With a rush of awareness, he found himself back in the guild. The memories he had of this place were many, and they covered the good and bad. He wandered the guild for a while. What was he looking for? He saw some guild members in the stables and did his best to salute a greeting before moving on. He moved on to Ishmael's shop, a brief smile crossing his face as he remembered the first time he had watched Jihad attempt to forge weapons here. He bought a new guild ring and replaced the one he had just used to get here. He wandered around the many areas in the guild until he found his office, slumped heavily down into his chair and placed his head in his hands and wondered, what he would do now? So much had gone wrong of late. He kept trying his best to keep things running smoothly around here, but some days, his efforts seemed little wanted or appreciated. Morlend was becoming more and more of a nuisance. What had started as a mere name calling match between he and the warlock was now something far more serious. Many of the newer guild members were turning towards Morlend for their guidance, now. Some had even attempted to take his blood to seal their membership as one of his disciples. His brother would leave the land, possibly forever, today and there was nothing he could do about it.
He thought back to the day he first met him in the ill fated house of Paul M'uab Dib the III. He thought to all of the happy moments of his early life with Jihad. He thought back to the day Paul M'uab Dib had found him in Darkwell wood killing trolls and had given him his nickname of Trollhater. He thought back to the day he had vowed that he would hunt down the murderer of his parents. He remembered the day that he had heard the rumors, of a one eyed troll who lived up in the Dark Blizzard Pass. He remembered his first days there, nearly freezing to death, having left for the pass without the proper clothing to keep him warm. He remembered his first encounter with the troll in that damnable cave and how quickly he had been sent to the plane of rebirth that day. He had vowed that day that he would kill that beast even if it would take the rest of his life to do so, and seemingly it was going to take that long.
Cameron M'uab Dib shook his head in irritation. What good were these memories. They did him little good now. He had failed in his attempts to avenge his parents death and probably would never be able to do so. He had failed in his attempts to save his adoptive father and mother when the plague had struck Moorgate. He tried to move his thoughts from this path, but he did not have the will to do so anymore. He had failed to save the one woman that he had loved, Niniel. He had thought it a sign from the Gods that a human woman had his mother's name. He remembered her bright smile and the way her hair framed that smile, ... just so. He also remembered standing in the groom's tent, waiting for his soon to be brides arrival, when his brother had entered with that solemn look upon his face...
Trollhater's frustration got the best of him as his hands began to shake and he cried out. "Why Kali? Why do ye continue to torment me so? Are me efforts nae good enough fer ye? What have I done tae ye tae deserve such sorrows in me life? Me father taught me long ago that ye have a plan fer us all, and I have tried tae believe that this is true, but ... but I am nae so sure that I can believe that anymore. Why after all the sorrow that has happened in me life already must ye take away the only family that I have left? Why?
...Please Lord, talk tae me this one time. Please, tell me that there is some meaning behind all of this, I need to know that ye are still there...."
But Cameron's only response was a squeak of a mouse sitting in the corner of a room, enjoying it's bit of cheese.
A squire ran into the guild masters office, red in the face and breathing hard. He collapsed on the floor, blood seeping from an open wound.
"Help us Trollhater, Help...," the squire gasped as he tried to hold his wounds in check.
Shaken from his melancholy, the ranger moved from behind his desk casting the ranger's spell of healing as he went. Woodland pine filled the office as a soft white glow entered the body of the nameless squire.
"What has happened tae ye squire? Who has done this tae ye?", wondered the elf as he began casting the spell anew.
"The gates to the cemetery are open, master. The undead walk the streets of Moorgate, slaughtering citizens as they go."
"What?!? Who has opened the gates of that damnable place?", questioned Cameron through his new found anger. But in his heart he knew who was to blame here. "Morlend ... if I ever get me hands on ye warlock, ye will regret the day that ye ever heard me name."
Aiding the squire to his feet, the guild master led him into the feasting hall where he knew others would be able to care to his remaining wounds. He pulled the guild horn of the fighter's from his pack and let fly with a note on horn. Any who were of the fighter's guild would know that call, and know it meant that help was needed in the city. He ran to the stables to mount his horse but found it gone. Cameron cursed himself for being fool enough to leave his horse at the bar earlier. He rushed forth from the guild to see what evils Morlend the Warlock Lord had visited upon the city this day.
End of Part Three
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Memories of my Youth
Crisis of Faith chapter one
Crisis of Faith chapter two
Crisis of Faith chapter four
Crisis of Faith chapter five
