Date: Twenty Eighth of February, year 810 Post Seminal War (810 PSW)

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Job Arseoth opened his eyes and found himself staring at a featureless black-painted ceiling. Hands flashed to his throat, feeling for the wolfbite that had torn it open, but there was only smooth flesh there. Confusion mounting, he stood up and looked around. Job stood upon a featureless plane of black glass, its smoothness broken only by the four free-standing empty door frames scattered about, and the black-painted board perched atop them over his head. The clack of a hobnailed boot on glass echoed in the unnatural silence. Job whipped around in time to see a black-cloaed figure step out of an empty doorway.

“Apologies for sneaking up on you like that, but you’d probably like some questions answered if my own experience is anything to go by.”

Job gave a grim chuckle, “You could say that again. I’m dead, aren’t I?”

“Not yet, and not quite. I grabbed your spirit off the usual paths before it got to its expected destination.”

“So this isn’t the waiting-room for one of the afterlives then?”

“No, more of a safe stopping-place in the spaces between the planes of existence; a little pocket of sanity in an endless ocean if void. And one of my scattered places of power.”

“So which god are you, and what do you want with me?”

“Ascended Outsider, not a God. Call me ‘Black Cloak’. As for what I want, well, mostly its to shove a great big stick in the eyes of a god. One bitch in particular, goes about not only bringing back a pawn after it gets killed, but promoting it to a Champion too? Uh-uh. So, I intend to bring you back, fully healed of course, and give you the task of tracking down that Champion and hammering it back into its grave. If you agree of course.”

“Why would I have to agree?”

“Not a God, remember? I can’t just appoint a Champion or dick about with reality the way some of them do; I need a mortal’s hands to do my work. And I prefer informed and consenting hands. If you say no, then I’ll let you pass on to wherever you were going and find another to ask.”

“Is this Champion a threat to Trebor?”

Black Cloak frowned, pondering the question, “There are too many futures to read, but Trebor does stand in the Champions path in many of them. On balance, I would say that yes it does.”

“Then I accept your offer. Trebor is my home dammit and I’ll fight to defend her.”

“Alright then, I’ll set about sending you back. I could only grab you however, so you’ll need to either resurrect or reincarnate your friends to get them back.”

“I understand.”

“You will recognise the Champion by the fact that it is an undead skeleton with a shadowed silver heart in the middle of its rib cage. Brace yourself, this may not be pleasant.”

There was a flash of un-light, then everything faded to blackness.

Job Arseoth woke up to the stench of bodies rotting in the noonday sun. He hauled himself to his feet, voided his stomach onto his boots, and looked about.

“Raise Dead or Reincarnate, that’s what Black Cloak said. But Raise Dead needs a body that is reasonably intact…”

Index’s head was off, Enras insides were missing, Baar’Miin’s wings and legs were torn apart, and Sly had been chewed to bits. Raise Dead would not work on such bodies: at best they would come back only to die again. Reincarnate it would have to be. Job sighed and set about the task of gathering the dead for burial, as well as the minor desecration needed to preserve a part of them for the Reincarnate spell. A hand shovel improvised from a flat-ish rock served as his digging tool.

By the time the sun had set, four grave-markers sat atop four stone cairns; it was what little Job could do to prevent more animals getting at the bodies. Three fingerbones and a wooden thumb sat in a small pouch on his belt for the Reincarnate spell. Job felt the strange pull to carve again. He put his back to the cave wall, stacked the fire high, and set to carving through the night.

Date: First of March, year 810 Post Seminal War (810 PSW)

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When Job awoke the next day he examined the figurine he had made: five cracked skulls set back to back in a circle. Job snorted: he certainly wouldn’t forget dying or the death of his friends. And he fully intended to bring them back. In addition to the body parts for Reincarnation, Job would need to find a Druid who could cast the spell and pay for the spell components; this would not come cheaply. He estimated that it would cost at least a thousand gold for each reincarnation attempt. Putting all of the party’s money together, and assuming he could get fair value for the gems and little pieces of art that they had found, Job could muster a bit over a thousand gold. He could raise a bit more by selling the magic items and / or potions the party had found, but it probably wouldn’t be enough.