22 Hammer, 1372

Dear Master Zorthaster,

Our trip to Ancient Netheril took an unexpected detour. Instead of stepping through to the height of the fallen kingdom, we found ourselves in the depths a tragic story of a fallen hero.

Exiting the gate we found ourselves seated in a theater, where a play was being developed. There were people working with pages of script, a partially constructed set, and a sense of desperate excitement. We recognized the face of one actor, the man we knew as Rodriguez. He was the strange fellow that introduced us to Shadowhold earlier in the year. Sitting beside us was a stranger. Leaning over to us, he whispered that we would have our chance to audition in a moment. Then he stormed onto the stage and railed dramatically about how "gray" the production was. Everything was gray and he was "all bleaked out!" He followed this by grabbing a bucket of paint from someone working on a partially completed set piece and wildly painted red all over the dark wool clothing worn by the actors. "Color!" He bellowed. "Color!" Flinging the bucket away, we were drenched in paint that seemed much more like blood than paint.

We immediately found ourselves in a huge, chaotic dressing room where we found Rodriguez. He explained that we had parts to play in the production. The story was about what happens centuries after a part of the book of the dead was stolen from the Dustmen, members of one of the factions from the planes. This was to be a small chapter of the Sin War Saga. There were innocents slain, petitioners disappearing, souls lost from their rightful places. Our part would be to travel to an island, confront the "Fisherman", and bring back the book. Our parts were as demonic pirates. He started handing out costumes.

Again the scene changed and we saw things from a third-person view. Far below, a huge shark swam on the surface of a sea of blood. Rapidly falling closer, we approached the shark to see that its body was hollowed out and filled with demons rowing it swiftly across the bloody sea. Our point of view shifted suddenly and we were in the boat. Each of us was a frightening demon pirate. I had a terrible evil face stitched into the skin of my chest. The thing spoke and acted like a familiar. Through it I learned several new spells. In my hand was a staff of power, a potent magical item to be sure. I recognized the others despite their fierce new forms. For some reason, Primula had not ended up in this tragic tale. Perhaps she had done something differently when she went through the portal, or perhaps the gate had begun to function oddly only after she had passed through safely. Master Wands was also absent. We could only hope that they had arrived safely at their destination.

The gruesome shark sped across the sea of blood until it came to an island. The rowers drove the carcass up onto the beach. Through the bloody surf, we leapt out of the boat and climbed up the beach out of the spray of the waves. Almost immediately we were attacked by a sand golem. I nearly perished as the construct blasted us with a cone of sand that abraded my skin and threatened to flay me alive. Oskar quickly healed me and cast shield other on us as soon as the golem had been destroyed.

Looking down the beach we spotted a shack or something. Xan was able to tell us that he could make out what appeared to be large demons devouring something. We set off in that direction. Along the way we discovered a tide pool filled with the naked, bloated bodies of what were once humans. Tubes ran from the bodies up the beach to the building ahead. We could hear the sounds of gluttonous feasting from the top of the dune. Cresting the dune we found three horrible monsters eating someone alive. The poor guy strapped to a table and helpless. The beasts were huge and powerful, but we succeeded in killing them. We could not save their victim however. He was too far gone by the time we reached him. As Oskar tried to heal the man, he grabbed the disguised paladin and croaked out the words "Beware the Fisherman, beware his goat, beware the keeper and his carrion coat." As the man died, there was an explosion of sorts beneath our feet and a giant skeletal tree sprung up, trapping the man's soul within the tree. From within this cage, the soul wailed and screamed at us.

Near the terrible feast was a fountain that spilled blood through a series of demonic claws. We speculated that drinking from this fountain would transform one into gluttonous undead creatures like the ones we had so recently defeated.

A trail led inland and we followed it and entered a forest of soul trees, each with a screaming soul trapped within. The screams seemed to affect everyone except Oskar to some degree. I know they unnerved me greatly. As we were hiking through the frightening forest of wailing souls, we were attacked by creatures that zoomed up and shook their evil looking faces at us. They were angular looking things and appeared to be covered in thin sheeting. They had deformed hands that were shaped like spears. There were several that harassed us until we killed them. Fortunately, no more arrived.

We finally approached the other side of the small island and found our goal. It was a gruesome sight. There was a pool of blood with several tall timber posts sticking up from the center. Strapped to each timber, tied upside down, was a trapped petitioner. We recognized Steddemann on one post. His head was nearly submerged in the blood so that any thrashing around resulted in him filling his nose and mouth with blood and choking. This caused ripples in the surface of the pool that began to choke the other victims also tied upside down and head first in the blood.

Nearby was a skeletal goat on a tether. Across the way stood a small shack, and near that, a dark archway that led to an underground chamber. Past the shack, standing in the surf, stood the Fisherman, casting a golden line far out into the waves with a long fishing pole. We watched for a while as the Fisherman caught a pale soul from the bloody sea and reeled it in. The soul tried jumping out of the sea to shake the loop, but it was caught too well. The Fisherman landed the soul gently and carried it carefully to a basket that rested on a cart nearby. He caressed the captured soul and appeared to be speaking soothingly to it all the while. Looking at the Fisherman carefully, it appeared that his cloak was actually a pair of shredded wings, their battered feathers torn and filthy.

Shane suggested that we wait until the fisherman captured a soul before we launched our attack. We planned to get the soul of Steddemann out of the pool and kill the goat before confronting the Fisherman. We hoped that he would refuse to release his catch before landing it. If we could deal with the other threats before engaging the Fisherman, we might have a better chance of succeeding in our mission.

Shane's suggestion was brilliant, and as the Fisherman began to reel in another soul, we attacked. Our observations failed to discern that the goat was not truly tethered. What we took for a tether was the goat's intestines that were strewn all around the pool. Kerith and Shane were entangled and pulled into the pool by the animated intestines as soon as they got too near. I tried to disintegrate the goat, but it was able to shake off the worst of the spell's effects. With every spell I cast, blood, appearing from nowhere, covered my hands. The blood made it difficult to manipulate material components and grip the staff, but I persisted.

Crawling claws began to pour from the dark archway and assemble themselves into a claw golem. I used firebrand to try to scatter and destroy them. It was only partially successful. Meanwhile, a blood golem rose out of the choking pool and tried to attack Shane and Kerith. A wall of force temporarily confused it. Oskar and Xan were busy with the goat and the blood golem. I was able to get a fireball off that damaged the golem and it soon collapsed into a heap of claws. It was not defeated though, and swarmed Oskar. He brandished a strangely transformed holy symbol and the claws shriveled and dissolved from the power of Moradin.

Back in the pool, the others had gotten Steddemann out of the bloody place of torture. Again, we were unable to help him. His soul screamed in agony and transformed into one of the terrible cage trees. His agonized screams joined thousands of others in the wailing forest.

All the while, the Fisherman hauled in the soul on the end of his fishing line. Once it was landed he turned his attention on us fully. We tried to communicate with him and convince him that what he was doing was wrong. His response confirmed our suspicions that he was a fallen celestial. He had stolen a book that listed innocents killed in the blood wars and he was convinced that he was saving them here. He had created his own private hell here because he could not come to grips with the lost innocent lives that resulted from the war. Our negotiations were going poorly until Xan threatened one of the souls on a post in the choking pool. He surrendered and allowed us to speak with him at length. We tried talking him out of continuing his labors. It was no use. We did learn that some powerful thing of which the Fisherman (whose name we learned was Pharael) was very much afraid could be found in the place beyond the dark archway.

We left the broken tragic figure where he was and investigated the arch. Stairs led down to an underground chamber. Here we found a huge statue of the Goddess Kali with blood pouring from her hands and eyes. Behind us we could hear the trickle of running water. To the side was another room where a large book lay open on a pedestal. A dark red veil of something barred the way into the room to the side. An inscription at the base of the statue read "As I know her" and was signed by Pharael. Approaching the statue, we each heard a voice that spoke to us about the path of heroes and the price of heroism. It spoke of the innocent lives that would be lost because of the actions of heroes and those that would be lost if the heroes did not act. It was both inspiring and sobering at the same time. It concluded with the urging to stay on the heroic path and not fall victim to despair. We were told to step forward and forgive ourselves for the lives of the innocents we may have failed in some way. If we fell to the despair, we risked the same fate as Pharael. If we strayed from the heroic path we risked letting evil win the day.

Looking back up the stairs I saw that Pharael was crouching at the top, watching and listening. I hope he was understanding some part of what we heard. The tragedy of the whole story was that salvation, in the form of self forgiveness, was within Pharael's reach if only he could bring himself to grasp it. There was nothing that any of us could do for him now. Each of us, on our own, had to deal with the darkness inside ourselves. Each of us in turn stepped forward to forgive himself. I thought about the youngsters at the Giant's Throne. I remembered the burned out farmsteads between Shadowhold and Daggerfalls. Then I recalled the laughter and cheering voices of the people in Daggerfalls when the seige of Korgul the Reaver had been broken and his army routed. I vowed to forgive myself and remember all the innocents, both the ones we lost and the ones we saved. Behind us, cascading from the wall was a fountain of clean, pure water. It washed all the blood from our hands and bodies. When we emerged from the fountain's alcove, Rodriguez awaited. He applauded our performance and told us that the final scene lay ahead. He pointed to the room with the great book. The barrier seemed almost insubstantial now and we walked right through. With some hesitation, I touched the book as the others before me had. We were instantly transported away.

We found ourselves amongst the smell of smoke and the dead. The thrum of spell energy lay heavy in the air. General Pharael was there looking powerful and glorious, his wings gleaming, his eyes alight. There were archons with him. One had tears in his eyes. There was a conflict of some sort between the general and his commander. It involved the lives of innocents. The general commanded another to take a teary-eyed archon away in chains and to begin the attack.

In the next moment we heard the voice of Malcom, director of the play once more. "Red is good, right?" he asked.

We did not have a chance to reply as we found ourselves standing naked in front of Master Wands and Primula. They were dressed in simple smocks. Confusion and surprise were likely written on our faces. Primula must have attributed it to portal shock and said nothing but pointed at a small pile of smocks. Numbly, my head still awhirl, I put one on.

Sincerely,

Cedar