We sleep tonight outside the Valley of the Dead. The mood in the camp is mixed, nervous. We know that the next days may be the last for some of all of us. And yet, I find myself untroubled.
The air sings with magic. It is heavy. I can feel it, all around. Perhaps the others do, too? It is a source of apprehension, but also potential. We walk into the lair of the lich, Vordekai. That word – lich – a being who has shed its mortal coil to become sustained by magic, and immortal for it. The methods, rumour has it, are abhorrent, as is the resultant degradation of the flesh. But the result; immortality, is it worth the price? I do not know.
There must be other routes to immortality. I feel the magic burning within me, stronger every day. Is it this land, or the purpose with which I walk across it? I do not know what we will face in this land of death. I am not foolhardy enough to think we will pass unscathed to our goal. But I feel in my blood that I will prevail here. I will learn from what we face, and grow stronger.