Digging through my old room at my parents' house, I found an old notebook with a journal-style story in it. I liked it enough to share it. I most liked the explicit flaw in the narrator's character, his racism.

*****

I was introduced to my companions in the afternoon in a tavern. They are two great barbarians, at first, second, and third glances. One a dwarf, and one a massive man, but in spirit they are near twins. Our employer is a mystery to us all--dressed as a noble but with the quiet air of the truly powerful, he gave us each a pouch of 50 gold coins to "take a test," as he puts it. We are to meet him at the base of the most infamous mountain known--the peak that is visible for days' travel in any direction and is spoken of rarely, and then in solemn company. This stranger's name, I must add, is Sithas.

That is a strange name to bear, for legends still speak of Sithas the Dark, Ironhearted Sithas, Sithas of the Claw, a wizard of incredible power but dead long ago. The stories in which he features all star heroes of equivalent fame--Talantan Silverstep, Johann Quenn, and Tark Notem--in opposition to his foul might. And whether the stories place the villain two centuries or two millenia ago, as they do both, his name is not forgotten, least of all to a storyteller and historian. I am wary, but I have accepted the job.

The best path to the mountain is along the river, so I took the rest of the evening tracking down a river pilot to take us north into the barbarian plains. I was interrupted but once, and that by that race synonymous with enemy, an elf. I almost struck him on the spot, but something stayed my hand. This elf, as most, looked princely and proud, smug in his superiority. He named himself Silvon, and my third traveling companion. I almost cannot bear having him near, but I refuse to strike him first. The satisfaction he would derive from my failing--for he has surely noticed my hatred as any child could--would unman me. So he shall deserve, personally, any blow he gets from me.

Apart from that unwanted visitor, the evening was uneventful. I found a river captain able and willing to take us upriver to Crossing from Parthan for a song - literally. I will be paying our way with my flute.

My companions and I gathered the next morning and boarded the vessel, the River Wind. The days were short and the nights grand, and three days passed quickly.

Crossing, named for its position at the forking of the Parthan River. In such a grand city I thought finding a captain willing to take us deep into the barbarian plains would be simple. But not a daring captain, nor one down on his luck and in sore need of pay. We bought simple passage to the next town upriver, Krodin. The captain, however, was a sot and his ship nearly a wreck, and we were overcharged.

Shortly after we left Crossing, one of the younger deckhands warned us to keep an eye open during the night, so we posted a guard. Danger came, although not from the directions we expected. A small band of of kobolds attacked us from shore, and while our offenses were little to us, they impressed the crew. We would have no trouble from them on the trip.

We were, however, entering dangerous territory. We only stayed a single night in Kradin, moored and on deck, before finally crossing into the barbarian lands. The risks we might be running into became readily apparent as the river narrowed and we came to a makeshift toll: a thick rope stretched from bank to bank. Two crudely-dressed men, possibly cousins of my companion Daelgoth, demanded an exorbitant toll in exchange for passage. They occupied but one bank, however, and the captain moved us to the other, where one of his crew disembarked to cut the rope. He was immediately ambushed by concealed collaborators with the tollmen. Combat ensued, where both my magic and my comrades' skills at arms came to good use. With the loss of but one crew member--due to his own incaution. With little mourning among captain and crew, we pushed on upriver.

We never made it to the barbarian village on that ship. Not long after the offensive barbarians lost out on their business proposition, a terrible thudding began to rise from beneath the keel. The ship, never a masterpiece, didn't take much before it was sinking. My companions and I dove for our lives, but had barely escaped to the shore when Daelgoth was grabbed by a surprisingly aggressive water reptile--I heard some of the crew screaming, "Gators!" and "Crocs!" so I am yet unsure what to call the beast. Whatever the name, they didn't let me escape unharmed. When I was grabbed and nearly pulled into the river, the dwarf came to my aid immediately, helping me to escape the creature. Though it was Silvon who killed it. As we retreated from the dangerous riverbank, a truly monstrous member of whatever species it was revealed itself. We didn't stay to see more.

After a careful amount of travel away from the river, we returned to the river as it is the best path to our destination.

The next day we spotted a group approaching us at an oblique to the river--Tarikk set us all down, hiding in the high plains grasses. As the strangers approached further, we realized their heads resembled some sort of feral beast, yet they walked upright and bore weapons. Never have I seen the like. And they fought with an incredible strength, when they found us and attacked. The battle was fierce but quick, my magic and my crossbow doing their fair shares. Though I wonder, is it fair to kill a creature who is not guilty of murder? Surely these creatures are killers, but there is no proof, and they didn't even fatally wound a one of us. I shall need to think on this more.

A thing of note: Silvon stripped one creature--the only one not wearing some dingy, piecemeal armor--of its rather filthy clothes, and I am not sure why. I don't trust him.

Soon later we came into a barbarian village--no more than fifty or so people, but a place to learn nonetheless. Not that the yokels knew much. After over a year in Parthan it seemed positively rustic. Two things: First, I learned that there is a very specific yet intangible boundary around the Tainted Forest--the un-living now inhabiting it cannot go very far away. Second, I followed Silvon to a hedge-wizard's hut, where the elf turned over the filthy clothes. The mage returned with a set of glowing armor. I remain suspicious.

Shortly before we left--so I suppose this is a third--a shell of a ship, burnt to a thin, black crust. The entire thing stank of death, but to all appearances was over a decade old. Since there was nothing on the ship, we left it and followed the river onward. Our passage was peaceful for only a short while--an ambush by Daelgoth's barbarian brethren was quickly dealt with, and the next day a commotion over a hill attracted our attention. We scaled the hill to discover an ogre leading a mob of goblins in combat against an extraordinarily large minotaur. I had not expected to see one of that seafaring race so far inland, but I was glad to know that if I entered this combat, it would be as an ally of his. The minotaur was guarding a wagon which was adorned with some strange goods and their explanations: two cowering gnomes. The battle, once joined, was quickly over. Tarikk found a magical stone cube on the oger which a gnome identified as an alarm stone, and I made my acquaintance with the minotaur, Cor the Mighty. A fitting name.

This reminds me of something that seemed trivial earlier. After Sithas left us in the tavern, a huge, silent minotaur gift us with a bag of unfinished jewels. It seemed insignificant then, but seeing Cor and knowing he was of great size for his race made me truly realize the other's enormousness, at least nine feet!

By now the desecrated outpost was on the horizon, a day's travel. It's fame should have shone with the sun, silver boughs and gay colors on the wind. Instead, it darkened the air and made the sun seem cold. My heart battled within me, in agony to see such beauty sullied and turned to darkness, yet I could not help but feel justice done to the elves of the outpost. My anger almost made me want to stay in that place, doing nothing but contemplating the turning of elven lands to that race's destruction. I could hardly contain my excitement at seeing the place that had so frightened the elven overseers of my youth.

Only one more encounter stood between us and my goal: two ogres eager for a battle. Silvon took them easily, to my disgust. Tarikk found an axe that I identified as magical before we moved on. At sunset, when we decided to camp we were at the edge of the twisted land.

The next morning, we entered the abandoned outpost. I don't know how Silvon felt, seeing elven magic and homes perverted so, but I can only hope he felt horror.

I know there was not a one of us who did not feel the evil of the place, nearly tangible in the shadowed woods. I could have lived there forever, if it would have shown me the secrets and weaknesses of the elves. As it is, I felt there was a thing I needed to do, something I must have from this place. The trees were darkened as if charred, yet whole and alive, not weakened. I needed a branch, and at my request Tarikk climbed a tree to cut one. He must have climbed nearly two hundred feet, quite a feat for one of the shorter races, and had disappeared from my sight among the limbs and mottled leaves before a branch crashed to the ground. I cut from it a section of good use--I will make of it a staff, as a symbol of my vengeance. I ow Tarikk a great deal--he has saved my life and eased my path through life with the gift of this bough. I made sure he knows it.

It was at this point that Silvon left us, with as little explanation as he first joined us. He gave Daelgoth the long and short swords that Silvon had used in combat, and to me he gave his amulet. I wanted to throw it back in his face and refuse his help. Instead I pocketed the magical gift. I would keep it but not use it, to flaunt him.

Shortly after Silvon's welcome disappearnce, my companions and I noticed something approaching in the overgrown underbrush of the outpost. We hid ourselves, that we might see without being seen, but we made enough noise to rouse the dead in doing so. Or I did, at least.

Though I had been expecting it since Kradin, I was still not prepared for the monstrosities that approached. Skeletons of humanoids, moving under their own power and with intent, it seemed, to harm us. My reflexively cast flash spell affected none of them, and the three of us resorted to melee--even I could see my crossbow would have little effect against bare bones.

The combat was short. Even though these may be the tortured souls and corpses of the elves who once dwelt here in their superiority, I feel even they deserve a release from this bondage into their final rest. Not even an elf deserves that.

Even as the last perversion fell, something more moved in the bushes. A man stepped out, though so gaunt I half-hefted my staff in defense, thinking him yet another skeleton.

This human introduced himself as Johanan, a follower of Wee Jas, and stated that an elf had led him to these woods before disappearing. I had an idea who this treacherous elf might be, and introduced myself and my companions. We agreed to travel together through the woods, and Tarikk set a furious pace, unsettled by the forest as he was.

It was not long before we heard something approaching us from off the path, and we suspected skeletons. Tarikk gestured furiously at me until I understood. He wanted the amulet that Silvon had given me. I handed it over, glad to be rid of it if the dwarf wanted it. He put it over his own neck moments before troops of the un-living burst from the undergrowth surrounding us. We started to draw our weapons in fear, but they soon had walked past us and deeper into the woods. The amulet was glowing almost contemptuously. I'll be damned before I take any help from an elf again.

Secure now in our relative safety, we pressed on, and Tarikk still held us to a strong pace.