Brotor froze midstep as the air grew cold. He slowly surveyed the interior, eyes as wide as like the moon.

He tried to fathom what he was walking into here, what he knew about these parts of Faerun.
History check 12

Before he could speak his fears, the apparition of a female elf materialized into being. He was speechless, the pipe he had been biting on hung from his opening mouth for a moment before clattering to the floor.

Living in the wilds had its share of strange sightings but so much had happened in the last couple of days. A necromancer and now a ghost. Once more he was face to face with an unliving creature that might come to haunt his dreams, or worse.

It spoke. SHE spoke. And she spoke of death. Then, suddenly, the warlock was speaking too. Brotor shook out of his stupor and checked that he hadn’t soiled himself.

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