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The far off cry of a mourning dove echoed in the early dawn. Fluttering leaves spiraled to the forest floor in the small valley. The tall boles of a stand of poplar trees stood grey and patient before me while a broad band of morning sunlight shone down over the next hill, illuminating it with a pale golden radiance. The drifts of Fall leaves carpeted the ground and in this quiet beginning of the day, every movement in the forest was evident with their rustling. I leaned against the side of a large, thick beech tree, it's smooth gray bark cool to my shoulder. The small campfire behind me smouldered into coals, delicate tendrils of woodsmoke drifting upwards through the naked branches of the trees. My pack was re-packed and the campsite was clear and clean. All I needed to do was make sure the campfire was completely extinquished and I would be ready to voyage over the vast northwests forests in search of prey.

As I watched dust motes dancing in the pale morning sunlight, I was reminded of other times, other places. This land had such history, so much deeper than many were aware of. I remembered the early lands and the struggles to bring Light into darkness. The twin cities of Montor were long gone, as were Fawn and even Paws, one of my favorite places to rest after long journeys. So many cities and villages have faded into nothingness and the very shape of the lands and continents changed. The fabled island of Ambrosia is no more although new islands have risen and others renamed. Cities changed names and locations as well as inhabitants but the city of Britain has remained much the same over the eons.

The Shadowlords departed back into shadow, Mondain, Minax and Exodus defeated and sent to their seperate hells. My hand remembered holding the hilts of a glass sword that was ultimately powerful but infinitely fragile. The Quicksword and the holy cry, Evocare. I remember the marks and the cards, the whirlpools that would sweep a ship into unknown lands. There was once a thing called mandrake essence and a race of Emps inhabited the Yew forests. Skara Brae used to be a devastated ruin, nothing like the vibrant island community it is now. Magincia a broken ruins inhabited by lost souls and giant snakes. The words of the TimeLord still resonate somewhere in my brain.

I knew deep within that I had been the fabled Avatar, the pinnacle of Virtue and I remembered the long path to my ascension. The Codex and the Stygian Abyss held no mystery to me, the horrible fate of the gargoyles was a very real memory. I remember the nervousness I felt when I first met the gargoyle king, Draxinusom and the evil prejudices of humans towards this race.

I smiled fondly as I remembered my true companions, Shamino, Dupre and Iolo. Ahhh, we had ventured far and won victory over the most incredible odds and trials. I remembered for the first time in ages of the fumbling Rudyom, and Nystul as well as Mariah. The machinations of the Fellowship, of Blackthorne and even the arcane, horrid Guardian were all put away. In dusty tomes in the Lycaeum you may find mentions of the Pure Axiom and the Word of Passage.

Even though the present land was called Brittania and spanned all the continents, oceans and isles, I knew there was an Underworld as well even if passages within were hidden. Regardless of any claims or false histories, this was the land of Sosaria in the beginning and will always be revered as such. Although Lord British finally fell into dotage and appeared to lose his wits after the thousands of years he had lived, still the Virtues that he defined resonate within our souls. The eight virtues that make up the three principles still stand and are evident in this World of Dreams.