Gabriel or "The Herald of God" was at one time in his life a great warrior on Earth, who was the very first mortal to truly believe in God.

One cold, crisp sunny day Gabriel was riding to the little town of Bethlehem to receive a message from a friend. As he rode, he heard a noise in the bushes to his left and suddenly out sprang 100 or more bandits and thieves. They came charging up the road from behind Gabriel shouting and screaming like madmen. Gabriel spurred his white charger and started for the town. Then, as he was riding, he thought of the gentle people in Bethlehem. What would happen to them? What would become of the town? He remembered his oath of knighthood. To serve and protect the weak, helpless and innocent. His face tightened, his fists clenched, his blood boiled, and for the first time in his life he felt hatred. Hatred for the scum that would rape, pillage and burn the quiet little town of Bethlehem. In an instant his horse was reversed and heading straight for the barbaric thieves. Riding to a head-on collision, Gabriel's last words were "God be with me." The sound of swords being drawn and arrows slicing through the air filled his senses.

In one mighty stroke the Holy Sword of Gabriel quickly dispatched four of the brigands and wounded a fifth. Gabriel then followed through with a strong back swing, cleanly slicing the head off one bandit and shearing the right arm off another. The poor fellow who lost his arm saw it lying on the ground among his associates feet just as he felt an unbelievable pain shoot through his bloody stump. The brigand's scream in agony was cut short by the thrust of Gabriel's sword directly through the man's throat. The bandits poured in on Gabriel wave after wave like mindless drones with one intention. Gabriel was a becon of light in a sea of darkness. At this point all hell broke loose.

Gabriel already had six arrows lodged deep in his body and horrid sword wounds across his chest. However, something or someone kept this man going. It was a savage battle, swords all bearing down on one man. One man who believed. Now nothing could be seen amidst the dust and dirt kicked up by the battle, except the flash of silver and a bright crimson rain.

The lonely glow of twilight danced across the morning dew which coated the grass and forest trees. There was silence once again. Only the distant chirping of blue jays could be heard. Quiet blood soaked bodies littered the dirt road where a fierce battle had once raged. There were bodies in every position imaginable. Face up, face down, sprawled out by the bushes, lying in the sewage ditch, even hanging from the roadside trees. Amidst these loathsome black cloaked rouges was a man dressed in silver armor and a red and white cape. It was Gabriel. He was dead. He was lying next to the very last brigand, still clutching his bloodstained sword. He had kept his promise.

Leagues away from Midhome the rain continued to fall at a steady pace, filling the gutters in the city of Stonekeep to overflow. Huddled near the doorway to the Minitaur Inn a lone figure marveled at the spectacle nature had created. At first glance one might wonder why this person hadn't gone inside to leave the harsh weather for the comfort of the hearth, but it quickly became apparent the downpour was causing her little discomfort. "I love the rain" she thought. "At least they still have rain here... wherever here is." Back in her world she was born in the spring one rainy day and it had always held some fascination for her since she was a child. The first signs of raindrops would inevitably draw her outside and the puddles that formed would become giant oceans, trecherous waters that were home to all manner of sea monsters. It was by far her favorite type of weather and she was at her best in it. The woman stood roughly five and a half feet tall, dressed in the forest colors of olive green and chestnut brown. A beautiful bow made of yew was held fast at her side with a quiver full of finely crafted arrows strapped over her hooded tunic. Slender of build and somewhat animated she stared out into the street transfixed by the ever increasing downpour. "Time to go for a walk" she thought. "Of course it's time... it's raining isn't it?"

Back inside the Minotaur Inn the atmosphere wasn't quite so cheerful. Soft candlelight danced across gloomy faces as the Inn's patrons continued to guzzle all manner of spirits, allowing them to momentarily forget about the foul weather happening outside. A huge stone fireplace set in the center of the room blazed away, casting it's own glow and easily heating the tavern to a comfortable temperature. The less fortunate travelers would huddle near the fire for warmth, steam rising from their rain soaked clothes, causing the atmosphere inside to become heavy and damp. An old man sat in a corner of the room facing the door, warily watching all who entered and exited the place as he nervously sipped his ale. He was an accomplished wizard and he knew something was amiss. He could sense it. The warrior sitting beside him laughed at his friend's uneasy mood and tried his best to cheer him up. "Another round over here" he shouted above the noise, apparently unconcerned about drawing attention to their table. "My companions will meet us here over the next few days my friend. Once we are together we can take care of your little... problem." Without a word, the wizard looked over at the smiling man and let out a deep sigh, finally giving in to his cheerful mood. "One more round ranger," he said in a serious tone, "then we head back to the safety of our rooms." Nodding at his friend the two raised their mugs in agreement. It only took a second for the wizard to miss the dark cloaked figure that had entered the tavern, and by the time his eyes were back on the doorway, the stranger was somewhere inside.

His legs ached terribly and the wind and rain continued to sting his eyes, but he pressed on. Ten minutes later his stomach started to growl, joining in on the symphony nature had created with the howling wind and pounding rain. "God, I didn't realize I was this hungry," he said to himself. Eventually the wind and rain let up some and about five minutes later a thin mist started to form, quickly developing into a thick fog that obscured his vision beyond 30 feet. "This isn't right," he thought. "I may not be a druid but I know fog doesn't form this fast." He was right, it doesn't. At the moment it didn't bother him much, what did was the growing absence of light. Wherever he was the sun had almost set and he was becoming more and more irritable.

Something moved up ahead, something small and misshapen. He moved closer, gripping his oaken staff tightly. The creature didn't hesitate and plodded through the mud and fog into his his range of sight. It was a goblin. He had read about them in books back in his "old" world. Pretty wimpy creatures these goblins he thought. Oh well, lets get this over with. "Stand aside vile creature or prepare to be eradicated," the man growled with a sneer. The small creature moved slightly forward, seemingly oblivious to the tall man's threats. "So you don't understand English 'eh? Should've went to school you dolt." The man in the blue robes began to mumble some strange words, while pointing his right index finger at the small unfortunate in the middle of the road. Suddenly, two pure white darts of energy shot from his fingertip and sped towards the surprised little creature. The darts struck the goblin square in the chest with bone jarring impact, vanishing seconds later. The tall man was already laughing as the dirty goblin, face twisted in pain, fell head first into the dark mud. His lifeless body already being engulfed by the thick ooze. "Stupid little creature wasted my time", the man snarled. "I think it would have been easier to cave in his pointed head with my staff rather than waste one of my precious spells." Stepping over the lump in the road he continued on his trek with renewed vigor. The fog started to lift and within the hour dissipated altogether. This raised the man's spirits even more and shortly he began to hum a strange tune. In the distance just beyond the hills he saw a faint glow cutting through the fading light. "A friendly and warm glow", he thought. He instantly knew what it was and within the final few minutes of twilight, his tired eyes were gazing upon the outskirts of Midhome.

It was late afternoon and although the sky was a blanket of dark clouds he knew the sun was dropping like a rock. He decided that he would be sleeping in a warm bed tonight and that was that. "This weather is crap," he thought to himself, "but the plains aren't too bad, kind of nice." The Plains of Alderon were a wondrous site sight to behold. Massive rolling hills strewn with moss covered boulders, broad white capped rivers, and numerous thermal vents that would blast giant clouds of steam into the air. These sights made up the general landscape of the area but it was the small forests scattered about the plains that attracted this man's attention. The trees were in their fall colors of copper, red and gold and the fallen leaves coated the forest floor, forming a magnificent carpet. Strong gusts of wind would find their way into the confines of the forest and the autumn leaves would dance endlessly, falling and rising on the trapped air currents. At times he would become almost mesmerized by their graceful minuets and he would have to laugh to himself. It would make a fantastic charm spell if one could make these leaves dance half as enchanting as they're dancing now. The beauty of the plains was misleading and this lone person knew it well. It was home to bandits, thieves, assassins and marauding groups of orcs and goblins. He had even been told through his teachings that the actual ruler of the plains was an evil god called Despair, which would easily explain the decaying state of the land. None of this really bothered him though, as he looked at life through the eyes of adventure and curiosity. Danger only interested him more and if it happened to be unexplained danger you couldn't keep this man away for the world. Yes, he was traveling in a very dangerous land where evil was all about, manifested in disgusting forms ready to attack the unwary. However this was no ordinary man and he was far from unwary.

With the sky turning deeper shades of grey he instinctively picked up the pace. He loved danger but was intelligent enough to realize that one should not be out on the plains in the present weather conditions with night fast approaching. Each foot he placed ahead of himself was eagerly engulfed by the mud in an outrush of bubbles and air, almost as if the mud was chuckling at it's capture of a new foreign object. When he went to withdraw his foot, the mud would cling to his boot for dear life, fight desperately to hold the foot in place, but would finally give way in an audible slurping sound, as if trying to suck his boot back into an invisible maw.

It was a cold, wet afternoon that found a tall, solitary figure walking across the Plains of Alderon. His thoughts, as well as his steps were sluggish from the constant days of travel and the heavy downpour didn't do much to raise the man's spirits. Leaning into the driving rain, the wind tearing at his at his deep blue robes, he plodded towards the distant city of Midhome. He was taller than the average man and of slim build, but this was noticeable only because of the thorough soaking his robes received from the steady downpour. However the man's face was the most intriguing feature. It had a mystery about it, a secret so dark and deep that only the wisest sage could possibly have a chance of deciphering it. Then there were his eyes. They darted about, quickly surveying the landscape, missing nothing. They were a giveaway to his inner restlessness and impatience, yet they held an intelligence that could only go hand in hand with a lightning fast mind.

A sudden strong gust of wind caused him to waver slightly in his trek but he was quickly back on course. So much had happened to him in the past year that he was still having trouble coping with everything, even though his intelligence surpassed most in this strange land. He sometimes thought it was still a dream, that this was some damn nightmare he'd awake from. Yet here he was, freezing rain chilling him to the bone and mired ankle deep in mud. Despite the harsh weather the rhythmic beat of the rain eased his mind a little and he found himself thinking of home once again. Home he thought. That's funny. He had so much wanted to live in a world like this, learn the arcane arts and speak the mystical words. Now, after nine months of intense training he has earned the title of Conjurer among his teachers and yet all he can think about is his family, home and his unruly dog Sabre. Yet he did have one connection to his world, the world he was from. His friends. They had all somehow ended up together after passing through the silver mist, mysteriously appearing that fateful night. "The mist," he said to himself, "The way back." Thunder and lightning snapped him back to reality with an involuntary shudder.