surrounding his cabin danced on the table, illuminating the letter that he had just read. He closed his eyes to ponder on its contents. His longtime friend Tanos, better known in the realm as Sir Tanos Hrafnar of the Cast and Knight of Osterra, sent a letter to the realm at large giving thanks to the funding of Sunbringer, a sword forged to combat the demonic leader Ferdinand and his forces. Portal warriors from far and wide attended its creation, many who were ready and willing to donate their coffers to fund its steep cost. Including Grayson, who’s humble earnings added up to 4 Electrum coins (equivalent to 40 gold pieces), which he fully intended to give gladly. In the end, the bill was paid in full by a few of the more wealthy adventurers. Grayson’s coins now sat next to the letter on the table. The detail that worried him the most was the sword’s composition. In Tanos’ letter he revealed that the dwarven smith Copperbeard used a piece of Ferdinand’s own armor, still seeped with demonic corruption, as the main blade. Another worrying attribute of this sword is its magical components. Copperbeard has seemingly attuned the magical runes of this sword to only be usable by a single individual, Tanos himself. So not only can this sword only be used by him, but he alone bears the weight of any demonic influences that may seep into him through its wielding. Grayson has known Tanos for years, meeting him less than a year after he himself came to Osterra. He was there for Tanos’ knighting ceremony, and joined him and the Cast on many adventures thereafter. Grayson was invited to join the Cast on multiple occasions, but he was already set on helping other friends in Cedar Hill, as well as continuing his early magic tutelage under Meryn. He was also there for Tanos after he escaped the demonic realm, in which he was trapped for months due to a cruel trick by Geth. He appeared out of nowhere in the dead of night, delirious and covered in soot and flesh wounds. Grayson and Dima, another member of the Cast, tried their best to calm him, holding Tanos back as he viciously lashed out at Geth. It took a while for him to recover his mind, but he eventually returned to his stoic self. That was only a few years ago, which held many adventures since. And not once was he more worried about his friend than now. Grayson rose from the table to collect ingredients from his cupboard. Long ago during the First Plague in Osterra, he learned how to create an anti-corruption potion, a recipe known only to a select few. He planned to craft some of these, as well as a few spell scrolls of Remove Curse, and send them to Tanos, in hopes that they would at least ease the burden of whatever darkness that may influence him. As he set his copper cauldron on his table, he began preparing the ingredients. While he worked, Grayson thought of the runes mentioned on Sunbringer. Runes were powerful magics, which he remembered from his time in the Academy. Runes are used to imprint a magical purpose on an object, giving said object properties based on the spell that the rune represents. In his experience, runes can either be a binding sigil, or the source of focus for a spellcaster. Grayson interacted with students from other magical academies in his home plane, and has seen runes being used on amulets, weapons, wands, staves, and even spellbooks. He’s even apprehended rogue mages with sigils carved into their skin, using the rune’s properties as an extension of their bodies. Never in his memory, however, has he heard of a runic alignment that actually binds an object to a single individual. The ramifications of that, while on the surface may seem helpful, is a double edged sword in Grayson’s mind, and somewhat ironically so due to Sunbringer being such a blade. If this blade truly is the only way to defeat Ferdinand, and if the unfortunate happens with Tanos falling in battle, who would be able to defeat the demon general then? Would we be able to get Tanos to safety, as well as secure the sword? Grayson moved the cauldron to the kitchen, now full of diced and powdered ingredients. He filled it with water gathered from the nearby creek and sat it on the counter, starting the long wait for the ingredients to slowly soak in. With that done, Grayson could now focus on the other research he had been conducting. He began clearing his table in preparation of making it messy again, chuckling at the thought. Books and scrolls were pulled from his shelves, and he began to skim through his materials. Sunbringer was not the first magical weapon present in Osterra, nor will it be the only one wielded in the coming conflict. The Sword of Sylvia is the most well-known, reforged by the Osterran adventurers and gifted to the members of the Grove. The holy bow Lightbringer is held by Sir Randy of the Wardens, which was created at the same time as a holy claymore for the Catalpans (of which the name is unknown to Grayson). Even his guild mate, Siegfried, wields a lance imbued with divine power. All these weapons, though very powerful against demons in their own right, will not matter if these select warriors are outnumbered. It was because of this thought that Grayson began researching how to make his own. Or, at the very least, an enchantment to allow others to wield a holy weapon. The overall concept made sense to him, imbuing the powers and intentions of the caster into an object to give it magical properties. This kind of magic has been known to the Portal adventurers for years, in the form of armor enchantments. But that was for armor, the enchantment made to stay in place and repel an outside attack, temporarily protecting the wearer from a strike or two before dissipating to nothing. What Grayson wanted to accomplish was a longer lasting enchantment that wouldn't disappear after a few strikes, as well as an enchantment that radiates the properties given in an attack, instead of keeping it in. That's the only way he could think of making functional magic-infused weapons, but that was easier said than done. Grayson began casting the spell Holy Armor on his mace, which held until he struck a surface with it and used the charge. At his current skill level, he could cast this spell seven times a day until what he called “spell fatigue” hit, in which he couldn’t use that specific spell anymore. He noted how the spell would affect the surface of his mace, creating a near-invisible barrier around the head, and how the charge would release after use. He went outside to strike a practice dummy, noting the damage left behind compared to strikes from an unenchanted strike. He also noted the ribbon that he used to bind the spell, a red ribbon with a single white stripe that held the spell in place, which was the way most Osterran ward magic worked. Perhaps he would need to look into the color theory of magic? Or maybe change the configuration of the stripe? Today, unlike days previous, he was hit with inspiration after thinking of Copperbeard and Sunbringer. He did not know of the specific runes used for the blade but perhaps he could mimic the idea, creating a rune of his own to bind the spell stronger than a simple ribbon. With a rune bound to the correct type of ribbon, the spell should theoretically keep. Many of his own holy magics were based on incantations, but if he could somehow channel his intent into a binding rune, it might work. After weeks of experimentation, Grayson felt that his goal was within reach. ~~~~~~~~~~ Hours later, after hitting spell fatigue for the Holy Armor spell, Grayson began filtering the debris from the cauldron, the concoction inside now a deep brown color. He poured the contents carefully into a large glass jug that he obtained from Foster, which made filling the smaller potion bottles much easier. He packed a small wooden crate with 14 of these potions, and added the spell scrolls in between each bottle. Lastly, he placed a sealed letter addressed to Sir Tanos within the twine bindings of the package, which would be delivered to the postmaster in Trinity tomorrow morning. Hopefully these help, Grayson thought as he looked down at the potions, because they’re not the best tasting. Grayson found a number of texts containing color theories on magic, and decided to use a blue ribbon as a binder for the rune that he created. One general consensus across these writings for the color blue was that it represented both healing and the throat chakra, the governing body for communication and conveying inner truth. He felt that since the magics here are incantation based, he would need to state his intent with strength and truth in order for the spell to work. He drew his new rune on the ribbon in black ink, a symmetrical symbol within a circle, and attached the ribbon to his mace. Grayson noted the time, stood over the table with a hand over his weapon, cleared his throat, and read his created incantation from his spellbook: “By the will of Altheda, Goddess of light and protection, I, the Cleric Grayson, using the magics that flow through this world and beyond, bless this weapon with the powers of the Goddess. With me as a conduit, I instill upon you the duty to remain righteous and unwavering in the face of overwhelming evil. May this weapon act as a beacon for all things holy and just, and vanquish the darkness of this world!” A light flashed from the weapon so bright that Grayson had to shield his eyes, then vanished as quickly as it came. Papers were blown away from the table by a slight gust of wind, and when he opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was the color of the rune. The black ink he used was now white, with a slight sheen as if made from silk. Excited, Grayson performed the spell Divine Holy on the mace, and almost cheered at his findings. The spell worked! He detected divine energy from the weapon, similar to the energies he sensed from the other holy weapons, with an emphasis on divine. “By Altheda…” he exhaled, eyes locked on his mace while leaning on the table. He gently picked up the mace, noticing that there was no obvious change in its weight. He swung it from left to right and again, noticed no changes. He sensed the energy it radiated, but because Grayson never wielded a holy relic himself, he wasn’t fully sure if anything would feel differently. He carried it gingerly outside to the practice dummy. He swung at the barrel-chested torso of the target. Upon impact, he noticed a slight flash where the mace head connected. Grayson observed that the impact point differed from the strikes he made earlier, now adding a slight tinge to the dents, as if the metal was burning hot. He carefully felt the mace head, which was cool to the touch. Grayson struck the target again, with the same flash occurring. He continued swinging, blow after blow, flash after flash, until he began to breathe heavily. Casting Divine Holy on the mace again, he was glad to see that the spell not only was still active, but also didn’t diminish in its power. Grayson went back inside and placed the mace back on the table. He then grabbed a sword that hung by his door, the same sword he used over a year ago to avenge the previous owners of this cabin. Placing it next to his mace on the table, he prepared another rune on another blue ribbon, tying it around the hilt of the sword. He read the incantation again, and with another flash the affixed rune changed from black to white. His Divine Holy spell now showed that two holy weapons were in front of him. With newfound determination, Grayson began to draw more runes on more ribbons, determined to find the limit to this spell. ~~~~~~~~~~ The sun started its descent in the western sky, and the air chilled around the cabin as Grayson began lighting his candles. On his table sat a comical pile of “holy weapons,” comical due to the “weapons” in question. His actual available weapons included his mace, sword, dagger, and hunting bow, while the other three included his walking stick, a fork, and a spoon. They were all outfitted with the same blue ribbon with glowing white sigil. Like his Holy Armor spell, Grayson concluded that he could bless seven weapons or objects at a time before spell fatigue, which would come in handy to arm his friends in the next battle against Ferdinand’s forces. Or, he had joked earlier, eating a demonic bowl of soup with a Blessed spoon. As he admired his success, he watched as one of the runes faded to black. Alarmed, he carefully picked up the ribbon, noticing that it was attached to his mace. He set it aside, and made a note of the time using his sundial. Nearly four hours, he thought while comparing the current time to the time of casting noted earlier. Not permanent, but a great start Grabbing his paper and quill, he began to write a letter to the realm, eager to share his findings with his fellow guild mates and Portal adventurers. As the runes on the other weapons began to fade, he was confident that his work for the past few weeks would save many in the realm, and bring Osterra one step closer to victory. ~~~~~~~~~~ (OOC) To the past readers of mine, I would like to say thank you for your continuing support! Based on my previous writings, I hope the switch from first-person to third-person point of view wasn’t too confusing. I felt it was a better feel for this story, as well as I am stuck on this style due to a current original project that I am working on. I’m also sorry that this wasn’t as “action-packed” as my previous entries, as I didn’t feel like it would be necessary for a magical research story. This came from an in-game worry I had for my friend Tanos (Chris), and the chance of corruption that he might face, as well as a celebration of sorts for learning the spell “Bless Weapon/Item” and reaching Tier 6 in my character’s progression. I’m excited to use this spell in-game, as well as helping defeat Ferdinand once and for all! And as always, thanks once again to Skip and all the game organizers for such an amazing game/world/story. I hope to continue in this world for many more years to come!

The birds began to stir as dawn was breaking over the tree line. I’ve had another restful sleep, thankfully, and was already watching the sunrise from the small table in my room. The breakfast that I have snuck downstairs to retrieve was all but gone, save for half a muffin and a piping hot cup of lemon ginger tea. I remained there until the sun peeked over the trees, enjoying the silence I had before the rustling of the other inn patrons exiting their rooms began. I left my dishes on the table, stuffing the remaining muffin in my mouth and finishing my tea, and left my room. Time for work. In the year following the last meeting of Osterra's major factions, I have settled in the small village of Trinity, south of the Cedar Hill capital and named after the nearby Trinity Lakes. Thanks to the efforts of Cedar Hill (formerly the faction known as Nova Regnus), this newly found village has become a thriving farming village, supplying food to nearby lands. It is partially the reason why I, an active member of Cedar Hill, have been living rent free in the inn this entire time. The other being my magic abilities, offering free services to all who ask. I received a letter at the inn late last night. It was from a farmer nearby, one of his cattle tipped over downhill and landed on him around midday, breaking his leg. He’s been bedridden since, but overall in good health. There was something more he wanted to talk about, mentioning that it may not be of importance, but still did not wish to disclose it in the letter. His farm was a fair distance away, no more than an hour by foot, so I decided to walk. - - - - - As I arrived at the property I was reminded of a farm that my party visited in March over a year ago. That mission (which I will not discuss here) is what led to Cedar Hill creating a foothold in the area. I hope the family that accommodated our stay there is doing well. I should visit them sometime, maybe bring more candy for the children. The farmer’s wife, Mabel, met me at the door to the main house, introduced me to their three children, all young boys ranging from ages 3 to 12, and led me upstairs to the bedridden husband. He introduced himself as Robbie, a hardy man in his late 40’s, who’s size suggested that he worked as a herdsman his entire life. In good spirits, he said “well I’d stand to greet you, but…you know”, and with a chuckle gestured in the direction of his legs. I smiled back. “No worries friend, you’ll have the chance yet.” Sitting on a stool to his right, I removed the blanket covering his legs and studied it. Broken tibia on his right side, but it seemed to be a clean break. Robbie explained that he and his wife were able to set the bone, but the bruising and pain remained. In time, it would have healed fine without me, but the spring is a fairly busy time for the local farms, and he needed to finish his work as soon as possible. “Let’s get you out and about,” I remarked. Holding my grimoire in my left hand, with my right placed gently on his bruised shin I recited my spell: “By the Will of Altheda, Goddess of Light and Healing, I, the Cleric Grayson, heal your broken leg.” The dim light faded from my hand. Confident in my success, I turned to face Robbie with a smile. “It is done, it may be stiff for a while, so if you do need to walk around, I would suggest using a cane for a day or two.” Without hesitation or regard to my suggestion, Robbie swung his legs to the side of the bed, gently stood up, and muttered to himself. “Amazing…” he whispered quietly. “Simply amazing,” he said aloud. Mabel disappeared from the room, then arrived moments later with a simple walking cane, which Robbie took and began walking around the bedroom with a giddy step. Smiling like a child, he exclaimed “absolutely amazing! I’m walking around like any other day, like it was never broken! And my knee! My bad knee isn’t acting up anymore, you didn’t have to do all that!” I chuckled at his reaction, stating “well my spells are usually localized to an entire limb, so that was just a bonus.” He laughed again.”I won’t complain, my leg hasn’t felt this good in years!" It was always a delight to see people's reactions to my magic. In the history of Osterra, magic was somewhat of an oddity, a myth that only began to reappear in this world recently. I have yet to see any other beings use magic, outside of my fellow portal travelers and the Necromancer Shagrash the Vile. It made me wonder sometimes if the locals of Osterra even had the ability to access this world’s ley line, or if it was a special privilege to those from other realms. Regardless, it was easy for me to win over the opinions of those who needed my service. The nature of my magic is to mend and defend, I would say, and never to harm. - - - - - Robbie proceeded to show me around his farm after having a small lunch, still giddy and grateful for my help. The large field expanded over hills of green and gold, outlined by simple fencing and a small patch of woods to the north and northwest. To the east, just outside of human sight, was the central and largest of the Trinity Lakes, with the village of Trinity just southwest of that. We swapped stories as we walked towards the center of the pasture. His stories were of friends and family, and mine were of friends and past adventures. I told him a bit of my home world, of my life before the portal, and in doing so made me remember the home I once had, and the friends I’ve left behind. Including Clara… I trailed off, pushing that horrible memory from my mind, and Robbie seemed to notice the new sadness in my face. We walked a few minutes in silence afterwards. He led me to a spot at the foot of a small hill. I helped him sit on the grass, handing him his cane after taking his place. The hill was missing a patch of grass, as if a large animal had recently slid down it. With a sigh, Robbie began his tale. “So, on to what I didn’t write in the message,” his former cheer now gone from his own voice and face. “This is the spot where my heifer rolled on top of me. Now, normally I would chalk it up to uneven ground or just a slip up on the girl’s part. This isn’t the smoothest hill, and it had rained fairly recently, so it's possible in any normal situation. I don’t know.” He gestured behind him. “But after she fell on me, I could have sworn I saw something, like a cloud of light, leaving behind the hill, just floating away. My wife insists that it was the sun, or a cloud hit by sunlight floating by. But as you can see, the sun looks to be above the farmhouse now. And it definitely ain’t moving like the light I saw.” “And it was around this time yesterday, correct?” I asked, remembering the details in his letter. “Yeah” he said, “almost to the hour.” I grew concerned, remembering my visit to the other farm over a year ago. The first night there we were greeted by many spirits in the form of floating, glowing mists. Though peaceful in nature, they led us to a crypt that was less so. It's too far from that crypt to be related, but too close in geography to be a coincidence. “Sit tight,” I told Robbie. “I’d like to check it out for myself.” I then started up the hill behind him. “Oh, ok. Well do be careful” he said, looking back at me with concern on his face. “I do have the occasional cow go missing near the woods to the north, so be careful of that. I’ll be sitting here for a bit, so holler if you need me.” - - - - - I waited at the top of the hill for almost an hour, scanning the north for any sign of movement. Cattle were spread in small groups around the fenced in property, grazing more in the open fields than in the shade of the trees. Curious. Robbie had left back to the main house, then accompanied by a few of his livestock, his “lady friends” he called them with another chuckle. The breeze was a nice change from the late spring heat, made even more humid thanks to the major lakes nearby. As I sat and watched over the field, I started reminiscing of my time here in Osterra. I remembered first coming through the portal with the orb in my possession. I remembered meeting my first travel companion Geth Kelemvor, then a friend and trusted ally, now a feared Necromancer with a tower in the Blasted Lands. I thought of meeting Sir Chronos McKragg and the Tharrosian Xoticas for the first time, explaining to Geth and I about the nature of portals and the significance of this world’s magic. I thought of the first Rites of Spring, fighting and losing to my friend Grisson in the tournament and the merriment of this first large-scale gathering of the portal travelers, followed by an attack of Orcs trying to disrupt a ritual led by the Sentinels. I thought of my first lessons with Meryn, who taught me how to access the ley lines and relearn the magical abilities I’ve lost. I thought of my friends in The Cast, fighting side by side with the great warriors Sir Tanos and Dima. I thought of my friend Imra, asking me to officially join the faction now known as Cedar Hill. I thought of the enemies I have faced: undead, plague victims, bandits, orcs, rat folk, Illithids, demons, minotaurs. Damn I hate minotaurs, I thought, even before coming to Osterra. I try not to think about that day, the day before I came through the portal. The last day in my home world... After the breeze left and the foliage of the trees were once again still, I spotted it: a shapeless mist of gray-gold reflecting the sunlight from the south. It moved along the tree line as if slowly floating in an invisible river, slightly bobbing to and fro. I began to walk towards it, remembering the other spirits from over a year back. The spirits of soldiers, long dead and disturbed by the Demon Orzalon’s corruption. I pulled my grimoire from its pouch, knowing that I may need to use it sooner or later. I was not yet sure of its intentions, but maybe I could try to converse with it. The spirit ceased its movement as I approached. I outstretched my right hand, clutching my grimoire in the left, and chanted: “By the Will of Altheda, Goddess of Light and Healing, I, the Cleric Grayson, use my power to reach into the Void so that you may have a voice. Speak to me!” As light from my hand flashed and pulsed, the spirit’s form rippled as if a light wind had passed through it. Then it was calm, but stil. “What is your name?” I asked, hand still outstretched. The spirit shifted slowly, bobbing from side to side. Finally, as if aware of its newfound voice, it replied in a soft, hollow voice. “I…have forgotten. I have wandered these woods for so long…” “What do you want?” I asked, voice more direct. This was the first time I’ve used this spell since relearning it here in Osterra, and I wanted to get as much information as possible before it failed. “I think I’m…stuck,” the spirit replied. "I can go no farther than the boundaries of these woods, and some of these fields…I tried to ask that nice farmer when he was close enough…but his cattle startled me…" That could explain how Robbie’s accident occurred. Maybe the heifer was more frightened of the spirit than the spirit was of her. “Where are you from?” I asked. “Here…I believe…” It paused for a moment, as if searching for the right words. “Can I show you the spot that pulls me?” The spirit sounded stressed, concerned over it’s lack of memories. I was hesitant, at first. In any other case, this would sound like a trap, perhaps the spirit leading me to another barrow of undead warriors. But in this instance, I could not sense any darkness from the spirit. Perhaps the location it is drawn to has something to do with why it remains here, and maybe I could help it pass on. “Alright,” I replied, securing my grimoire back in its pouch. “Lead on.” - - - - - The woods were cool in the late afternoon, not as dense as the forests south of The World’s Spine, but not nearly as large as a woodlot for proper lumber production, allowing for much of the breeze from the surrounding plains to pass through. The spirit kept to a well worn trail, passing around trees and other large obstacles that protruded in the path. Curious behavior for an incorporeal being, which had the ability to just pass through obstacles. The canopy gave way to a decent amount of sunlight, allowing me to see much of the open spaces between the trees, so I could tell that the spirit was not leading me astray. Again I let my mind wander to my friend Clara, about the last day in my realm. It used to keep me awake at night, often waking in a fright and being unable to fall back asleep. In the daytime, the same questions would haunt me. Had I done everything in my power to save her, or the rest of my adventuring party? Should I have been quicker? More powerful? How was my Mana drained to the point of me not noticing? Did I let my friend die? I’ve learned to keep myself busy in the days that followed, it helped to keep these thoughts further in the back of my mind. It is probably why I started offering my services for free, as a way to keep me distracted in the daytime and exhausted by the night. A selfless way to be selfish, I joke to myself now. But eventually the nightmares stopped, the persistent thoughts ceased, and I came to remember that I truly enjoy helping others. I also realized that if she were still with me, Clara would be proud of the man I have become. The path we took led us to a clearing on the northern side of the woods. In it, an abandoned house of stone and thatch sat next to a small brook, gabled roof caved in due to years of neglect. The dark stone walls held up over the years, and even the glass in the windows were unbroken. Other than the roof, the only damage seemed to be from the door, smashed inwards by some unknown force or assailant. The front windows were curtained, and it was too cluttered to see what the inside looked like due to the debris of the roof. With a little work, I thought to myself, it could be a quaint little home. Standing in the front of the house, I watched as the spirit floated around the right side towards the rear. I followed with my mace drawn, taking a wider path than the spirit had to avoid a possible ambush. I noticed more covered windows on the house, with a chimney in between. Again, in surprisingly good condition. When I came around the back, I noticed that the spirit had stopped in front of a grisly scene. There were three skeletons, all aged and dirty from the passage of time. One was against a tree on the opposite corner. Yellowed and sun bleached, the skeleton was pinned to a tree with arrows through the ribcage, a few more arrows lining the upper thighs. It was clothed in a battered green tunic with roughspun breeches. A rusted bastard sword laid across the roots underneath, leather wrapped handle accented with tarnished gold. The edges were dulled, but the fuller and the point were in surprisingly good shape. The other two skeletons told of an even worse fate. The largest of the three was knelt on the ground cradling a smaller skeleton, the size of a young child, in its arms. Both jaws were open, as if screaming. The blackened bones and dead grass around the scene told me that these two were burned alive. Lack of ashes or used kindling told me that this could have been done from an oil fire. Or magic. The spirit broke the silence. “I remember pieces of this...being pinned to this tree…” I looked at the skeleton on the tree. A warrior? Someone coming to the defense of the others? “Were these people you knew?” I asked. “Your family, or friends?” “I think they were...my family.” The misty form of the spirit seemed to shudder. “My family!” the spirit realized. “I came home from the market, and the orcs were here! My husband was on the floor, holding our son. I tried to sneak around the side, to rescue them, but the archers pinned me, made me watch, then-” The spirit stopped mid sentence. Quietly, it said “there’s a few still here.” Now in a slight panic, I brought my mace to the ready, grimoire now in hand. No movement from the woods, so I turned my attention to the house. Something stirred inside, movement in the house’s rear windows, which had been uncovered moments ago. The spirit moved quickly towards the tree where its body was. It hovered above the sword. Alone, and possibly outnumbered, I pointed the palms of my hands down, and to myself I chanted my ward spell. “By the Will of Altheda, Goddess of Light and Protection, I, the Cleric Grayson, Sanctify this Location, creating a barrier to ward off the dark and corrupted.” A ring of soft, white light, expanded outward from where I was standing with a soft breeze radiating from my feet. The ring stopped five feet away from me in every direction, half the size of its normal limit. Hopefully these are creatures of darkness, I thought to myself, for the ward won’t work on simple bandits. I put my grimoire back in my belt pouch, and kept my eyes on the outer corners of the house. Two Goblins rounded the right side of the house. They were stout, scrawny things with wisps of hair and bent ears, moss green skin specked with mud and covered with ragged bovine furs and leather. One goblin held a crude spear, the tip made from a large, sharpened stone. The other held a short dagger, steel lightly rusted as if looted weeks ago. Their eyes stayed on me as they came near. From the left came a large, gray-skinned Uruk’kia, an Orc seemingly made of solid muscle. His hair was braided into a ponytail, and his face was lined with piercings. He, too, wore shabby leathers and furs, but the arms were bare and covered with scars and tattoos. The Orc had no weapon drawn, but some kind of handle was visible over his right shoulder, held to his torso by a thick leather belt. He made no move for it, but slowly walked towards me. I stood in a defensive stance, mace now held in both hands. I tried to keep my attention on both groups, but soon I was evenly between them. I kept my mace pointed at the Orc, with my head constantly on a swivel. The Goblin’s spear was pointed towards me, and both were smiling wickedly. “Are you lost, human?” the large Orc said, arms out and slightly crouched in an intimidating stance. “It’s rare for dinner to come to me,” he continued, the Goblins chuckling behind me, “so what are you doing here?” “I came here,” I started, mace still trained on him, “to investigate the sightings of a spirit. My investigation led me here. Know anything about it?” “Yeah,” the Orc growled. “It used to keep me up at night with its damn crying. We’d chase it away for a few days, but the cursed thing keeps coming back.” He noticed the spirit hovering by the tree, about ten feet behind my left shoulder. “Looks like we have to do it again.” “Were you responsible for the death of these people?” I asked, voiced raised. He looked back at me, eyes squinting. “Maybe I was, maybe I wasn’t.” “Are there others of your kind?” “No,” the Orc replied. “They moved on to help move a caravan a few months past. I was tasked to remain here and wait for their return.” I hoped that the caravan he mentioned was the one we stopped a few months ago. According to Vidarr, a fellow member of Cedar Hill, there was a caravan of skeletons, tribesmen, and Orcs escorting a few carriages of troops and slaves to an unknown location north of here. That party was led by a powerful Orc Mage, someone who the Guild of the Black Sky seemed to know, which would explain why this Uruk’kia would be content with taking orders. In terms of structure, Uruk’kia were usually the ones in command over the green-skinned Orcs and Goblins, second only to powerful mages or demons. “I guess I can’t convince you to leave, then?” I asked. “No,” the Orc said, signaling the Goblins behind me with a nod. The Goblins rushed forward as I turned to face them. The one with the spear charged ahead on my left as I threw my mace at the other, connecting with its nose. The spear Goblin crashed into an invisible wall, face smashed against the Holy Ward I placed earlier. That spell acts as a Divine shield, keeping any creature corrupted by darkness out. Its spear, however, made it through, and while it was dazed from its impact, I yanked the spear from its grip, turned the blade, and thrusted it into the Goblins chest. As he spat up blood, I removed the stone blade and made a swipe at the other Goblin, still covering his face from the mace’s impact. Its stomach was sliced from hip to hip, and both Goblins fell to the floor. Spear still in hand, I turned to face the Orc. He roared, eyes going from me to the ground, now noticing the faint ring of light that was barely visible against the remaining sunlight. “Sorcery!” he roared again. “You will pay for your tricks!” Not giving him a chance to respond I charged at him, spear aimed for his chest. As I lunged forward, he dodged to the right and grabbed the spear as I had done earlier. Instead of snatching it from me, he used his brute strength to swing both the spear and myself out of the circle. I let go and fell to the floor, rolling a bit until jumping back to my feet. When I did, the Orc swung the flat of the spear slammed into my stomach, and with an upright swing the shaft connected with my lower jaw, sending me recoiling backwards. My back collided with a tree hard, eyes watering from the pain. Gasping for breath, I cast a simple healing spell to fix my jaw. The pain subsided from my face, but my stomach and back ached. The Orc laughed, tossing the spear well behind him and reached for the weapon secured to his back. He unsheathed a terrible dark sword, long and scarred from years of use. The great sword was single edged, and the unscarred parts of the blade was polished to a mirrored black. Defenseless, I looked from him to the grounds between us. A little ways from my right was my mace, laying behind the two dead Goblins. There was no way I’d be able to make it over there in time. All I had left was my dagger secured to my lower back, a laughable defense to the Orc before me. I had to try though. I began to push myself to my feet, still aware of the pain, when my hands brushed against something metallic. I quickly looked at it, then up. The spirit was there, hovering over the sword I had just bumped into. Looking at the tree that I collided with, I saw the pinned skeleton of the hero who tried to rescue their family. With newfound determination, I grabbed the sword and stood. It was heavier than my mace, but well balanced and comfortable in my hands. I swung it a few times, and with a flourish I took a defensive stance. “Good,” the Orc said, almost in a growl. “No better way than to die with a sword in your hand.” “Then you will die better than you deserve,” I responded coldly. I stood at the ready as he charged, my reflexes barely able to parry his barbaric swings. I knew he was fast when he caught my spear, but now it seemed like that was only a fraction of his strength. The Orc swung wildly, easily being able to return with a counter after his attack was blocked. Left, right, right again, up, lower left, he came from all directions. It took all I had just to defend myself, arms clenching in recoil while my back and ribs ached from his previous attack. I knew that I couldn’t hold him for much longer, and I knew that this could be the end for me. What could I do? After blocking another low swing I noticed something on the ground. The edge of my ward! Still active, the magical ring laid just behind me to my right. I knew what I had to do. I continued blocking his attacks, hoping that I could bait him into swinging at my left side. After a few more parries I saw it, the Orc adjusting his feet and readying a swing from his right, my left. I took a small jump backwards, over the edge of my ward, making him believe I was simply trying to dodge his attack. Eyes still focused on me, he took his swing. I blocked, realizing that the Orc still wasn’t close enough, so I took another step back. He moved his foot, planted it right in front of the ward’s edge, and brought his sword down in a forward swing. The Orc’s hands stopped right in front of his face with a whomp as he collided with my barrier. With a swift, well-aimed thrust I ran the tip of the sword through his heart, only stopping when the guard hit his chest. We locked eyes, me breathing heavily and the Uruk’kia still growling in anger. I adjusted my grip on the sword and began to turn it in his chest. The Orc roared in pain, now breathing heavily as his lung began to fill with blood. I pulled the sword out, and it fell to the ground, my arms too tired to continue holding it. The Orc dropped his sword between us, then dropped to his knees, gasping for breath. He looked up at me, still fuming with anger in his eyes as blood poured from his chest and back, and with a cough of blood and bile the Orc fell to his side. His breathing stopped soon afterwards. Exhaustion swept over me. I walked towards the center of my ward and took a knee, arms sore and ribs bruised. The sunlight was a still soft amber color, telling me that there was still plenty of daylight remaining. The breeze returned, as if it were holding its breath at the suspense of the moment. The skeletons remained undisturbed, thankfully, as I did not want to desecrate them any more than they have already been. I closed my eyes for a second... - - - - - My mind returned to Clara as I remembered the last time I had used a sword. Before I had even chosen the University of Altheda for my magical studies, Clara decided that she would be a famed warrior. As kids we would fight with whatever sticks we had available, and in our teenage years Clara was able to purchase two poorly made iron short swords. She took to the sword like a natural, and our friendly sparring sessions quickly turned into her instructing me on different forms of swordplay. I would sarcastically call her “teacher,” to her fury, and laughed even harder when she began to fuss about it. I never took these matches seriously, but she seemed to be ok with it. Shortly after I turned 14, my magic manifested at one of these “lessons” with an intense light emanating from my body. Instead of being upset or jealous, like the other children our age had been, Clara was genuinely happy for me. We hung out, sold one of the swords to purchase our favorite meals, and talked about which University I would choose. Before I even had my answer, she had said to me that “whatever University you choose to do, I know you’ll be making the right decision. You’re a natural at helping others, and you have a good heart.” We had fun the entire night, and in the morning she walked with me to the Capital to register as a magic user. It was because of what she had said the previous night that I decided to learn the Healing and Protection Ways of Altheda. She joined the militia to continue her swordsmanship training, becoming a knight soon after, and later became the famed warrior that she always dreamed of… - - - - - I opened my eyes, not realizing that I had fallen asleep. I was now laying on my back, still thinking about the dream I just had. A distant memory. Since coming here to Osterra, I had only thought of losing her, losing my way as a Cleric. Remembering Clara, remembering all the good times we had together, made me realize that she will never truly be gone. I will carry her with me, as well as all the new friends that I have made here, as long as I live. I sat up, noticing that my ward was still active. The sun was just about to set, the woods beginning to darken. The air was thick with moisture, telling me that it might rain soon. Remembering that I still needed to tend to the spirit, I forced my tired body to stand. The misty form of the spirit was hovering just outside the edge of my ward, now a pale blue from the available light. As I stood to face it, the spirit slowly moved towards me. As it crossed over the ring of soft light, the misty spirit transformed into a woman with dark hair and chiseled features on her face. Her skin was still the same pale-blue transparency that the mist had been, and she was wearing the exact tunic and breeches as the skeleton on the tree. Her eyes were colorless as she stared at me, but the rest of her face was smiling. “Thank you, Cleric, for avenging my family” said the spirit in her hollow voice. “I had sensed that the others responsible had been vanquished in the past,” she continued, turning her head slowly to the Uruk’kia, “and he was the last one.” “I’m glad I could help,” I told her. She looked back at me. “Before I leave to be with my family again, I want to ask. Why?” She placed a hand over her heart. “Why do this for me? For my family?” I didn’t have to think about my response. “That’s what I do, what I have always tried and wanted to do. Help others who cannot help themselves.” The spirit smiled. “You have a good heart, and my eternal thanks.” I smiled, humbled as I remembered the same words spoken by Clara long ago. She walked (or floated) past me to where her sword was laying. The spirit looked down, then looked at me. “It would make me rest easy if I knew that you would keep it.” “The sword?” I asked. “That,” she said. “And my home,” she continued, now turning to face me again. “Either keep it for yourself, or give it to a loving family. You decide.” “I...I will, thank you.” I nodded to her, overwhelmed by her gift. She nodded, and with a smile she vanished, like smoke carried away in the breeze… - - - - - Within the next few days I returned to the house with Robbie to bury the family. He told me that he vaguely knew of the property, telling me that his grandfather made many visits here when Robbie was younger. We moved the bones with great care to a clearing out of sight of the house, in a small clearing with small, white flowers. My friends Triss and Meryn from Cedar Hill had discovered a breed of flowers, these flowers, that only grow along ley lines. Along with other ingredients, the magical properties of this flower aided with a remedy to an Illithid’s mind control. Perhaps being on a ley line is how she came back as a spirit, I thought to myself. After burning the bodies of the Orc and Goblins, taking them even further from the property, Robbie and I returned to the house. It was a cozy design, a large horseshoe shaped main room separated into smaller sections by destroyed furniture and standing screens. The back half of the house was raised a few feet from the front, stairs lining elevated sections A walled off pantry was built in the middle of the back half, separating the kitchen area to the left and a small bedroom to the right. In the front half of the house, the remains of a small dining table was visible to the left of the door, while a child-sized bed was to the right. Curtains and cow leather covered the windows. We cleared out what we could of the destroyed roof, taking most of the afternoon. In doing so, Robbie discovered a small cache of treasures in a false step located by the bedrooms. It was a small, roughspun burlap bag of coins, precious gems, and various small bones, telling me that this may have been the loot from the creatures that once held up here. Robbie insisted that it was now mine by rights, but I turned it down. I offered it to him, but he came up with another solution. “How about,” he started, looking around at the poor condition of the house. “How about I buy the materials and labor to get this place to livable standards, then I keep what's left over. Deal?” I agreed to his terms, of course. A house on a ley line sounds useful for study and magic development. As we walked back to his homestead, I thought again of my friends, both new and old. The locals I have helped, my fellow portal travelers, and those still in my home realm will always have a place in my heart. It has been nearly 4 years since I came to Osterra, and I have made many friends since. In time, I hope to see them all again. But for now, there’s work to be done. - - - - - (OOC) I just wanted to give a special thanks to Skip, Don, Sarah, Skippy, Julie, Betsy, Ryan, Lucas, and all of my friends in LARP Adventures for creating a world full of adventure and magic for all to enjoy. Your creativity inspires others creativity, and I never thought of myself as a writer until you all gave me the tools to create my own stories. You have a lifelong fan, and I hope to continue exploring the worlds you create.

"Wait for me, just a second!" I called out to Geth. On our way out of town, I finally decided to go through with it. A week after the RItes of Spring I wrote a letter to Meryn, one of the Sentinels present at the orb ritual. I've been holding on to it since, but have been a bit too busy and to prideful to send it. But the events of the Rites keep dwelling on my mind, as well as what Geth has told me about the last Summer meeting. I've decided that its time I asked for help. I handed my letter and coin to the courier and left on another job. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ To Lady Meryn, Sentinel and Celestial Healer I hope this letter finds you in good health. I am the one known as Grayson, and I am requesting assistance in a personal matter. Since coming to this realm of Osterra last April I’ve been searching for a way to restore my magical abilities, to no avail. I’ve sought the help of the Tharrosian Xoticus, who has taught me of ley lines and a simple lighting spell, but the personal manifestation of magic still eludes me. Where I am from magic is channeled through the user from a higher power and not from the individual, which required years of personal study and dedication. I follow the teachings the Lady Altheda, Goddess of Light and Healing, and it was through her blessings that I was able to use magic. I’ve come to the conclusion that since entering this realm I’ve lost all connection to the Lady Altheda, and in turn my magic ability. It has been...frustrating, to be unable to perform the skills I've train years for, and I've had many sleepless nights thinking about it. I write to you not in prideful arrogance, but in the general concern for others. I was there at the Rites of Spring, one of the few warriors there protecting the ritual site from the orcs. It was good fortune that I did not leave my weapon in the tent. I helped to the best of my abilities as a warrior, but after seeing the orb ritual fail and after hearing my friend Grisson’s tragic story I wish I could do more. We have never met formally, only in passing, but I understand that you may be one of the main authorities to the healing magics of this world. I am asking to learn from you the ways of healing, and hopefully restoring my magic in the process. I am willing to pay for tutelage, either in coin or in service. I will be traveling around the country will my friend Geth, and I hope to see a reply from you soon. Regards, Grayson Cleric of Altheda  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(This is to explain my absence during the Summer War event) “How much farther?” I called to my companion, the necromancer Geth Kelemvor. “Oh, we’re close” he replied. “Very close…” For the past few days we’ve been tracking an Orc party through the southland, partially since we were paid to, but mainly due to curiosity. After the letter from the puzzle box was transcribed I made a copy for myself in my journal, to study on my own and ask the locals questions on it. So far, all parties asked were either unknowing or unwilling. Our only other option was to try to cooperate with some Orcs, which was impossible. This was when Geth had an idea, though not an orthodox one. “Why don’t we just catch a few and make them tell us?" It was soon after that we took the job. This particular group has been harassing a small village weekly for food, mainly at night, where they would sneak into granaries and butcher livestock, just to be gone by morning. The innkeeper didn't have much, but offered food and coin for their ears as proof of kill. Witnesses told us that there were five or six of them, and are not as clumsy as most Orcs. This held true, for we did not find a trace of them for the first few hours of our investigation. We decided the best strategy would be to lay a trap. The plan was to wait for them in the barn, and upon their entry villagers would close the doors on the orcs. The few hunters in the village would wait in the hayloft with their bows while Geth and I hid in the pens below, attacking simultaneously when the doors shut. Geth was skeptical of the plan, but I thought it would work. It would’ve, too, if one of the villagers at the door held in a sneeze. All six Orcs were right at the entrance, too, but spun and ran at the sudden noise. So Geth and I ran, too. That was a few nights ago. In their haste the Orcs abandoned their stealth for speed, giving us a nice trail to follow. We almost lost sight of them at a riverbed, but Geth’s eyes are good at a distance, and spotted them through a mess of bramble bushes. After three days on the run they were tired and hungry, so they started setting up camp, thinking they were safe in their thicket. They were not. (Violence and gore warning) At full speed, wielding his wicked bone and steel blade, Geth charged through the alcove's entrance towards the first Orc on the left. With a lunge his blade went through the Orc's gut, stopping as the guard hit the ribcage. While the other four were stunned at the surprise attack, I rushed the first one on the right, mace in hand. With a swift sideways blow, the flanges sent pieces of skull and gore into the brambles. The other three gained composure and attacked. Geth sidestepped a clumsy overhead swing of a sword, and shifted his own blade to his left hand. While the enemy’s sword was lowered, Geth quickly removed the Orc’s arm and kicked him into the thorny bushes. The thorns dug deeper as the Orc struggled. Geth then brought his sword up to block the next one’s strike. Trading blows and parries, Geth backed himself towards the fire pit in the middle of the clearing. The one I fought was big, a hulking mass of black and green muscle. Too slow to dodge, the Orc simply shrugged off many of my hits. With a quick step and a very careful aim I managed to swing for his wrist, making him drop his massive cleaver-axe and at least fracturing the bone. I made the mistake of swinging on his good side, and he caught my mace by the shaft. He snarled in triumph, thinking he had me. But I've fought bigger. So I pulled my dagger from the back of my belt and gave it to him, through the chin and into his brain. With a grunt and a wet gurgle, he was dead. I looked over at Geth, who was inching closer and closer to the pit. I ran behind the last Orc and shattered his knee from the side. When he howled in pain, Geth lifted the Orc's sword arm with his free hand, stabbed him in the chest, and threw him chest first into the fire. The smell was awful, but somewhat better than when he was alive. We both sheathed our weapons and pulled the armless Orc from the thorns, yelping like a dog the entire time. Forcing him on his knees, the Orc grew silent. “You Orcs certainly can run!” exclaimed Geth. “I wonder how fast you can run with no feet?” “Focus, Geth,” I said. Kneeling in front of the Orc, I asked “what do you know of Shagrash’s location?” The Orc chuckled. “So eager to die, humes? If you know that name, Death's all you’ll find.” “I am accustomed to Death, and in many cases its not permanent” the necromancer replied. “But yours, however…” he digs the tip of his sword slowly into the creature’s shoulder. “Ah, no! No no no no I don’t know anything, I swear I swear!” He cried. “Then what of his master, the one who wants the orbs?” I roared over his screams. “You’ll all die, filthy humes! The EverWar is coming and there’s no way to -“ “Useless!” cried Geth in anger, and with a swift movement beheaded their captive. Dammit, I thought to myself. There were other questions I wanted to ask, about their plans, about the magics of this realm, but even I could tell this Orc wasn’t the brightest of the lot. I sighed and stood up, looking over the scene. This group was too small, probably living on their own after splitting from a larger group. What now? I thought. I turned to Geth and said “let’s search the corpses, burn the rest of the bodies, collect the ears, and go collect our coin. There's nothing left here" Geth was just as annoyed. “Killed all five for nothing…” Wait…five? As soon as I turned towards the entrance of the alcove, I saw him. There he was, the sixth Orc, nocking an arrow and aiming towards Geth. “Move!” I shouted, and with a lunge pushed Geth out of the way. The arrow hit my right pec, and I fell to the ground. Geth recovered, realizing what had happened. “No you don’t!” He shouted at the Orc. “I’ll add your bones to my collection!” And gave chase to him. I felt a sick chill as I laid there, a chill I’ve only felt once before. It was poison, the same that was used in the ambush during the Rites. I tried my best to move, but it quickly became too difficult to.  No, not like this…I need to… I closed my eyes... — — — — —  Grayson…It’s not…your.. I shuddered awake, confused and bandaged around my chest. I was in a small room with only a single bed and a nightside table with a wash bin atop. I recognized it as the village inn. How'd I get here? Sitting up, I checked my bandages, but there was no sign of where the arrow struck. Odd, I know I was hit here... I scanned the room. To my right was a window, to my left a door. In the doorway was a cloaked figure. The cloak was trimmed with red, and they're face was covered with a mask made of a deer skull. Panicking I searched for a weapon, but all of my gear was out of reach. There was only a scrap of parchment on my lap. The cloaked figure started towards me. “Stay back!” I yelled, and to my surprise the figure stopped. "You just woke up?” asked the figure. “You didn’t even get a chance to read my note. Left it a week ago! Last time I leave a note...” Confused, I looked down at the piece of parchment. In neat letters, it said; Off to do some things. McKragg and company are meeting again, and I don’t feel like carrying you around like dead weight. If you live, stay put. If you die, I’ll still come back. You’ll still be useful - G I looked up from the note to see Geth, mask now removed. With a grin, Geth said “let me tell you what I’ve learned…"

(This is my perspective of the Rites of Spring) For what seemed to be the first time in this realm, I was happy. For the first half, at least. The Rites of Spring started without a hitch, with new friends and laughter throughout the camp. We ate, we drank, and we told tales of heroism and adventure throughout the entire night. It seemed that many of us that were invited here from Commander McKragg were also portal travelers, the term I started using for anyone not native to this realm. I’ve met so many people there, and reunited with some friend that I made months ago when I first arrived on this plane. It was here that I met Sir Gareyth, a holy Paladin whose religion near mirrored my own. We talked for a while of travels and beliefs and did question why I traveled with a Necromancer. I told him that I trusted Geth, which understandably gave Sir Gareyth some pause, but he left it for now. Afterwards, I let Geth know that he was already gaining attention at camp. He laughed. The second day started well enough. Woke up late, ate a hearty breakfast, then sparred before the official tournaments began. Friends Grisson and Kailos took to instructing the younger visitors for basic combat techniques, and I took turns sparring with them, Gets, the brothers Garron and Wade. I planned to enter all tournaments. I knew I wouldn’t win any, not with all these actual warriors around, but it was nice to show off some of the basic training I’ve had as a Cleric. I faired well in many of them, getting into the semi-finals in some, but no awards to me. I even got to shoot a bow for the first time, with Arion the Bard calling me a natural. Tis a useful skill, I may purchase a bow when I next have coin.  I was having fun, but it wasn’t meant to last. I found out about a demonic possession that happened earlier that day to my friend Grisson. After talking with him, we decided to seek Sir Gareyth’s council. I’ve grown to respect the man for his righteous beliefs and chivalrous demeanor, and I thought he could help him. Grisson shared a harrowing tale of his childhood, full of abuse and occultism, which I will not get into detail here. Sir Gareyth listened, and after a prayer was given he invited Grisson and I to become his squires, where he would teach us of his religion and ways. We both left to think on it, and to this day I do not know what Grisson decided. I was on the fence. Though I liked the idea of learning from a man to become a knight, those goals were never mine. I mainly wanted to gain my magic back, and to help as a proper healer again. Since being here I’ve felt less and less of a Cleric, which I claimed to be to all who asked. In my darker moments, I felt like a fraud. Later in the evening, during a light drizzle, a ritual was held by the Sentinels. The Sentinels are a group of magic users who have been tasked to discern the magical properties of the orb in their position. I was naturally curious about this, having an orb myself, and wondering what another one looked like. They placed a ward around the grove to protect us, and each of the four Sentinels had a protector. I nodded to my friends Sir Gareyth and Kailos, who were both protectors on the opposite side of the barrier. The others were Xoticus, who taught me of this world’s magics, and Sir Ceannric MacEoghn, a physically imposing man who earlier fought in the Champion’s tourney in fierce black armor. The only Sentinels that I have met during my time here were Arion the Bard and Magi Laya, the others were strangers to me. The attack happened quickly after the ritual. Orcs from the woods ambushed the onlookers while two of the Sentinels fainted from the ritual. Luckily I’d brought my mace, and turned to defend the others. We held them back, slaughtering the Orcs as they came. The Sentinels recovered, and they and their apprentices healed the wounded. I assisted with the destruction of the Orcs’ bodies while others went to find their camp in the woods. The large group returned with a chest containing many dark things, including orc relics, a magical heart, an entire skeleton, and a puzzle box which, after being solved, contained an encrypted message to the Orcs from some unknown person.  I was asked by Sir Gareyth to watch over the young interpreters while they decipher the letter. I guarded them for over an hour until they were completed, and the others were gathered for its reading. It seems that the leader of this band of Orcs, known by the name of Shagrash the Vile, was tasked by an unknown hand to reclaim the orb that the Winter Council has found, the one used during that night’s ritual and now missing. There were many arguments as to what the rest of the message meant, and the following morning we set off on our own paths.  I know not where my new companions went, but I wish them the best in their journeys. Hopefully I’ll see them during the summer. Geth and I packed our bags, and headed back east to find another way to restore our lost magics

(This takes place after the April Battle Day) Focus....focus..... A woman's face appears, smiling, sunlight behind her.... No....focus....focus.... The face is now bleeding, eyes now sunken, head resting on my lap..... F-focus...! "Grayson...it's not...your..." "Dammit!" I chucked the crystal I was holding across the room, and it bounced to the floor. Then I went downstairs to the bar. After coming through the portal and leaving McKragg's in April, life hasn't gotten any easier. I wondered from town to town, working odd jobs and tasks just to make enough money for a room and meal daily. With the extra money I bought a small fist-sized crystal, hoping I could use it as a focus for a simple light spell. I've learned of ley lines in this realm from Xoticus the Kind, an arcane tutor and follower of an entity of Tharros, an ancient god-eating being. I hoped that his teaching would be enough to get my magic back, so I've been practicing ever since. Every night for over a month. Every. Single. Night. He said I should focus, reach out with my mind and feelings, and I should be able to reach out and borrow power from it. I always feel it, but when I reach out I always lose focus, and I can't pull any power to use. I always think of Clara. My childhood friend that I let die in my arms. After much of the fogginess and memory loss following my travel through the portal, I still remember everything about her. The way we joked, the games we played as children, the silly competitions and bets we've made, the odds we always seemed to beat. The way she never gave up in the face of peril. The way she never shed a tear no matter how much pain she was in. The way she tried to comfort me after I let her die... "I could've brought her back, you know," said my strange travelling companion, Geth Kelemvor. "'Course, she'd be a bit...different," he finished while squinting, and making a shaking gesture with his hand, as if saying "eh." We finished our drink at the same time, and continued playing cards. I first met him wandering through the woods, soon after coming through the portal. It seems he was also from a portal, and was looking for someone. A few days following we came upon Commander Chronos McKragg's party and traveled with them for a while, until our paths led in opposite directions. We both decided on the same way, and we've been together since. To be honest, I haven't the slightest idea why we've stayed together so long. I don't know much about him, and every time we converse he's dodging answers and turning questions back onto me. But, sometimes you need someone to drink with. The only thing I truly know about him is that he was something like a necromancer, a powerful magic wielder who can raise and control the dead. He used to brag about it a lot more than he does now. Back in my realm (which for some reason I can't remember the name of currently) Necromancy was the Fifth University, and was seen as an opposite to mine. It was founded by Gomzhad, known in his time as "The Netherheart" for his sometimes cold demeanor and ferocity in battle. Back in those ancient times necromancy was seen as a valid practice of magic, assisting in the study of creature/racial anatomy and after-death soul research. It wasn't until a few hundred years ago that the teachings were abused by its practitioners, and in turn vilified and abolished. The old tower that housed the students in the capital city, nicknamed the "Hall of Sorrows," now lays charred and abandoned as a reminder of punishment for those who still want to practice. Geth didn't seem like the scholarly type, however. He made jokes, cackled when he laughed, dressed in all black, and carried a sword made from steel and bone. He was also very social with the others we've encountered, which came natural to him. We wouldn't spend every day together, as he would often disappear for days at a time and return smelling of fresh dirt and avoiding my questions. I eventually stopped asking. Leaving Geth at the bar after many hours of games and drinking, I returned to my bed. In a few days we'll begin traveling to the Rites of Spring, a tournament of arms and skill hosted by McKragg himself. It'll be nice to talk to people like me again, sane and having at least some knowledge of the portals. I'm still hesitant about letting them know about the artifact that brought me here, however. After coming through and losing my magic, the orb that I was sent to recover on my last mission lays dormant in the bottom of my travel bag, no longer having the illumination or hunger it once had. For now, I think, I'll keep it to myself.

In my land, there are five schools of magic, called the Universities. When magic manifests during the teen years, that child must pledge to a University or face persecution and imprisonment. For the first five years a student studies the manipulation of magic energy and the disciplines of their chosen school. One basic concept of magic that we learn is that magical energy (known as mana) is not infinite, and intense and dangerous training is necessary for a magic user to increase their pool of mana. I belong to the University of Altheda, named after the founder of healing and protection magic. In addition to spell shields and mending, we students known as Clerics go through a training regiment similar to a militia's. We wield maces instead of blades, and we wear a red article of clothing with white accessories. Clerics are the last line of defense, and we are trained to never fight with animosity or anger. And that is how I failed. A magical artifact from the Vaults was stolen by a powerful Conjurer, and my team was tasked to retrieve it. This was led by Clara Cornette, famed warrior and my dearest childhood friend. Our party chased the enemies east for weeks, all the way to the Frostface Mountains. We must've fell far behind, for there was a trap set that we fell right into. (Violence and gore warning) Ten there were, some with bows, some with spells, and some with blades. The arrows and spells came first killing Leif, our tracker, instantly. We through up our shields and marched forth, killing the archers and spellcasters. The fighters were taken care of just as quick, and we came upon the Conjurer, demanding the artifact. "Oh, do you mean this?" he yelled, and with a thrust to the sky the glowing orb that was stolen created a portal behind us, and charging from it at full speed was a Minotaur.  Clara and I dove out of the way, but its horn impaled two others. One man remained on its horn and the Minotaur ripped him off, separating shoulder from body. The other man fell off and continued to fight. I ran to the armless man and began mending his arm back together. I heard the carnage behind while I worked, and halfway though the mend the Minotaur tossed me aside and stomped on the man's head. So I ran to the next injured. Broken ribs, lower jaw unhinged. I set the jaw back in place fine, but the ribs were so shattered it took all my concentration just to find each shard of bone. Before I could heal the damage to his lungs, Clara shouted a warning, but the beast was on me again. The man with the injured lung rose with his sword to challenge it, but was swatted away easily by the Minotaur's backhand, snapping his neck in the strike. The beast turned to face me and tossed me again, this time into the face of a boulder, knocking me unconscious. All seven of our party was dead, save for Clara and myself. My mana was drained, and when I finally came to my senses I was too late. I found Clara lying in a pool of her blood, armor broken and punctured around her frame. It took everything I had left just to crawl to Clara.  I moved her head to my lap and I held her, unable to do anything. "It's injured," she said, speaking of the beast. "I took one of its hands, and cut it's legs pretty bad..." She turned her head towards a clearing that had a nearly solid red trail in the dirt leaving out location. I couldn't much focus on that, though, I was more worried about her state.  Mana gone, supplies nowhere to be found in the carnage, and the friend that I loved dying in my arms. I was useless. Her last words were "Grayson...it's not...your..." And she was no more. Then the rage crept in, giving me new found energy. I grabbed my mace and followed the beast's blood trail through the woods. I caught up with it and the Conjurer, and I lunged like a wild animal. I dodged it's first swing, and connected my mace head with it's knee, shattering it. After that I swung it upwards as hard as I could, connecting to it's jaw. The Minotaur huffed and headbutted me between it's horns, knocking me off my feet while dropping to it's good knee. It then charged a punch at me, but thankfully the beast was too dumb to realize that it was the handless arm. I place my mace in the path of his nub, gripping the handle with dear life, and the beast howled in pain when it connected, reeling back. I aimed a point on my mace, and I swung at the beast's neck, now eye level while on its knee. I connected, and went through the jugular. I swung again and again in the same spot, making the gash bigger and breaking the fingers of its good had when it tried to stop me. I stepped around it to face the Conjurer, letting it squirm and bleed to death. He was weakened himself to his own surprise, probably due to summoning the portal earlier. As I approached he drew a dagger, which I swatted away with my own hand. I heard him cry "mercy!" as I brought my mace upon his head. Over and over again, until nothing but shoulders and meat remained. And the I dropped to my knees, and cried. I remained at that very spot for what seemed like days, unmoving. I didn't want to go back, not alone, not after this failure. So I grabbed the orb, channeled what magic I had into it and summoned a portal. Where would I go? I wondered. Anywhere but here, I decided, and stepped through. And here I am.