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Golden armor barely glinted in the shadows up ahead, but the unmistakable *whooosh* of angry wind let me know that an elemental was up there trying to kill someone. Manly grunts tiny shouts came from underneath his helm, and I ran shouting at the magical beast trying to distract it and make it come for me instead. I shouldn't have bothered, of course. This was the dungeon of Shame, and nobody goes lurking about here unprepared--nobody with any sense that is. This fellow was the amiable sort, named Jasper as I remember.

The insignia on his vambraces matched mine, so I knew he'd be ok to talk to--unlike those treasure hunters and outlaws we've been dealing with lately. And by we, of course, I mean my axe and me. I guessed he was head hunting for the guildmaster, but he looked pretty wrung out. I sent him merrily on his way to recover while I continued deeper in search of 3 things: the Justice that slaying trolls spreads, the joy of adventure for its own sake, and the ratman warrior heads my guildmate was seeking.

Apparently I snagged my enchanted lizard/bird's foot on something, but I pressed on towards the gray iridescence that would surely lead deeper into Shame. Turns out that snag was some kind of spiders' web trip wire. When I got halfway along the swaying bamboo bridge that spans the underground Stream of Shame II, I saw them. Four of them, maybe five--all the size of a full-grown horse and skittering about chattering to one another in some foul arachnid language: giant spiders and those odd ghostly ones--I can't remember what to call them. They were ready for me, and they pounced the instant I stepped onto firm ground.

How those spiders could move. Webs slung over my face clogging my airpipe. I was stuck fast. But their greed was their downfall, as always. As one tried to sink its fangs into my shoulder, it freed me from the slimy mass of threads that were intended to be my deathshroud. Now they were in for it. Something snapped in me. The nights I had spent learning secret magical arts seemed to flood over me, and before I even thought of what I was doing I sheathed my claymore (viking sword) and let loose the flames of my righteous anger. In FLAM GRAV, I shouted over and over pointing my finger first in one direction and then another. The flames danced up the gossamer strands of webbing still clinging to me and melted them away like the rising sun melts the tenebrous fog from the hollows near a stream. The flames tore into the spiders' swollen, hairy abdomens splitting the giant spiders quickly into an array of stinking, smoldering piles of hair and goop. It was horrific as much as it was thrilling. The fire came from the power I hold inside. The joy of it almost overcame me completely as I suddenly realized that my sword still lay in its sheath. The remaining bugs were skittering for their lives, but they couldn't get out of bow range in time, and soon met their cousins in the acid pit that awaits their tainted souls in the afterworld.

Almost by instinct I stripped off my metal armors and pondered the mysteries of my power and their suffering for hours. In my daze, I teleported to the fields and toiled a while in the soil still wondering at the power that erupted from my hands today and at the fate of those slain by those flames of Justice. Quietly there came another voice into my meditations. It was the voice of a recently dead person. His name came to me though he never spoke it: Pau Atei. He needed help. His kinsman would spirit me away if only I could get to the Bank of Britain--crossroads of all realms. Still coming out of my torpor, I teleported to the bank and watched for the shimmering blue portal that would lead me to Pau’s troubled soul.

Covenant was there. His black and orange festival clothes hung uncomfortably on his frame. Something was wrong with him. He was rushed and curt. I knew it must be serious. With a quick farewell, I asked him to let me take it from here. He was gone in a twinkling, and I awaited the return of the should of Pau. Whistling a little in the darkness, I kindled a quick fire in case he would still feel the chill of death. I cast protections on myself, spells just in case he didn't come back alone from the aether. As I stared at the fire, I felt his presence looming closer, hovering over his former body. He was beautiful in a way hovering there like starlight lingers over the waves on the sea. Recovering almost invisible papyrus from my scrollcase, I fell deep into the space between thoughts and heard the words An Corp coming from my lips once, twice, fifty times, I don't know how many times. But I awoke from my trance to hear the distinctive rustle of Pau yoinking his possessions and dressing himself.

The circle held. Pau and the other Ateis would live now and probably forever, and I knew I would never be the same.

woops - double post

*Pau Atei*

Aye, tis a fine tale indeed, Wynne.

As I spoke to the Lady Chanelle in the Bank of Britain afterwards, I recounted how I was battling an Orc Master Mage and an Orc Brute, but I thought I was winning. One moment, I was swinging my favorite quarter-staff at the Orcs, the next the whole world was grey. Alas, they defeated me in the end.

Then Covenant showed up and cast a spell that shook the very ground! "In Vas Por," he said. "In Vas Por," again. The Orcs were dead. Then you, my restorer of life loomed out of the darkness and I was made whole again.

For your heroism, I feel a meager "thank you" is inadequate. However, it is all that this simple macer has to offer. That, and the promise that, should you find yourself felled by Orcs or some other fiend of this world, you can rely on an Atei to be there to help.