On the edge of Semperanca lies the small village of Pawford.  Pawford is an often overlooked village; Only having any real activity when Dalkoz enforcers come to collect taxes every month.  On this day however, two cloaked men, one large and bulky, with the other wearing a red tattered cloak, have come into town unexpectedly.  It was around dusk and the local tavern was filled with people resting up after a long day, when the two wanderers opened the door, smashing it against the wall.  It felt as though the whole realm went silent as these two walked from the door to the bar sitting down on a stool far away from everyone.  

A younger looking bartender came up to the two of them and said, “don’cha want to take off that cowl of yours, it’s hotter than a tark belly out there, and not to mention, it could make a man nervous ya know-”

“I’ll keep it on.  Give me a Fallen Four Pure and… what do you want?”  The red coated man peared at his large friend, it glared at him, and you could just see the red coated man grin.  “He wants a Mud Sap and make it a strong one.”

“What game are you playin’ here! He never said nothin’ and if your gonna play me for a fool I’ll-I’ll have to ask you to leave,” The bartender was clearly angry but he was trying to remain calm.

“Do you want my money or not!  Just give us our drinks and we’ll be on our way,”  The man's gravely voice was stern and commanding.

The bartender grumbled to himself, “Coming right up…”

The drink took longer than usual to make, but either way the Mud Sap and Fallen Four Pure was put in front of them.  The bartender was about to talk to them more, but the stranger lifted one finger at him and started to drink. He finished his drink, but the bartender noticed the large one was just staring at his.

“What's wrong big guy, don’t like what your friend here ordered?”  He turned towards the red cloaked man, “What about yours pal, nothing strange about it is there?”  He tried to hold in his laughter while talking to them.  

The cloaked figure coughed once and pulled a slug out from his mouth, “funny, real funny, did you learn this slug spell from a child?”

“Aww, you don’t like it?  That was my best work. You must just have bad taste.  Bad taste in drinks, bad taste in clothing style, and definitely a bad taste in friends, am I right?”  The cloaked figure stood up and splashed Mud Sap in his face.

The bartender swore loudly and leapt over the table to try and punch him in the face.  The red cloaked man swiftly dodged his punch, retaliating with a kick to the back of his leg.  The large one picked him up and restrained the bartender. The cloaked man looked at the bartender and said, “All I want is to get a drink and be on my way.  Why can’t anyone just leave me to my exile in peace?” The bartender struggled with the brute for a while till he suddenly stopped. He then shouted to everyone in the bar, “Well you heard him, let's show him a warm Pawford welcome!”  revealing the knife hidden in his sleeve, he slashed at his captor, slicing it’s arm clean off. If he wasn’t running off pure testosterone and rage the bartender may have noticed that there was no blood coming from his arm, or that the hand hit the ground so heavily that it couldn’t have been made of flesh.  The large man grabbed his severed arm and ran out side of the bar, along with several other peaceful patrons of the bar. All that was left was the bartender, and his tavern guards, a dwarf, and menacing orc blocking the cloaked man's exit.  

The cloaked man scanned the room and pointed toward the bartender saying, “let the others come first I want to enjoy our fight, and I don’t want to be interrupted by your brainless followers.”   The bartender was more than happy to not get his hands dirty, so he gestured to his men to fight him first. The orc came at the stranger with his spiked gauntlets. While he was running towards him the stranger removed his cloak, revealing his blue martial arts robes covered in rips and tears.  When the bartender saw his face, his demeanor changed from confidence to pure fear. The strangers hair was long black and parted to one side, and his face had one whited out eye, with the pupil replaced with a symbol of a skull surrounded by magic energy. The orc was too busy imagining the blood shed he would cause when he got to him to notice any of this and kept running at the stranger;  the blue robed man stuck out his hand, letting blue energy flow through his arm. When it reached him it started to freeze his entire body solid, making him harmlessly slide the rest of the distance. Trying to catch the skull eyed man by surprise, the dwarf ran behind him with his wooden club leaping into the air to knock him out. Before he could even reach him, the stranger lifted his other arm towards him and red energy flowed through it.  When the red energy reached his club it ignited into flames, burning the club and leaving the dwarfs hands burnt and scarred. He then turned towards the bartender; waving his hand behind him. It opened up the floor allowing the two grunts to sink into the ground, immobilizing them. “Can’t have them interfering can we?” He said with a toothy grin.

“Y-y-your Slanith, battle mage of Ithlum. You tried to stop Dalkoz from overtaking the realm!”

“Very observant, you got the name wrong but, was it the eye or the feeling of inevitable pain that gave it away?... let's finish this, or would you prefer to run away like a coward?”  The stranger cackled as he knew he wasn’t going to give him the option. The bartender ran for the door when the man said, “wrong choice!” before extending black, ghostly tendrils from his fingers, restraining him.  He picked him up off the ground and floated him over to the bar where he used his magic to embed him in one of the drinking kegs. All three of them squirmed and struggled to escape but the man irritably said to them, “Oh stop struggling. The ground will loosen by tomorrow.  By then I’ll be long gone... I would advise that you don’t follow me.” The man then walked to the bar stool to reclaim his cloak, and left the tavern to grab his large friend to leave Pawford. When he stepped out of the tavern, his friend was staring at his severed arm with a strong sense of mourning.  He comforted him saying it was just clay and could be easily fixed. He nodded understandingly and started to get up and leave the village, when an old looking man wearing some new technology called “spectacles,” looked straight at the pair with tears starting to form in his eyes.

“Slanith! Praise Leyor it’s you!” The man shouted

“Ha!  In my tongue Slanith means savior, and I am not that.  If you want me to give you a name… call me Malikar.”

“Pardon me if my Ithlum is poor, but doesn’t Malikar mean cursed or punished?”

“What of it?”

“Ah never mind.. Please come with me. It matters not what you call yourself now, but you WERE Slanith. You must tell me of what happened to my son… my dear Talsk.”

“It’s...it’s a long story. I will come with you, but the truth may be hard to hear.” He glances over at the large figure.

They arrived at the old man’s house, by then it was around midnight.  His house was oddly large, with the furniture being normal sized other than a giant chair in the living area, and a tall door leading to a bedroom with an equally large bed in sight.  They all sat down in the living area, the large one was going to sit in the large chair but the old man was giving him a scolding glare and decided to sit on the floor. Malikar started his story by saying, “It’s been a couple of years since we last spoke, so I'm going to assume you don’t fully remember our journey?” The old man nodded. “Well, Let's start from the beginning then...”  His story went something like this:  

About four years ago there was a group of renowned adventurers in the soon to be realm of Semperanca.  Their was the rogue Buru, the healer Graethia, the young but large barbarian Talsk, and the battle mage Slanith.  They were true and honorable heroes; never harming the defenceless or pursuing an unjust quest. They were never defeated and never backed down from a fight; Except for their attempt to stop Dalkoz.  Most people either forget or choose to forget, but Dalkoz was at one point the most hated wizard of all the realms. The brave adventurers were appointed the task of killing the wizard and stopping his plans of taking over the new realm.  

They ascended to his tower perfectly; Graethia kept them safe from harm and prepared for any unexpected battles, Buru disabled countless traps, Slanith used all manner of magic to keep evil at bay, and Talsk, the young yet formidable giant, could handle any manner of foe on top of his excellent tracking skills.  When they reached the tower they had to fight through every undead being imaginable until they reached the main summoning room. Buru went in first as a scout while the rest waited just outside the gated entrance. There was a long silence while the rest of the team impatiently waited; Until Buru let out a blood curdling scream.  Slanith tried to convince them to wait and think out a more strategic plan, but Graethia couldn’t leave her husband behind and ran in to see what happened. Talsk was too loyal to Slanith to disobey him, so he stayed behind to think of a plan.  

Talsk couldn’t stay back any longer when Graethia was heard crying out for help; there was no point hiding any more, so Slanith followed Talsk.  They both entered the room to see a strange circle in the center of the room bearing the symbol of a skull surrounded by magic energy. Inside the circle was Graethia, seemingly unconscious, and Buru, who had a deep cut along his stomach, tied up, and placed perfectly around the circle along with several other bodies.  At the front of the altar was an old looking elven man flipping through a book on necromancy. He spoke to Slanith and Talsk without looking away from his book, “Welcome, I hope you will enjoy watching your friends be sacrificed for the sake of creating, immortality!” Talsk couldn’t watch as his friends were in danger and recklessly charged for Dalkoz; Dalkoz shot a swarm of ghostly hands towards Talsk piercing through his chest, making him collapse to the ground.  Slanith ran to protect Talsk from further harm. With a mighty shout Dalkoz exclaimed, “Now immortality shall be mine!” The circle emitted blue energy and the people inside the circle screamed in pain as their very lives were sucked from their souls. Dalkoz laughed maniacally as his face started to age backwards making him look younger and younger. Slanith had no choice, he knew if he could interrupt the spell it would backfire on the caster. He left Talsk behind and ran towards the circle, leaping into the center and firing an energy blast breaking the circle. “Nooo!” Dalkoz shouted as he seemed to start aging again, but much more rapidly.  Slanith hit the ground hard and went unconscious.  

He next awoke chained to the wall with his friends in a pile next to him.  He looked around the room and thought it strange that it was so dark on his left side.  Out of the darkness came a decrepit creature wearing the robes Dalkoz was wearing. He faced Slanith and said, “Are you proud of yourself? I have become a lich, do you know the eternal pain of the souls inside me? They are clawing at me, clawing at my soul! You have made me like my undead subjects, and for your stupidity you have been blessed with the mark of necromancy, it was embedded in your eye!”  Slanith discovers this soon, but his left eye has granted him all the knowledge of necromancy including the ability to sense and track souls, living or dead. Unintentionally activating his new powers, Slanith’s eye started to glow and from the ground two skeletons arose restraining Dalkoz. Slanith didn’t understand it but he knew he had to get out of there while he could. He ignited flames in his hands melting the chains and went to rescue his friends.  He turned them over to see that Graethia and Buru were now withered bodies over a hundred years older than before; they were dead. Slanith saw Talsk was unaged, if badly injured, and decided to carry him away from that dreaded place. 

Talsk’s wounds were tremendous and Slanith couldn’t see him surviving a trip to a local healer.  Slanith was an expert in summoning magic and hoped his new found necromantic knowledge could save him.  Talsk awoke in an unfeeling body made of clay, but even then he mourned more for the friends he lost to Dalkoz.  From there things just got worse for them, Their hometown banished them for letting Dalkoz live. Then Dalkoz took over the new realm, naming it Semperanca or “no hope” in Ithlum.   From then on the two have wandered from town to town, trying not to stay long enough to let anyone discover who they were. Slanith took the whole situation the worst. Necromancy was a magic taboo, and most wizards consider it the most terrible thing to practice.  He changed from the happy kind wizard, to a dark violent wanderer all in one month.  

“Praise leyor! You-you are my son!” the old man cried.

“Yes father it's me, it's your little Talsk.”  His voice was unchanged by time and echoed through his clay body.

“Slanith, I beg of you-”

“Malikar,” Malikar corrected.

“Fine.  Malikar, I beg of you, you were given the mission of stopping Dalkoz and you always said you complete your missions no matter what.”

“Slanith said that! If you saw what I saw that day you would renounce your promises, your name, everything, just to get through the rest of your miserable life!... Talsk were leaving, we’ve already stayed long enough.” 

 The old man pleaded,“No my boy please stay with me, that monster will never find you I promise it.”

“I’m sorry father, I’ve made a promise to myself. This is my burden to bare and I can’t let you carry my pain and suffering.” 

Malikar and Talsk collected their things and left the home to find a man in a brown robe collecting coins from house to house.  “Tax collectors,” the old man grumbled, “they will be coming to the main hall soon to collect our farming tax, I don’t think we’ve collected enough for them.  You could help us, please, I want you to protect this town from the Dalkoz enforcers!”

“I’m sorry, I can’t.  Last time we tried to help two of our friends died and I was forced into a body of clay.  I can’t bare to stay here any longer. Let’s go Malikar.”

They started to leave town, but were blocked off by a large horse carriage full of gold coins.  The robed man was now at the town hall talking with the leader of the town; From the looks of it, the robed man did not liked what he heard based on his inaudible yelling and frantic pacing.  Malikar told Talsk to wait there as he was going to ask the Dalkoz enforcer to move the cart. As he got closer he could now hear the end of the conversation at town hall, “Do you not understand the service the great Dalkoz has done for you?!  He kept you safe, for a small donation of ten gold per house and half your crops. If you will not pay in food… then you will pay with death!” The man snapped his fingers and two black robed men took a stance in front of the town hall and started chanting.  From their chanting Malikar could feel the air get warmer and warmer; Not soon after the straw roofs of Pawford ignited, The town was going to be destroyed! Malikar looked in horror as the towns people ran back to their homes with buckets of water, but it was no use, magic fire is inextinguishable and can only be stopped by the original caster, or by a mage with stronger flame control.  Malikar couldn’t help them, his last attempt at “helping,” only ended in death, and the complete collapse of the new realm. He turned around to grab Talsk, they could find another way out of town. He walked back through town and heard the people beg and cry out for help. In Malikar’s head he kept thinking, “don’t help them, don’t help them. You’ll just make it worse.” He reached Talsk and the carriage and stopped,  and turned around to face the tax collector. 

He shouted to him, “Hey! You left your carriage in the street. Here, let me bring it to you!”  The ground started to shake as Malikar lifted the horse carriage into the air with his ghostly tendril spell.  With a mighty thrust, he threw the carriage all the way across Pawford, landing it right on top of the fire mages. Then he lifted his arms and a beam of energy came from Malikar’s chest passing through all of the homes in Pawford extinguishing the flames.  He proceeded to take one jump and vault right in front of the Brown robed man, knocking him to the ground. The robed man Shakily said, “You-you are the defiler of the great Dalkoz’s ways. Slanith the betrayer, Slanith the banished. I was told what to do if you ever dared to show your face!”  The man pulled a grey urn from his pocket and threw it behind Malikar. The urn shattered revealing a skull with a knight helmet inside. The skull shaked and rattled until another headless skeleton in metal armor rose from the ground, and picked up the head, attaching it to the rest of its spine.  Malikar remarked, “before I teach this undead monstrosity a lesson, it would be nice if someone in this town would figure out Slanith is dead and Malikar is behind the wheel!” Malikar activated his ghost tendrils to restrain the knight, but the hands passed right through the skeleton’s body; The knight must be immune to necromancy spells.  He decided his best option was a close range battle, so Malikar clapped his hands together and slowly spread them apart, creating a steel longsword between his palms. The two exchanged blows, with neither seeming to get an upper hand. “Buru would have really been helpful here-argh! I bet if I kept him distracted, someone would be able to strike him in the back, near the heart to be exact,” Malikar yelled, looking behind the skeleton knight. 

In the distance Talsk was running straight towards the knight, preparing to strike him in the heart.  unfortunately, right before Talsk could make contact, the knight knocked Malikar back and turned around to block Talsk’s strike.  The Skeletal knight then tried to stop any further fighting, so he held Talsk in front of him with a sword to his neck. The skeleton’s voice echoed as it aspoke when it said, “a clay golem’s life force resides within its chest, much like me.  To kill me... you must sacrifice your friend.” Malikar looked back and forth from the knight to Talsk thinking of what to do. He smiled, and suddenly Malikar charged towards them piercing them both in the chest, right where their hearts would be.  When he removed the sword Talsk stepped away from the knight and near Malikar.  

“You... stabbed us, how is the golem alive? You pierced its heart, our souls reside in the heart… My task is not complete. I must complete my-” It couldn’t finish its sentence since the knight fell apart and returned to dust, floating away in the wind. 

“If you must know, I moved Talsk’s soul to a separate location years ago.  The only way to kill him now is to completely destroy his clay body.” 

The two warriors walked towards the robed man, who was trying to crawl away from the fight and escape the wrath of Malikar.  They grabbed the man and pinned him to the nearby building saying, “Do you know what you did? You just brought back two of the most powerful warriors in all of Semperanca.  And we have decided this town is under our protection; They don’t need Dalkoz’s services anymore. Tell him that you are the reason ‘The Great Dalkoz,’ is going to be hunted down and relinquished of his power by Malikar the battle mage and Talsk the golem.”  The robed man nodded furiously and ran away from the Pawford in a fit of terror.  

The two decided to leave before any of the towns people wanted to thank them.  They have finally given up their four year exile from the world. Instead they will finish what they started and defeat Dalkoz the lich.  Their adventure may be wrought with strife and danger, but they owe it to Pawford, to Buru and Graethia, and to everyone else in Semperanca, to bring the realm to order and forever end the tyranny that Dalkoz has created.