We stood together, brothers of the Mages Guild and the hordes of evil came from the hidden places within the keep. Morganlee firing his bow and Usher swinging his noble staff, and myself, Arathorn, using small bursts of lightning.
   It was a time of pain. An orc arrow ripped through my arm. All of us suffered from the attacks of our foes. But 'twas a good day. A day of victories. For 'twas our foes who met the final end.
   We smiled and the pain was gone. There was gold and weapons aplenty to sell at the market. Oh, we know there will be days a coming in which our blood will paint the ground. When we will seek knowledge of our craft in places that death demands his payment.
   But the cider is sweet and the gold buys pleasure and the robes of our guild fit a little better. We stand and know the joys of a well fought victory!
Arathorn


THE staff, his staff, seemed to pulse with the power of magic.
   A troll elder had invaded the city. The brave, the foolhardy, the just and the proud stood against this great foe... Its claws as tough as steel itself and its massive power so fully unrestrained. For many, it was a good day to die.
   Brave Morganlee stood his ground with a long sword taken from the orcs, as I, the Elvish Sorcerer Arathorn did summon bursts of lightning to throw against our foe. I watched as my friend Morganlee died. I knew the taste of fear, and hated it worse than death. Others charged in to the city's defense, but the elder troll defeated foe after foe, moving deeper into the sleeping city. Destruction roared and our hearts responded with strength.
   The faces of so many friends came to mind, as like a machine I prepared and fired bolt after bolt of the small lightning charges. Morganlee, who along with brave usher, had shared the early journey with me in that proving ground of wounded beasts and magical gold.
   Each time the elder troll advanced I retreated, using the chaos of war to prepare and fire again. I remembered Seal, who is wise with inner strength, Mule with his stories and cheerful company, noble Ultimatewarrior who fought with me across a new uncharted wilderness filled with spiders and lurking death. So many faces, so many names. Magik the dedicated healer, Silverassassin a worthy companion, Ugh or was it Uhg, who shared some brew with
me in death's own domain....
   The Elder troll died. the city slept. The blood of its heroes flowing into its dark sewers, as a gentle rain came to wash clean again this city. This living dream....
   I lived... But I now carry a wound, a terrible wound. A pain that took me back to the Lands of Elvish Lords, far from the eyes of men, where those of the high craft practice the art of healing wounds to one's soul. Yet, as I made the journey, part of me warned of a growing sadness. and in truth the portal is now closed and tightly barred, and I see no way of opening it again.
   For a time I will mediate on this quest. But in time I expect I will travel to other portals, leading to other worlds. No one knows what the future holds, so I shall rest, and dream and think of so many friends. Yet time passes, as in all things within the short lives of men, and with the ticking of the clock memories fade, names are forgotten and dreams are lost to oblivion.
   Dream well mages! Be happy and of good cheer!