Role

Chapter 10

Bazz's friend Lyeeth slipped something into his hand and whispered, "The
answer is 'star''. Laughing, Bazz held the item up and shouted,
"Star!'

"Point for Bazz!'

Looking around the common room of the Inn of the Eternal Star, Bazz was
filled with satisfaction. He was wrapped in the warmth of his fellows as they
played a good natured game. He was enjoying a fine dwarven ale. Nobody was
trying to kill him. He reveled in the feeling of peace. Laughing, he closed
his eyes to savor the moment...

...And the world slowly faded. Bazz first became aware of the chill of hard
stone where his back touched the uneven surface. His dream was already
slipping from memory, but he had the sense of it as a welcome relief from
other, earlier, nightmares.

His eyes still closed, he could make out the whisper of uneven breathing, and
the scrape of leather on stone nearby. The sounds echoed around him, before
settling again into silence.

Bazz half-opened one eye, only to be startled into full awareness by the
unexpected sight of a face looming close above his own. Where eyes should be
were deep pits of darkness, and a crooked dark smile seemed to grin at him
from half a face. Writhing snakes of shadow fell from around the creature's
head as if grasping towards Bazz. A mass of nothingness suspended below it.

"Oh, sorry. Didn't realize you were awake, Prophet.' The face pulled
back. With the flicker of a nearby lantern now able to reach it, the shadows
were driven away, and the creature regained the more comforting features of a
pure-bred elf. Dirt and mud covered its robe, which hung loosely about its
body. The robe was torn in places, revealing glimpses of a pure white shirt
that marked him as a member of the Darsylon healer's guild.

Bazz levered himself up onto his elbows and looked around.

He seemed to be in a small cavern. A lantern flickered near a pile of
equipment a few feet past his feet. Its light revealed glimpses of a rough
ceiling barely high enough to allow Bazz to stand if he were feeling well
enough, which he did not. Shadows danced across the cracks and bumps of the
ceiling's stone in an unnerving synchronized dance, leaving him with a
sickening feeling in his stomach. The nearby walls of the rest of the cavern
were no better, with the only passageway out of the chamber marked by a
gaping void of darkness beyond the pile of equipment.

The figure of a young dwarf lay to his right. His gleaming helm rested on the
stone floor above his head, but he was otherwise decked from neck to toe in
polished metal. One hand gripped the hilt of a sword that lay precariously on
his chest. The sword flickered dimly with light, but it was not enough to
banish the surrounding shadows. The blade was barely rising and falling with
each breath the dwarf took.

(continued in pt. 2)