A little fan-fiction

one of the things i like to do on a weekend from time to time is enjoy a little nostalgia by revisiting some of my characters’ past adventures. [yes, i know, i’m beyond help…] i ran across some notes i’d made for my bard, klee, who was going through proleric’s enigma isle series at the time, and thought i’d post them here.
It was at the bottom of the Well of Souls that I lost my singing voice. There were more undead there than I could count – literally hundreds of them ! My companions and I would be quickly drained of life were we to face them in battle, so we beat a hasty retreat before the horrors had noticed our presence. Taking stock, I realised that all I had to my credit, aside from the usual knick-knacks and baubles and my own now-ineffectual hymns, was a single scroll of ‘Protection from Evil’. But that was enough to give me an idea. I remembered seeing a parchment of a particularly puissant spell at a black market kiosk back in town. It was quite expensive – eleven THOUSAND gold pieces – but it would have to be paid, I realised ; there was no backing out ; after all, I had a plan ! I bit my lip and used the last of my reserves to buy it.

For some reason, having it there, crisp and firm and dry and real in my hand, did little to raise my confidence. There was risk, and then there was foolhardiness… I forced myself to grin, convincing myself that mine was a case of the former rather than the latter, and returned to face the darkness at the Well of Souls.

Once we arrived, I fixed each of my companions in turn with an earnest smile of reassurance before announcing that I would leave them there. They had grown dear to me, and I would not have them follow me into a darkness that meant almost certain death. I chanted my scroll of protection and descended into the blackened pit, alone.

The hundreds of wraiths, shadows, zombies, and other foul creatures spawned by the darkest of magics wasted no time swarming toward me ! It was all I could do to bolster my self-confidence against the urge to shrink back, to run from the long, serpentine strands of darkness even now racing my way to drain me completely of life and make me the +1 on their invitation to eternal damnation. Summoning forth my courage – and my best oratory form – I read to them from the scroll I’d bought in town – a short, colourful poem, called ‘Meteor Swarm’. The sky rent, the ground shook, and the foul fiends all perished in a huge blaze of glorious light ! All of them ! A magnificent spectacle and, I must say, a respectable rendition as well. Beaming from ear to ear, I climbed back up into the light and the arms of my companions, whom – every last one – I had kept safe from harm. ‘I did it !’ I announced with a flourish. ‘They are gone.’

My companions all sniggered and chortled, shaking their heads and chiding me variously with 'Yeah… ', ‘Well of course’ and ‘Hmph, you always take all the fun for yourself.’

I loved them dearly, I reminded myself – even if they were a bunch of thankless twats.


Just be glad you never encountered any of the tougher undead, such as liches. You would have lost more than your singing voice, then. :wink: