[freudianslip]

---- Part 1: Outside the gates.

We gathered, all of us, at that ale-soaked, well-worn table. Strangely silent, for ones on so important a quest, we perhaps realized that idle words would lessen the gravity of our expedition, diluting the true vanguard of our mission with untoward levity. Despite our desire to begin our noble journey, it took most of the day to outfit ourself for the rigors ahead; squabbling over a few coppers with the local armorer, our meager wealth allowed us only the barest of necessities; a frayed doublet, a second-hand sword, a dented water canteen. Still, what we lacked in coin, we compensated for with enthusiasm. It was nearly twilight when we began our initial sojourn beyond the town's walls, a decision to wait until dawn foolishly swept away by our naivety. We have learned much since then, but you must remember, we were as ewes then, as pigs before the slaughter. Much has changed now.

We headed into the woods, captivated by the lushness around us; the trees, dripping, heavy with moisture from the recent rains; butterflies, seeking shelter from the approaching night, fire-bugs starting to appear, dabbling the sky with their glowing trails, as they lazily floated by, oblivious to the troubles in the land. I thought of their carefree buzzing, and wondered, not for the first time, if our intelligence really worked against us; their lives were short, but filled not with uncertainty, or injustice, or cruelty. Their lives were filled merely with seeking a brief sustenance, a place to rest, before the long cold blackness. Lost in my own thoughts, I hardly noticed our progress, as we left the town far behind, the blanket of night settling around us. Our company grew nervous, and the unease was only slightly alleviated when our wizard companion, Laysis, sought to cast a lighting spell to help dispel some of the darkness. Given its ineffectiveness due to his inexperience, Jackass remarked that the fireflies appeared to do a better job of lighting the land than did he; a remark met with nervous laughter from all, except Laysis. Had I noticed then, the rift that began to form between the two, I might have been able to intercede later, when our resolve crumbled against the weight of our enemy. Still, I throw the cart before the horse in these dark hours; there is much left to tell, and my eyes grow weary. Best to pen while I may, and save the ruminations for a later time, if fate permits me such a luxury. I have my doubts, after all that has happened. I have my doubts.

After many hours of wondering, we approached a windmill, seemingly out of place; a strange testament to mankind's irrepresible spirit, even in these seemingly irreproachable wild-lands. We were startled to find a young woman there, who introduced herself, and spoke of a bauble she had lost; begging its return. We worried for her, out alone in these lands, but she seemed content with her lot, so we left her, to explore the inside of the forgotten windmill. An unpleasant, mouldy odor assaulted us as we entered, and we were at awe that the ancient mechanisms still worked; the pulleys still seemed to function, spinning the mighty, worn blades of the mill around, providing power for noone, yet still grueling on, their task absolute, their purpose, lost in the dusty ground for decades now.

Jackass spied a ladder, leading down into a musty basement; though reluctant, we agreed to follow him down at his urgings. As we started down the ladder, though, the worn rails broke, and we tumbled down, collapsing to the ground below in a heap. Fortunately, no bones were broken, though we were all bruised and frightened. Nervously, we got to our feet, and began to examine the small area. Suddenly, a slight scratching was heard from a corner of the mill's basement; we all froze, hearts pounding, uncertain of what the origin of the noise. "Probably just rats", spoke Vasago. He strove hard to contain the nervous cracking in his voice, and almost succeeded. Jackass struck a match, and peered into the darkness; seeing nothing he turned toward the rest of us; "Well, friends? There's nothing down here but us and the mice. Let's get out of here before we die of fright, ok?" and laughed nervously. It was then that I caught a glimpse of our Whiskas priest, Yizzy, her eyes wide with terror, a thin rivulet of drool running down her cheek. Had I noticed her expression sooner, the outcome of that fateful night might have been different. But I did not, and our lives were forever changed in that one flickering moment of match-light.

I'm not sure what I heard first; the scream of Jackass, or the animal scream of the spider as it launched into our midst. Nevertheless, I will not forget the sound of the beast as it bore down on us; a guttural roar, a skittering, a clashing of fangs. I remember the sound of its mandibles tearing into Jackass, his terrified cry as the beast injected its poison. For several minutes, there was no sound but the clashing of sword, the hastily cast spells, the parrying of shields and the grunts of shock as the beast tore into us. The fight seemed to last for an hour, though in reality, and restrospect, it was probably less than a few minutes. When it fell, all we could do was stare; the giant, hairy beast, fully 3 feet in diameter, with legs adding another 4 feet to the total size of the beast; a monster, a mutant, a relic from a forgotten time, lying in a grisled heap before us. Everyone was shaken, bloodied, and frightened nearly beyond rational thought; the only one who was collected enough to do more than breathe heavily and gaze wide-eyed at the corpse was Vasago. Vasago stood, and approached Jackass, who lay in a crumpled heap, blood dripping from the hideous wounds inflicted by the spider. "Jackass.. Jackass?" he spoke, his voice a tremulous, hoarse whisper. When there came no response, the mighty Lizzord sat, cross-legged, on the ground, and gathered him in his arms, and held him to his breast. Slowly rocking back and forth, Vasago emitted an eerie keening, a lamentation for the dead, a mournful dirge to vlifiy the enemy and honor the fallen hero. I have seen much since that night, friends, accursed demons, horrific trolls, souls sacrificed to an evil darker than I thought possible. But that sight shall never leave me, the sight of that mighty warrior, holding the small, broken body of his friend in his huge arms, a single tear running down his cheek, as he vindicated the death of his companion with a song centuries old. It was then, I caught a glimpse of the sorrow we were headed for, of the incredible sacrifice we had yet to make, of the dreams we would lose in our quest for meaning and justice. In that moment I felt my innocence shatter, and flutter away into the night, as the butterflies sought shelter from the breaking of the night. I will never have that back, but perhaps, I can still exact vengeance from the foe that took it from me. I will never be whole again, but I will do what I must, with my small cadre of remaining, damaged friends, to set right the things that were set wrong so long ago. This is my hope, my courage, my grail.

I am closing the book for now, and I will try to drive these demons away for the rest of the night, for I need my sleep. Kerah willing, I shall write more tomorrow night. We have much to do, and so little strength left. Please, Kerah, lend us strength. Lend us strength. Lend us strength.

--Zohd's memoirs