Part 4

The sun had just begun to set, and the birds near the coast were loud. The sandy bars eased the ship's landing. I disposed of the helmsman and fastened my armor. I mounted my horse, cut the lashes, and began to ride to Westbridge. My destination was a dark church, north of town. I had recited enough Mother's Embrace to know that I had been chosen. Jenova Cells had encountered me, and has burdened me with this strength. Bhaal, the Lord of Murder has touched me through these Cells and the Mother, the Father, and the Son need my abilities.

Part 3

I've never liked the sea. Never know where you are, hard to keep your footing. A bag of platinum coins bought a large cargo ship to sail across the Sea of Swords. A small crew and myself as the cargo; I brought a large bed and an armor rack. I also had my horse secured topside. We passed the two major land masses, Dark Continent and Paradise Island, over the course of a few nights. Once we reached the western coast, I ordered the ship be run aground south of New Thalos, near the eastern edge of the Sands of Sorrow. Some insubordination later and the last remaining crew member directed the ship as ordered.

Part II

From red to black, and now dim light. My eyes adjusted to the scene before me. All were dead. Everywhere lay torsos, arms, and legs. They were cloven clean through. There was no wailing. Silence. I felt it once again. The genuine pleasure of it. The pain! The pure bloodlust that it creates!  I looked around. I had certainly done this act. First I smiled, and then I roared at the carnage before me. My mind was a haze, and is now sharp and ready. At once, I realized where I must go. I clutched a healing scroll in my hand given to me by Krenaste. A quick recital and I started to move west, destined for Westbridge.

Part I

I am cutting men in half. I am slaying an army. Not many alongside me and plenty against us. I am The Forest That Wails. I am The Mountain That Burns. A ringing raises in my ears. Louder, the sounds of battle becoming background. My vision begins to fade red. Soon, everything is bright red. I cannot discern detail. It is as if the sun exploded in a fiery red death.

Final Far Wandering [2]

Roughly piled atop each other, the stones formed a simple pyramid. Eyeing it, the man found a spot to insert the stone, and strengthen the pile. He placed it close to the base, with great care. To the drow, it seemed as though he were loathe to see the pile fall apart. "Why do you do this?"

"For luck." he replied. "Not many make the trip. Not today. But I'm cautious - I'd like his help if I'm lost." She nodded, and looked up into the tree. She had planted it some four centuries ago.

At it's base she had buried the curled, grey-haired body of a half-orc who didn't know her. Some miles off, the dim lights of a logging camp could be seen. The young strider explained that this same tree would soon be logged, as had the rest of the forest. "They have new machines now, that take the trees down quickly."

The young strider looked up into the branches reverently, searching. But he saw nothing. After a brief prayer, he left, whistling, with the wind at his back - bound for parts unknown.

When he was safely gone, she pulled down a nearby branch, and examined the stems. Each terminated in a small green leaf, all but one. Replacing her leaf at the end of one stem, it fused there, and the silver lining its edge faded.

A wind pushed at the limbs then, and a rustling shurring surrounded her. Climbing up onto a branch, she rested against the trunk of the great tree, and rested her old bones. Before long the branches shook again with the wind, and a rustling worked its way down from the upper-most branches.

"How goes it, Laish?"

Leaning sideways against the trunk of the tree, the voice of her old friend echoed in her soul. She could see him, crouched down as was his way, his head cocked, eyes searching her.

"I'm tired Krog." She felt a sympathetic nod.

"Then rest for a while here, with me."

Her friend surveyed the land, and lingered in the direction of the camp.

"I can't stay here much longer, I don't think. It's time I go." Her heart sank.

Alone, without even the ghost of an old friend for comfort.. She nodded, and grinned, remembering her half-orc friend's vision of his afterlife, his eternal reward.

"I'll wander through every land unknown to men, places that no longer exist, and places that never will."

It made her glad to imagine her old friend cresting peaks, and looking down at some new discovery, his eyes young.

"Maybe you'd like to come with me?" She nodded sleepily, and a smile appeared on her thinning lips. "Let me rest first, Krog, then we'll go." He was always in a rush to get moving!

The trunk of the tree supported her, until her breathing stopped. A rush of wind crept through the tall grass, crouched up against the tree, sprang up into the branches, and then out into the cool night air.

Final Far Wandering [1]

NOTE: This appeared in August of 2002, as my vision of how Krog's story might end, and as a general musing of what happens to old adventurers who outlive their enemies, and their friends. This never 'happened' but it was fun to write.

.....

A doglike creature reared its head in the darkness, four tentacles dangling from just above its mouth. Lowering its head again, the tentacles dug back into the brain of the duergar dwarf's body. They writhed and slithered, trying to get further into the braincase. With a moist crunch, the small corpse's head shattered, and the brain slid out into the creature's waiting mouth.

Gobbling madly at the pale white flesh, it was soon joined by the rest of the pack, drawn psionically to the feast. All but one. The leader of the pack paced, its primitive but sensitive mind scanning for a hidden presence. Sensing a sentient being, it bounded off into the eternal darkness.

It followed the stray thought as a shark would follow a drop of blood.

The pack followed, splitting off through the honeycomb passageways, mentally linked to each other. Working in perfect unison, as one mind, they closed in on their prey. Broadcasting confusion, entrapment and hopelessness, their pack-mind spread out to encircle the newcomer.

A tall, thin figure raised a hand as the leader lept, feeder tentacles reaching.

Thick webbing enfolded the creature, and it fell to the floor.

The others paced at a distance. More webs sprang from an outstretched hand, filling the cavern. The figure walked off, leaving the pack trapped. Waving a hand non-chalantly at them, the ceiling of the cavern began descending.

Pulling her hood back, the drow wizardress watched the creatures race into the webs to escape. The ceiling continued to fall, until only their heads snapped at her from the narrow space left.

Cessarids," she muttered under her breath, as she watched the last of them perish. The illithid were becoming increasingly lax in their control of their hunting beasts. Her face was deeply lined. Once thick, luxurious white hair was now so thin that it floated about her in a frayed nimbus. The weight of six hundred winters weighed heavily upon her, but she was not hunch-backed, as some old women become. As the years had progressed, she had descended lower and lower into the warm earth, so that the heat could ease the growing pain in her joints.

Now, she ascended to the sunlit world again. To visit family.

.....

Under the stars she traveled. When her aging body failed her, her Art did not. Entering into The Weave, she felt the sensation of flower petals being drawn over her closed eyelids. It was impractical to travel so boldly in The Underdark, where it was all too possible to emerge into a wall of solid rock.

Instead she emerged into a green, moonlit field, hundreds of leagues away, and let out a great sigh. Reaching into her cloak, her sharp fingernail sliced at the hem of a hidden pocket.

Her hand withdrew a tiny green leaf, silvered at the edges, overladen with lost memories. Leaning heavily on her staff, she let the leaf guide her.

After a time, she became aware of another walking in the tall grass. A tall, lanky man, emerged from the dark greenery, his dagger held aloft in plain sight. "No harm to you, old mother." Scowling slightly, she returned, "And none to _you_, greenleaf." They walked together, but he eyed her suspiciously.

"Are you here for a blessing of good travel?" he asked. She shook her head. "Where are you headed?" she asked. The young man grinned, and it was a familiar grin. But not quite the same. He shrugged, and maintained his roguish smile.

"I've no idea. That's why I'm here. I'll follow the wind, most likely." A great bloom of leaves rose before them, like a dark-green dawn. The main trunk of the tree rose up like a column, and then branches exploded in every direction. As they approached, the young man reached down to the grass and pulled a stone from the ground.

Necessary

I have torn through countless villages. I have single-handed brought down militias. I have defeated armies. I have killed a king. All of this, terrible. I had never before stayed behind after a battle. I like home. It is easy, it is simple. I do not know why this time I remained camped with the army. I beared witness The One Who Endures, Lord on the Rack, the Crying God Ilmater manifested in a bleeding body. His wounds never closed. They simply drained the blood from his hairy body wearing only

a breechcloth. The Suffering -- the clergy of his faith -- took notice of this man. No matter their efforts, they could not stop his bleeding.

A few chanted spells of healing, others mixing herbs together to clot the blood. They started to amass. A man appeared on the hill. Those gathered started to speak of the Exalted Sufferer. This was the leader of their religion. Truly it was a sight to behold. The Exalted Sufferer descended to the bleeding man, and held out his hand. Though it obviously bore the bleeding man great pain, he stood and walked with the Exalted Sufferer. Horses were brought. The man was mounted, and had begun to wail in pain. They started to strike out at our army in camp. The bleeding man used his hands like shortswords. I took notice and secured my chainmail to the boiled leather underbody. The bleeding man was an efficient machine. No one noticed me while the bleeding man obliterated. I motioned for my squire to mount my fullplate mail. I grabbed my great helm, fastened it, and made for my horse. I rode away quickly. I knew this bleeding man would endure anything I could sustain against him.

As I left camp, a Sufferer waved for me to halt. I reached to my side and readied my greatsword. I meant to cut him down, but something stopped  me. I slowed my horse. "Haven't you heard?" he asked. "Ilmater has blessed us with his presence. His avatar defeats those who caused this suffering!" I had to ride on. This was Ilmater incarnated. He was there for me. My long time of service, of rape, of murder, of shame. I know now I must  repent for what I have done, so the Crying God may once again manifest himself.