I died. At least... I thought I did. But... no... there! a vision of a fierce warrior on horseback, stamping and slashing through the prison cell. And then... I was alive? The dead and dying lay all around us... She took off her helm, and... it was Jasnah. I should have known. *two weeks ago* Qamra sent word that a group of evil mages had been seen. This sounded like just the thing. I needed revenge. Revenge for allowing the dragons of Dastard to ravage the countryside. Revenge for letting Baerron Jael escape. Revenge for failing to protect the caravan. Revenge for failing. Always failing. The Shrine of Spirituality thrummed and sparkled behind me as I read the document. Revenge would be mine. Three words and I was in Vesper. Preoccupied with trade and industry, my home city of Vesper held little information about the evil mage cult. But if anyone knew anything, it would be Kendrick the Alchemist. His shop near the bank has long been a front for... information. A pile of gold at his feet, he couldn't resist. What Kendrick could tell me was weak at best. The pictures in the document helped, however. He'd heard of a new presence in Wrong. Good enough. Over the next week or so I set my affairs in order at the tower of the Dark Octopus. The time had come. Off to Wrong. Three words and I was there. The denizens of this dungeon weren't talking. Unless it was with their cudgels. I didn't have time for this! I moved deeper in. No one knew anything. Or... they weren't saying? Desperate, I asked the executioners. I felt dumb just speaking with them. And that's when it went wrong. Glancing askance at each other, the executioners told me of a prison cell that held a man who knew everything. I followed them. Turning a corner I saw a horde of the enemy, waiting. Bah! I slung my lute off my back and strummed. I played fast, fingers flying up and down the neck, hand a blur over the strings. The tune was true and fights broke out but the prison cell was too small and there were too many. Dunele stepped and danced in the tight quarters well acquainted with battle, yet the cobbles were slick with blood. She slipped on her worn shoes. We went down! In an instant the executioners were on us. The room went dark. And then there was Jasnah. All purple dress and plate. Jasnah. Elegant beauty and death. The last person I wanted to see. Some failures are worse than death.