From across the dungeon, Asin-al Liada watched the members of her party fall. Luatha of the temple of Nistaari was the first to fall, the lich dooming them all with that carefully planned strike against the cleric. The barbarian, Tom Barkskin, lie pinned beneath his maul, dead eyes staring at nothing. Laughing Isharti, the jovial halfling Asin-al had come to adore, was the last to die, one hand raised and ready to sing some musical note that would have likely revived them all, the other clutching his viola so tight they’d never pry it from his corpse.
Gripping her sword tighter in her hand, she closed her eyes and renewed her vow. A hundred years, a thousand years, the span of a hundred million lifetimes she would serve the Golden Dragon if only her ladyship would imbue her with the strength to put a stop to such evil and return her companions to the lives they deserved.
From her throne room, the Golden Dragon basked in the promise of a hundred million lifetimes of service before reaching out a talon and speaking one simple word designed to give her paladin’s party the lives they all deserved.