Role

Chapter 1

Darkness everywhere. Tangible. A chilly, slimy feeling surrounds her, as she
gropes and cautiously steps forward, wading through the thick blackness. Her
eyes are wide open, yet useless. Her tongue feels dry, but at the same time
feels covered with the murky darkness. A sharp, acrid taste causes her to
choke up some bile, whose taste is by comparison a relief. The ground
beneath her bare feet is solid, but cold and lifeless. Hollow whispers fill
the air, speaking words of doom and death, but their sentences overlap, making
any single cohesive sentence impossible to comprehend. Their themes, however,
are of a single nature.

A sharp wind blows, and Dinkertot braces her face as the shrieking wind increases
in power. When it subsides, she removes her hands from her face and winces as
her eyes adjust to daylight. She gazes down from the clouds upon the lands of
Thera, her vision somehow sharpened far beyond the clarity of a bird of prey.
An endless field of green and brown cover the landscape in the forms of valleys,
forests and mountains. The grey, crumbled stone of cities is barely visible
beneath the overgrown vines. All but a single city seem to have suffered
similar fates. The one which rises above the wilderness is a palace of shining
mithril and pearly white marble. Darsylon seems to be at peace, though the
usual mix of citizens is absent. Elves alone make up the city, and the few
moving specks of adventurers who wander outside the lone surviving city appear
to be elves as well. The elves live alone in harmony, but seem lifeless and
without purpose. Their faces all reveal a similar look of sorrow and regret.

The light of day begins to grow brighter and brighter, once again causing
Dinkertot to shield her eyes. This time she sees a village surrounded by legions
of pikes to the ends of which are attached skulls. She sees cities with
empty streets. Through the broken windows of homes, she spies people huddled
together in fear as roving warriors with blood-red eyes seem to strike to
strike out in madness at any living thing that moves. Commerce is gone.
Forests are silent, but for the cracking of dead sticks as the barbarians
march across the lands in a crazed, fanatical blood-rage.

Over and over, these visions and more appeared to Dinkertot as she slumbered.
When she finally awoke in a groggy stupor, her head pounding with pain, she
examined her unfamiliar surroundings with curiousity.

She was in a small, straw hut with barely enough room for two gnomes to move
about in. Strange fetishes adorned the ceiling and walls, and a small table
littered with various alchemical reagents and trinkets stood near the
doorway covered with string beads.

Without notice, a gray-haired head popped through the beads and with a shreak
of glee was shortly followed by the hunched frame of an old, gnomish hag.

"Ah! Wonderful! Wonderful! You're awake! It's been nearly a week. I thought
you might never wake. Ah, but my teas and potions haven't failed my yet, they
haven't. Except that one time. Oh, that was awful. Awful! But let's not dwell
on the past. Not when you're here, safe and sound, and likely starving half
to death. A strong little creature like you can't live on tea and soup forever.
You must be famished!"

Her mouth agape with shock, Dinkertot had no time