This is the seventh and final part from a story I was writing a long, long time ago. It’s unfinished… I hate leaving things unfinished, even this from all those years ago. Oh, well. *SHRUG*
The material contains reference to copyrighted material owned by TSR and now Wizards of the Coast. Disclaimer, blah, blah, blah.
“Where to start, where to start. More appropriately, I suppose, is where to continue. Heh. Well, I guess we should continue from the beginning. Usually the best place. Let’s see, basically, there’s this Reality, which some call the Near, and all others, which some call the Far. Makes sense, doesn’t it? Now, this reality, as all do, contains an infinite number of Planes of Existence. What’s a Plane of Existence? Well, some call them Dimensions, some call them Planes, we can think of them as different universes, each of which have their own rules, their own laws, and are so varied and unlike each other that it’s impossible to even begin to describe them. Anyway, Creation is a Plane of Existence. This Plane, as many others in this reality do, began as a void, a vacuum. Then someone from the Far (another reality) named Cerin Falder, with his immense power, created what we now know as Creation. He created one system of two suns and two planets. One which is Holdrox, and the other which is Sentrolf. On Sentrolf, Cerin mimicked a world from this own reality, but on Holdrox, he decided to be creative. Hey! Wake up, there! This little bit of history is important! Anyway, on Holdrox, he created many things, races, continents, and the like. After hundreds of years of happiness and prosperity, evil creatures began appearing everywhere both on Holdrox and on Sentrolf. Puzzled, Cerin decided to investigate. After many years, he discovered that the source of these evil creatures was Creation itself. What? You still don’t understand? Hmph. I might as well be trying to explain the complexities of a Magic Missile spell to a rock.”
-Gortex Silenthands, Sage of the Far
Now that the battle was over, the party didn’t see any reason to stay together. Even Illent Des felt that they could accomplish no more together. Illent began the journey for more adventure with a wrenching headache. Questions plagued him. The whole battle became a blurred memory to him. None of the faces were clear, none of the names could be remembered. Finally, after an eternity of throbbing pain, Illent reached a small town, at the edge of a dark and gloomy forest. The headache seemed to get stronger with every step, so Illent headed to the tavern. Stumbling in the door, he was hardly aware of his surroundings. The stares from the patrons and from the serving wenches were invisible to him. He paid for his room and guzzled an ale, stumbled to his room, and crashed headlong on his cot. Sleep came slowly, not discerning itself from waking. Even the throbbing headache followed him into his dreams. Nightmares of hideous monsters, swords, insane parodies of his friends, and the body of that absent-minded elf, Cerin. He was there, in a room with the body. The stench was overpowering. It wasn’t just a stench of death, but of pure evil. He looked around the room but could find nothing. Looking down at the body again, there was something different, something wrong. The eyes were open. Dead, fiery eyes stared back at Illent Des, with a why, sarcastic smile. The body got up, groping for Illent. A scream tore through him, and he awoke. Drenched in sweat, he no longer craved sleep. Deciding to rise and get another ale, he turned to get up out of his cot.
“It’s about time you woke up.”