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Out of the shadows walks a skeletal being, it's robes, once where high quality material. But now almost reduced to rags, on the walking corpse. Half hanging from it's skeletal hips, there is a very old leather belt. Hanging from the left hip is a large rotted brown pouch, that once may have contained herbs, who knows what may be found in there, now. And hanging from the right hip, is a hilt, much to big to be that of a dagger. But some kind of sword, that had it's blade shattered long, long ago.

As it walked further out into the road from the shadows, it had rings of power on it's right hand, that was holding a staff. That had a large gem at it's top, with smaller ones slowly spinning around the larger one. On it's left hand, there were no rings at all. For this hand was the casting hand for spells. And wizards from this world where taught to keep their casting hands free of any metal's.

Now it was standing fully in the road, it's face is covered in shadows from the worn out hood from the rotten cloak that it wore. But one could see it's eyes, glowing a reddish orange, for hatred for living things.

Some would call it a lich, others an undead zombie. And that had to be destroyed at once. But it knew that no one from this world could harm it, or even kill it. For if anyone could kill it, would welcome death. But the fates had other plans for it, and that it should roam aimlessly through out the dimensions, as an immortal. For a crime one could say, for slaying a high cleric and her god. As they shared a body as one super powerful deity. But the fates over looked that they where trying to use this now undead being to force open a dimensional gate, so that they could escape to other worlds to corrupt and enslave the beings of those worlds. And this was it's reward, to be cursed to be immortal for all eternity, never to really know what death was like, never to truly live and die....

So now here it stood, in the middle of the road. Looking at the white washed walls of the tavern, with freshly laid thatch on the roof, and bright warm light streaming from the windows into the night.

It stood in the middle of the road for a good ten minutes, just looking at the tavern. The only thing to move on this walking horror, from far below the volcano, was the hem of it's robes. As a slight breeze blew through the street.

At long last it took a step forward, then another and another towards the door to the tavern. And when it was about twenty feet away from the door. The door opened inward as if someone was about to walk out. But there was no one heading out, into the night.

The warm welcoming light from within the tavern spilled out into the night. The being stopped short of stepping into the light. With it's glowing reddish orange eyes, it looked into the tavern from where it stood. And upon not seeing any one or anything moving about within the tavern. It continued to walk into the light. And as it did so, it's robes slowly began to burn and fall of it. Only to be replaced from it's feet upwards, with soft black leather boots. Followed by loose fitting black pants. And as the light touched upon the once old leather belt, it too reverted back into black leather belt, as did the old pouch. But the shattered sword did not change back into what it once, was. It remained as it was, a shattered sword. A Flex sword to exact.

As it continued to walk into the light, not paying any mind to the fact that it's clothing was changing as it walked into the light. It's hands became fuller as the flesh rejuvenated into that of a living being once again. Even it's staff became something simpler for this world.
And now the light was at it's chest, but no longer was the remains of the rotting robes upon it's chest, but deep red tunic, with a dark gray wool hooded cloak fastened just below the neck line. It's once glowing eyes of hatred are now replaced with brown eyes of a living breathing human.

It now stood in the middle of the tavern, looking around at the empty tables, and then at the tavern keeper, who stood behind the bar. Cleaning a pewter mug, and paying no attention to the wizard standing in the middle of the room.

Just as silently as the door had opened, it had closed as quietly too. Behind the wizard. With everything being to the wizards standards. He switches his staff to his left hand, and with his right hand, flips back the left part of his cloak, over his shoulder. Reviling a small pendent of two crossed lances on a red field of battle, with a small white diamond above the crossed lances. This insignia meant that he was a officer, a captain.

And with his right hand again, he pulls back the woolen hood to reveille a face of a man, who has seen far to many battles, and once long dark brown hair, that came down past his shoulders, now starting to go sightly gray at his temples. And there is even gray in his goatee. A sign to him that he was finally reaching the appearance of a master wizard.

He then switched his staff back to his right hand, and started to really look the tavern over. The memories started to come back to him in a flood. Over there in that corner, he remembered tossing a drunken dwarf into. And over at that table he and the whole guild, got drunk on elven wine. And right over here...As he looked down at the floor boards. Where deep gouge marks from a large animal...Where the claw marks from his long dead black panther familiar...

And for the first time in countless eons, a single tear rolled from his left eye, down his cheek and fell onto the floor. And in a soft voice, he said, "I'm home...
The bar tender looks up from his endless mug polishing, "Well hello stranger, what did you say?" The wizard turns to look at the bar tender, "I said, I'm home at last...