My memory of the several deaths in Carver's Outpost is like a antique scarf, moth bitten and riddled with holes. I awoke laying in one of the village streets, my smarting cheek pressed to a muddy rut. I hurt all over but that couldn't explain why some demon picked up my crumbled body and carried me away. I couldn't fend him off.

At least at first I believed it was some infernal henchman whom bore me hence, for the creature's face was a conglomerate of black and red flesh and his eyes were a bestial yellow. He took me directly to Warrick however, laying me down alongside what appeared to be a dead body. So who was he? What.. was he?

The Necromancer was a sight for sore eyes. Golden. Beautiful. Unpeterbed in the light of death and dismemberment. It couldn't be more than obvious why he was here, in Carver's Outpost. For me. For me. I think I love that man. I know I want to love him.. I wonder if he will allow me to.

I will defend my failure to ask him this pertinent question for he recited a smattering of his foreign tongue, breathing out a rhymthic chant and the next summit in my consciousness was a swirling darkness, broken only by a never-ending snarl.

[0 petals fell]