|Dragon's ire is not what it used to be.|
I would not have thought a dragon would consent to being used as a diversion. They are proud creatures at the worst of times, whether deserved or not, and I cannot imagine it would be an easy thing for their pride to accept. Yet, that is what seems to have happened to us on the Isle of Enroth. We were paid a visit by Kalidrax, as a dracolich, and by his little human familiar, Anwar. We put paid to them easily enough, I suppose, though, for some reason, when Arilyn and I were squaring off against Kalidrax and his rider, it almost seemed for a moment as if that black arrow that hit her had killed her. Heavens know it should have, with the magic inscription it had etched into it. But I'm also curious about how Nyran...perhaps I'll ask them about it later.|
The real tragedy was back inside the temple of Ethrendor. The priests, acolytes, and attendants were all dead, and not in very pleasant ways. May Ethrendor take pity, and find them safely home. Even Roen was...gone.
Gone also was the mirror, right from under our noses. Judging from the sand we found, I would say the villains came to Enroth from the deserts of Curmeah. They might have come from the Kharse instead, but as I have heard from reliable sources that the entire land there is poison, I would imagine even the granules of sand would have some minor deleterious effect upon tasting; thus, it would seem to rule out the Kharse. It turns out to be some sick parody, perhaps, of our world, as the mirror finds it way to where we saw it. Finds its way, too, to the lands where we might well meet this world's answer to Jacques. Intuition tells me though, that our way home is tied to that mirror, so where it goes, we must follow.
|Associated Regions: Dark Mirror, Tel-Tenauril|
|From the journal of Islan Diemyn|
Contributor: Chris Schuettpelz