I knew the end was near. For good or bad, I had
come to the end of my journey. I grieved the loss of my friend Kyoujin, his body
broken by the denizens of this cold, dark place. I knew he would be all right,
the magic of the lifestone had captured his spirit, protecting him against true
death, but it was small consolation to me as I stood there over his body,
wondering how I could go on alone. This was my not my first attempt to unravel
the mysteries of this Lost City of Frore. During the last, I had come alone, and
had been thwarted by the locks of the City. The Gelidites took great pains in
preserving their privacy, in designing and constructing this place. I wandered,
cold and lost, for a long time before finally using my magic to escape the
darkness, planning to return again.
Return I did, this time accompanied by Kyoujin, an aspiring mage who also had
some skill with locks. Together, we sought to bring an end to the bitter winter
that blankets Dereth, not fully understanding the danger of this place, and the
power of the forces within. Together we fought against the undying guardians,
and won our way into the City. Deeper and deeper we ran, finally coming
face-to-face with Tremblant himself, now transformed into a hideous monster, his
dead body reanimated by some evil magic. Kyoujin was no match for him; Tremblant
had broken him, and had almost destroyed me as well, before I finally managed to
bring him down.
Now, as I stood before this doorway, the blistering heat from within was almost
welcome in this otherwise frigid place. I feared in my heart that I might suffer
the same fate as Tremblant, doomed forever to guard this dark place. I relived
in my mind the long journey that had brought me here: the quest for Tremblant's
party, seeking out the pieces of the mystic rune transcription, the warnings of
the translators, the long run to the Plateau. A sound from within roused me from
my thoughts. The Great Work, perhaps sensing my presence, had begun to stir. The
time had come for me to face this final challenge. As I opened the door, the
heat from within washing over me in waves, I sent a silent prayer to the Poet,
that my death might have meaning.