The Shadow with a triangular face and a single eye peered into the crypt, saw Betrando, and laid its four-fingered hands on the crypt's cool surface. Betrando woke at the touch, and the crypt became transparent; he woke though the touch had not been upon his body. His soul felt the shadowy pressure and he opened his eyes to see the shadow with its single eye staring in at him.
The serpentine shadow enfolded the crypt; it’s darkness flowed upwards through the earth’s surface to the broken city that was once Anderhol. Once breached, the Shadow bore the crypt to a place where the dry winds did not reach and prompted it to open.
Betrando tried to move, but with great difficulty as his body felt tense and stale from disuse. Memories rushed through his head of his past life, disorienting him until they eventually slowed and melted away into a background tone that was soon forgotten. The Shadow reached down a hand and touched Betrando’s naked, newly decaying flesh. Gently, but firmly, the shadow helped him to stand and gave him a robe, sandals, and a neck pouch that contained potions along with some rotten meat which must have once passed for food.
The Shadow then reached out its hand and offered it to Betrando. He, after many years sleeping in the depths of his crypt, accepted and took his first steps out into the new world.
The shadow bent low against the dry winds and began walking away.
Betrando, having no other choice, braced himself and followed…
…...High in the bloody sky, Deathwing circled.
Betrando said goodbye to the last customer of the day – an old gnomish lady with arthritis. She believed the herbs she was buying would relieve her of the pains built up from years of working at the linen shop. Betrando, knowing this rumor to be the latest fad of organic and herbalistic flim-flam that had been spreading throughout the local gypsy camps, tried his best to dissuade her even if he knew it was all for naught; the old lady was set on her purchase.
Betrando didn’t need the money he made at the store; he had saved a couple lifetimes amount while grinding his days away as a mercenary and the loot received from the great war. He had spent his years leading a focused and frugal life and now that he was nearing the end of this existence he just needed something to do with his time, so he purchased Frank Kovale’s Apothecary next to the Mage Tower in Hearthglen.
As Betrando closed and locked the door, he started looking forward to his supper time meal at home with his wife, Charleesa. She had always been so devoted to him; doing little things to make him happy. Tonight, she would have their meal specially delivered from one of the local establishments just for him. Though he would be happy with whatever she came up with, he hoped for his favorite – lamb pot-pie with Alterac Brandy in his favorite snifter. It would be a special night for them, as it would be their three-year anniversary of the day they first met.
"I don't understand very much of this. It's pretty damned frightening. To die, then to wake up . . . here. Like this."
The Shadow spoke in whispers. By the end you will understand everything, I promise you. "How did I die?" The Shadow put his hand over his mouth and shook his head. It didn’t say another word until they reached the destination.
The Valkyrie stood by the doorway next at the base of the mountain. Though not obscured by any foliage or coverings, the opening was not visible until just an arm’s length away. The adjacent Valkyrie was illuminated in gold, his features and edges indistinguishable in the glare it emanated.
The Shadow pointed to the door and voiced in a final whisper,
“This is your path” before disappearing into the wind.
The Valkyrie nodded.
Betrando stepped inside.
This was to be a fine retirement party. Even if most of the people here were only here to leach off of the free drinks, it was still nice to not be alone on this night as he didn’t have any close friends, just acquaintances. It seemed like everyone he had grown close to had died in some war or other – the ultimate reward for being a survivor.
“So, Betrando, what are you going to do with all that gold with have stashed away?” a stocky, clean-shaven dwarf barked out loud enough to get the attention of the entire bar. “…ya know Gordy’s daughter turned sixteen just last week.” The room erupted into laughter as Gordy shook his head and took another swill of his ale.
That was the night he met Charleesa. She was a barmaid that night; serving drinks and helping to entertain the drunken fools. She wasn’t too young, maybe half his age, with long brunette hair and curves that peaked his interest. He had never had time with women before; it was always work, responsibility, and honor with Betrando. “Just do the right thing” was his motto.
Two weeks later they were wed.