Moonlight shines lightly across the surface of the river
and the various plants nearby. Few sounds disturb the night,
the running of the river, an owl hooting in the distance,
and a loud swear word followed quickly by a even louder
splash. Soon after that a collection of small bubbles
float down the river, new ones constantly replacing the ones
that pop. This collection of the bubbles, while floating
down river, slowly heads towards the shore, and soon something
begins emerging, drenching wet. After shaking itself
off for a small bit, it becomes evident that this creature is
actually a dwarf, a dark haired one, with a long, very wet beard,
and steel grey eyes, he is recognizable as the dwarf
Darragon, who seems to be muttering something about
falling outta the sky right into the river, and it being just his luck.

Unusual for him, the muttering does not go on for long, probably
because of the rather strange occasion of having a dagger quivering
]in a tree barely 3 inches from his face....his jaw
immediately drops. Another strikes the same tree, but even closer
this time, Darragon regains his composure and immediately
begins crashing through the underbrush and dives behind a nearby
dead tree, eyes scanning the forest with eyes that turn a tint
of yellow as a slight shadow overlaps him.

Before he spots the first perpetrator three daggers fly out of
different places in the brush, all striking the tree he is behind,
he swears loudly and dashes farther into the bush, making much
noise, and ending up with another set of 3 daggers landing in nearby
trees. Once again he dives, but this time he miscalculates the
distance to the tree, and rams head first into it, knocking him
nearly unconscious, but not quite. A minute passes, and then a
black cloaked something walks, no, it couldnt be defined as a
walk, it flowed to a point where it was standing over him, black
bladed sword in hand. As Darragon looks at the thing, just barely
noticing it, the creature swung the sword up into striking
position. Instinctively, he swings the hammer out of his cloak and
hits the creatures legs, it falls forward, but not all the way down,
hind legs hold it up barely (Darragon just now notices them),
but the thing is knocked off balance enough so Darragon moves out
from under the blade and back onto his feet, preparing yet
another morph. He never gets a chance, before he has even
had enough time to take one step the creature is on top of him, black
sword darkening the air as it swings, Darragons hammer coming
to block as many blows as possible, but many get through, and the
blood coming out of the wounds turns a strange black.

"Poison!" swears Darragon as he barely finds enough time to
dive underneath the creature, shadow of the jaguar overlapping him,
movements becoming twice as smooth in the process. A roar echoes
through the forest, and as he does so, his blood flow turns read
again, though he seems to still be in pain from the mere blows.

He goes on the offensive, leaping onto the things horse like back
and clawing, the shadow that overlaps him seems to bite as well.
Abruptly, he loses the shadow covering him, and as it happens the
weapon is knocked from his hand. He reaches into his well known
magical backpack for the most deadly, most feared weapon in achaea,
the CHAIR OF DARRAGON! (heh, I gotta get it in somewhere) Chair
breaking cracks through the forest, the creature looks dazed at
a sudden onslaught from an unknown weapon, Darr takes the advantage
to jump and grab his warhammer, and before the creature can react, it
crashes upon its skull, bones split, and the creature falls,
heavily. Before he can find out what it was, the cloak seems
to make the creature disappear, almost as though it was never there.

Darragon never saw the blade coming, it went through his stomach,
a most obviously mortal blow. As he turns, with blood filled
eyes he gazes on yet another pair of the creature he just had
defeated, teeth were bared and he did something that should not of
been possible for him yet, the wyvern overtook him. With speed and
grace he strikes out, all the while flame wells up within him.
After less than 10 sec. both creatures hurt desperately, he jumps into
the air. As soon as he clears the first level of trees, a blast of
white hot flame struck downwards like a spear. And then his morph
fails, and the final death came down on him, he fell to the ground,
and into darkness.

And from the darkness light flashed into existence, powerful
enough to blind any man, though Darragons eyes did not hurt, and
then fade to a regular long hallway, covered with two murals.
An unusual feeling spreads over Darragon, and he walks over to
actually touch one of the murals, but right as he about to he
jumps as a powerful voice echoes down the hall "No doing that
dwarf, you are to come down the hall." Muttering to himself
Darragon walks down the hall, scanning each wall as he goes,
wondering who was the artist and where they had found such a fine
cloth. At the end of the hall he comes upon a large set of double
doors that open as he walks through.

"Darragon, your time in the world you knew is over, it is time
for you to enter the next life. The set of doors that are behind
me lead to that world, enter and have fair journeys dwarf."

The doors open and Darragon begins to step through, and decides to
turn and ask a question "Mlord, who was it that killed me?"

His answer is "You probably never will know, others might, but
not you, you must live with that," Darragon again heads to the door,
but right before he enters he turns around and sends out one
final shout "Later all ye oafs out there!"

Penned by my hand on the 12th of Phaestian, in the year 205 AF.