"Nothing like the old days, eh?" my brother asked.

"No, it's rather pathetic, but at least we haven't been decimated enough that we forgot what makes us who we are," I replied.

As I reached for my goblet, Marrowfiend starts fidgeting with his solid onyx panther medallion, looks away, and asks softly, "So where does your life's path lead you, Erzzuul?" In a flash my mind races back across the years and across the pain to a time that I'll never forget nor forgive. . . .

I had just passed my 16th turn of the seasons and I was coming of age to decide my place in the pack. My father Malawar was a fighter and hunter. While not as hulking as the Gor'Togs we have met, his frame consisted of corded muscles as solid as the best forged chains. He had a single mindedness that often bordered on near lunacy when it came to battle. His hopes for a son that could someday wield his giant mace and replace him as a pack defender were dashed when it was realized that I would never attain the level of strength he had. I spent more time looking toward the heavens to find peace than trying to bash it out of an opponent or the wild beasts that sometimes prayed on our community. So it was that the tribal elders decided that I was to be a Seer, or an advisor to the pack. Life was neither good nor bad at this point. We had enough to eat and we didn't have any major issues that threatened the pack as a whole. Because of this, we were blind to the changes in the land around us. When we were made to finally see, it was too late. . . .

The day came when a packmate came bursting into the camp one night. Out of breath and wounded rather badly, he collapsed by the fire and tried to tell us what happened. After a ladle of water and a moment or two, he began to tell us that a group of soulless had made their way to our lands and had been destroying everything in sight. They tore through our sister packs and a few Hubs of our neighbors the Prydaens, and were almost upon us. While we weren't the best of friends with the Prydaens, we did trade with them, and in times of trouble we had joined to stand against other evils. As we sat and took in this message we heard a keening on the wind. From the look the messenger got we knew at once what did it.

The battle was brief and bloody. The undead swept down on us and laid waste to my pack, family and friends with an almost clinical precision. My father stood fending off three of the disquieted spirits with his mace, bloody froth drooling from his muzzle, bellowing at the top of his lungs, "Why won't they scream?" He yelled this after every hit, every bone he broke on a corpse, every time he crushed a leg or an arm. He flew into a berserk rage and tore them down like wheat before the scythe. Until the death spirits came. Seeing that his mace had no effect on the ghosts anymore, he turned and threw it at me, and said, "Take it, gather the pups, and flee. Never forget who and what you are. Never forget my face."

With his death wails caught in my ears I fled to the hut that held the young. As I passed over the threshold, a peace descended upon me. There were about a dozen children in here, including my two brothers Marrowfiend and Erzu. Marrowfiend came to me as I stood there, bewildered at the serenity I felt in such a time, and spoke loud enough for only me to hear. "He has heard my plea for he is the last protector of children. Through your determination, and his blessings, we will make it to safety." With that he laid his tiny hands on me and a vision tore through my reality. I saw a starless sky of utter black, and within that moved a shape even darker. With a grace that I will never see again the shape turned its head, and two points of the purest emerald shimmered at me. The eyes of a panther, the icon of Damaris. Be at ease, child, take your charges and flee to the East. There you will come to a city known as the Crossing. The day will come when you will return to reclaim what is yours, but until then, run. You will survive, but I will claim a painful sacrifice from you in exchange for my aid.

I was snatched from this message by a terrible wail from behind me. Turning, I saw a single spirit charging the place where the young gathered what food and water we could easily carry. I raised my father's mace in my feeble arms and stood against it, thinking that if my life was what was needed by the god-cat to protect these pups, then so be it. Crying my father's name, I swung his lion-headed mace at the fiend. But instead of passing through it like I expected, it flared a beautiful white and smashed into it as if I hit a tangible foe. I could best this creature! But I did not escape this fight untouched. With a thrust of its dark talons, the thing pierced my throat and chilled me to the marrow. It wasn't until after we got away that I realized the spirit's attack had turned my hair and coat to a pale white and ruined my voice until this day. My sacrifice was my youth; my vitality had been stolen so that the others could live. A fitting exchange by far.

After watching the ghost melt away, we ran. To the East for many cycles of the moon we kept running. I was sick from the wound and half delirious from the shock, and can't remember everything about the trip. Eventually we came across some Prydaen refugees as well, and we came to the conclusion that the more of us that gathered, the safer we should be, so we traveled together. I met a kindred spirit on this trek, a young girl by the name of Vien, who would become my beacon in this trying time. Unfortunately, during a skirmish between us and some pursuing undead, our group was split apart. Both of my brothers were missing, and we couldn't wait much longer. If not for Vien's compassion and support, I would have sat there unmoving, my father gone, my brothers missing and perhaps dead as well, for I had no desire to continue. But eventually we made it to this Crossing, a city of goodly size. We received aid and acceptance there and we knew that the time of running was over.

In time, Vien and I both became members of the Moon Mage guild, and as luck would have it, I also found both of my brothers in safety and good health! Marrowfiend had become a cleric of power, his obvious connection to Damaris showing in all he does and wears. Erzu joined the Empath guild. After the loss of his loved ones, he couldn't take death anymore, and swore to fight it with every breath he took. We were together again, in a land that supported us and welcomed us with open arms. But it's not enough. I had made a pledge and I will be good to my word. I have not forgotten the face of my father!

Dreamily my mind refocuses on my hand around my goblet, the hand covered in the fur that is my birthright. My brother looks at me expectantly as I take a drink and set my cup back down. Only a few moments have passed since he asked me about my life's path, but years have swept through my memory and the pain is still fresh. I look up at him, and speak only one word, quietly and with a growl that speaks of the single mindedness that was our father's legacy.

"Home."

I look into my brother's eyes, such a beautiful shade of grey, and what I see scares me and also sends a bolt of ecstasy through me at the same time. They have been replaced with orbs of the purest emerald! I hear two voices, one aloud from my brother, the other in my head. Both are soothing and pleased with my response.

"As it should be."