Dust lingered in the hot afternoon air after the recent bout between Ghazee and Roj. The two had only been using practice swords and they were both skilled enough to not actually harm each other—but as they walked to a nearby well for a drought of water, they were both noticeably sore.
“You still leave that opening on your left side,” critiqued Roj. “I knew a man, many summers ago, who did the same thing. Saddest story ever…well, one of the saddest at any rate. Man said he had a brother and the two of them fought side-by-side for years. After his brother was killed, he had the same opening you’ve got.” Roj paused to drink from the cup before passing it over to Ghazee. “He was killed a short time later.”
Roj smiled and clasped him on the shoulder, promising to help make sure such a fate doesn’t befall the dragonborn. Then he explained how some other poor soul was recently killed in battle, no doubt through some similar weakness, by some of those devil-creatures they fought a few days back. It was an elf named Able Truesense.
“And some adept is trying a Raise Dead ritual on him, of all things.” Roj shook his head in a clear gesture of distaste. “His name is Deryck Thacker, and I’m meant to meet with him in the morning. It all doesn’t feel right to me – devils, demons, dead bodies, and all – I thought it might be good to have you along, if you’ll come.”
He took the cup back and dumped the rest on his head to cool himself off and wash away some of the dust. Then he winked:
“Just be sure to keep the bad guys on your right side, for now.”