Gregar's Tale

Gregar sat quietly in the small temple. His friends attacked and held down by forces of evil. His own corpse laying scant yards from that of his companion Adso, buried deep within an unholy place.

Gregar took note of what he had for the umpteenth time. A light, a rather dulled sword, and 100 gold. The recall potion would be 88 gold, a boat began at around 300. He had nowhere near enough and had already spent too much time trying to find Merrick or gather more. He hadn't much luck in charity of others either.

Gregar was interrupted by a messenger. Quickly unwrapping the parchment, he read. There was no improvement in the situation. Adso and Trakker both suffered still at the hands of those without enlightenment. Gregar knew he had to do something, and he knew there was a way, but it would mean...

Gregar sighed and thought of what he had learned. If nothing else, all was not a loss. The weaver, it had a strange effect on him. The wyld while still there, was now somehow... less prevalent. Gregar had given deeply to several people already and was now beginning to understand the depth and meaning of the weaver. The wyrm too had its place, for in learning of the weaver, the wyrm too had guided him. He knew he had changed somehow. Smiling briefly and standing, Gregar knew he was entering a situation dangerous in his current condition.

Darting out of the temple, he went to the apothecary, where he bought a single recall potion, all he could afford. Better use it wisely he thought to himself. He left the shop and headed for the south end of the loch.

Looking out into the river, Gregar realized what must be done. He could go no further without doing it. Pausing again, Gregar realized what this would mean. Failure, of something he had dreamed of for so long. A childish comment to his goddess sprang to mind, "failure is not an option". If only he had known then...

Gregar stretched his wings, the joints creaking and aching with the movement. It has been a long time since he had used them, he hoped he would remember how. Giving a great heave-to, Gregar lifted quickly to the sky and soared high over the river landscape. Flying above the river, his quest destroyed, a single tear fell from his eye. Silently it fell unseen, mingling with the waters of the mighty river below. Gregar swore he would try for mastery again, and this time hoped, not swore, that he would be triumphant.

Gregar Tsarran
Triat beseecher of fate.