(Author’s note: Although this is not in Cutter’s words, nor is it a direct reference to any specific in-game experience, I hope it conveys the mood and atmosphere of Myrna well enough to form an interesting introduction to the game . . .)

A great clap of thunder shatters the silence of the night air.  As the tremendous crash fades and rolls away over the hills, a heavy rain begins to pour onto the campsite.  At first, only small puddles form in the dirt trod pathway nearby, but within moments torrential streams are forming in all parts of the surrounding forest.

The deluge outside swiftly begins to seep into your shabby tent, causing you to rouse with a start.  Desperately you try to adjust the worn animal hides to stop the invading flood, but your attempts prove useless.  Resolving yourself to yet another sleepless, rainsoaked night, you poke your head outside and peer into the darkness.

Already, the other members of your adventuring party are out and about.  You see the tall, thin shadow of Arvo Reflent, the elf, retrieving the cache of food you had stashed in an old oak to keep it safe from wildlife.  Under another tree, the figures of Daila Portent, the robed mage, and Sir Lumpert, the heavily armored human warrior are tending to the horses that were no doubt startled by the thunder.  The only friend missing from the scene would be . . .

Suddenly you hear a cry from nearby.  “Ack!  What in the great name of Globus is this?!”  You turn to see a tent, no, rather a mass of animal skins and wooden poles rolling to and fro in the darkness.  From within comes cries and curses –the familiar voice of Krant Wrentor, the Dwarven bard.  “Stupid bloomin’ thunder!  Stupid bleedin’ lighting!”  Soon enough, the dwarf-in-a-tent rolls over and crashes into a large pine.  “Will someone get me out of this blasted contraption!”  The cry comes as an order rather than a request.

Rolling your eyes, yet laughing quietly, you crawl out of your drenched abode and climb to your feet.  You splash leisurely through the puddles over to the dwarf’s position and proceed to remove the tent from around the body of your short, bearded friend.  “Hurrumph!” comes his response to seeing your smiling face.  “What’re ya doin’?!  I can find my own way out of a tent, ya know!!”  Krant opens his mouth to say more, but pauses.  Leaving his mouth open to the rain, he focuses his eyes on a point behind you.

Glancing behind, you notice the others also have their attention on the same spot.  You turn to see a bright blue mist forming out of the shadows of the stormy night.  The strange colored fog encircles the campsite, and suddenly the rain ceases to fall on you.  Sir Lumpert reaches for his sword, but a calm voice comes from a point in the haze.  You all look to see a figure in a blue gown hovering inches over the damp forest floor.

“There is no need for weaponry, my friends,” the apparition speaks softly, “I cannot cause harm to you.  I serve only to bring you tidings.”

Nervously, you watch as the strange figure drifts around the camp.  Unable to stand the unnerving silence any longer, you call out, “Tidings you say?  Good or bad tidings?”

The specter suddenly stops its movement and turns towards you.  Beneath the veil of the gown, you see the horrifying image of a decaying face –half dead, half alive.  Glaring at you it cries, “Both!”  the ghastly figure spins around and gestures toward the north.  “You brave and industrious wanderers of the land!  You have almost reached the Castle of Prince Hamus, a safe haven among the wilds!”

“Well,” Sir Lumpert whispers, “sounds like good tidings.”

“No!!” The ghostly messenger screams out, causing a shiver of panic through your spine.  “With this storm comes five days of torment for you and all the countryside!  Five days of darkness!  Five days of fear!  Five days of misery!  The forces of evil are almost upon you now!  Only with the bravest deeds and most selfless acts shall you ever see the Castle Hamus alive!”

With that, the image flashes out of sight with a flicker of lightning and clap of thunder.  The apparition’s laughter echoes through the forest and fades, leaving an eerie silence.  Total darkness settles between the trees and you can barely make out the shapes of your party.  Nervously you look around.  You think you see something move where before there had been nothing.  You think you hear something rustling through the branches beyond the camp.  Slowly, cautiously, you reach for your prize weapon and prepare for what is to come . . .

Written a narrative, bardic song, or poem that you would like to share with the Myrna group?  Submit it to Hendo at hendo@valyance.com.