Warlord Reaver sat slumped in his chair, a goblet of wine in his hand. The howling winter wind outside could still be heard, deep within his formidable fortress. He was surrounded by trophies and mementos of his long life. Memories of past victories and defeats haunted him as the old man huddled near the fire.

Reaver remembered losing his parents to a dragon attack when he was a boy, and was taken in by a kindly Innkeeper. He bitterly recalled being forced to toil in drudgery as a servant of the inn till he was a teenager. A fond memory of a lost love spurred him to leave the inn, and he took up with a band of brigands that had kidnapped the Innkeeper's son. He didn't really want to be a part of their company, but seized the opportunity they represented and aided them in the kidnapping. He left that band of thieves soon after and became a guard for a caravan. The caravan was soon attacked and was almost overwhelmed by goblins, but he defended it desperately . He recalled he and the surviving guards stringing up the head merchant for his lack of planning. Later his new companions formed an adventuring band that sacked and razed the dungeons of Mammoth keep. He remembered a useless bard that touched his cold heart, but he spurned her affection . Later his band dispersed after narrowly surviving an encounter with the terror of the north, the infamous blackguard Sir Hildraxel . He then recalled being pressed into the service of the Great Host against the gnollish horde of their god king Yeenoghu. It was a grand battle, but they were ultimately doomed. Reaver's keen tactical mind saw it before anyone else, and promptly ordered the men under his command to withdraw from the battle. The Great Host was defeated, but his retreat saved many knights and warriors who swore allegiance to him. Afterwards he became one of the most feared mercenary lords of the north, a cunning general that worked for the various city states that remained after the Great Host's collapse. His army known as the War Ravens, made him a fortune mostly supporting coups and civil wars, but also battling marauding orcs, goblins, and gnolls, even while civilization collapsed around them. The gnolls had slowly pushed their way into the city states of Northern Grom in the past century and soon they threatened to pour into the rich Central Grom holdings. The world was on the brink of Armageddon.

Reaver drank deeply the wine from his goblet and moved his chair closer to the fire. A life time of accumulated riches would mean nothing soon he thought to himself.

*knock knock*

Reaver turned and saw one his long time companions. Franksada was still a tall man dressed in heavy plate armor, and despite his years he still had his short blonde hair and a boyish quality to his features. He and his brothers helped him string up that merchant so long ago in the past and the gifted warrior had been at his side ever since.

"Boss….I got news from Ymir's Thaig. It's being invaded by gnolls. Yimmy requests our help before they siege her city, " stated Franksada. " Who knows, maybe she'll pay back the debts she owes us, " he added with a chuckle.

Warlord Reaver shook his head. "I warned Ymir, the Great horde would turn on the dwarf holds before marching south. I will not risk any of my War Ravens to aid her, " spat the old tactician.

Franksada frowned. "Her Thaig is fairly mountainous, and you of all people should know the excellent state of her fortress. If we double march to her hold, we can give the gnolls a black eye they won't forget. Who knows, it might even be the battle that turns the tide of war. Those laughing dog guys need to be taken down a peg or two, "declared the aged knight.

Warlord Reaver shook his head again. "My orders have been given. It's too risky and dangerous to do a forced march into a war zone during winter! Regrettably Ymir's Thaig will fall, but it will buy the rest of us a few more months, " he explained with a sigh. Though Warlord Reaver was a skill strategist he always took the most conservative and advantageous route. Franksada's plan had its merits and but reinforcing the dwarves was nothing short of foolish heroics and he would not commit his army to such a desperate plan, regardless if it was to help a friend or not.

Franksada closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He then took a letter from his pocket and presented it to his commander and companion. Reaver raised an eyebrow at this unexpected response from his right hand man. "It's been a great run Reaver, a very long and profitable run I might add. We won a lot of battles, earned a lot of loot, drank a lot of wine, and banged a lot of bitches, but I can't abandon Yimmy. Those are my resignation papers, "explained the old knight.

Reaver was stunned and opened the letter in shock. He scanned the form and smirked. "I quit? That's all you wrote?", he questioned before putting the letter in his pocket.

Franksada shrugged, " You know I'm not that big of a writer. Hey if it makes you feel better, if we somehow win, I'll be begging for my old job back before the spring campaign heh, " jested the warrior.

Reaver chuckled and waved his friend away. "Good luck, "was his only reply. Reaver felt a small part of him wanted to join his friend, but it was too risky. Marching his army to attempt to stop the horde of Yeenoghu was simply foolish. He made his fortune on avoiding risk and he wasn't about to start now.

Franksada drew his blade and saluted his old friend with it before leaving the room. Reaver half expected a final wise crack from the man, but was satisfied with his silent farewell.

Reaver then ran a bell and a servant came in to refill his goblet. He settled into his chair once again and contemplated his fate. The attack on the dwarven holds might buy them three months at the least almost two years at most, depending on the stalwart nature of the defenders. That would give him plenty of time to liquidate his assets in Grom and move to perhaps Thyatis or Darokin. The speculation would drive the property prices down, but if he timed his sales after a spirited dwarven victory , he could still get decent money he thought. He wondered even if moved to the south, how long would it take the enemy to reach him, how long would humans and their demi human allies still walk as freemen before the seemingly endless tide of gnolls drowned them.

Before Reaver could calculate an answer, suddenly the room was filled with a loud sucking sound then the cackling of bestial laughter.

Reaver grabbed his blade and sprang off his chair. He was surprised to find a dozen heavily armored gnolls had somehow invaded his study.

"The Warmaster! He is here! Slay him! ", shouted a particularly brutish looking gnoll in its native tongue. Reaver understood him perfectly though, one of the few skills he learned under the innkeeper and his friends was the ability to understand a vast array of languages.

Reaver wasn't sure how they penetrated his defenses. His keep was hundreds of miles away from the horde, and his walls were specifically warded against magics. Only the most powerful of enchantments could penetrate them, and he wondered why the enemy had targeted him. It had been decades since he had garnered any reasonable fame .

Regardless of how the gnolls appeared, Reaver slashed at the enemy closest to the door. He admitted his reputation was much greater than his actual skill, but he was still considered a formidable opponent with the blade. Instead of a wide slash against multiple foes, he kept his slashes and thrusts short and controlled, in hopes of overwhelming one enemy and allowing him to dash for the door. He scored several strikes against the gnoll, which staggered back, but unfortunately another of the hyena faced monsters took its place.

Reaver scowled and half expected his guards to come storming into his study at the signs of combat, but instead he heard screams from outside the door. Reaver guessed more than the dozen gnolls before him had invaded his keep, and he would not be receiving aid soon. He also saw that these gnolls were different from any others he had seen. They were dressed similar to elite flinds, but they seemed to be from a coalition of tribes. Even though Gnolls worked together on a tribal basis, individual tribes were fiercely territorial and competitive. They would never cooperate on a squad level, even if it was to kill a particularly hated enemy.

Reaver kicked his chair to its side to form a temporary barrier as he backed himself to the corner. A massive gnoll flail barely missed him, but one of the odd gnoll chain metal bars managed to strike him in the arm, stunning him and causing him to involuntarily drop his blade. A gnoll rushed the now defenseless warrior, but Reaver produced a short sword at the last moment, and slashed his charging foe in the nose. The gnoll recoiled, but Reaver pressed forwards and hacked the creature in the neck. It was a messy strike that sprayed the room in blood, but it forced the gnoll away before it fell on its back in agony. The old warrior learned long ago to always carry a second blade.

Reaver hoped that his bloody kill would intimidate the monsters, but the blood seemed to stoke their fury. The gnolls howled and surged forwards at him, and Reaver closed his eyes and braced for the worse.

The old warrior waited for a killing strike but none came. He opened his eyes and saw that the pack of gnolls that sought his blood had crashed into an invisible barrier of some sort. They were comically squeezing their snouts and grasping what appeared to be an unseen pane of glass. Reaver wasn't sure what was happening but thought his foes resembled a horrific troupe of mimes.

"I really hate gnolls. Not only do they smell, but they are stupid, wreck the land, make that hideous noise,…and oh did I mention that they smelled ? ", stated a tall elf in a form hugging green robe next to him. "Oh hey Fetch, betcha didn't expect me here did you? " she added.

Reaver looked at the elf curiously. Even with the form fitting robe he could not discern its gender. It's angular face and long dark hair definitely look feminine but he could not spot any breasts on its frame. What was more curious was that she or he called him Fetch. He hadn't been called that since he worked at the inn, he took the name Reaver soon afterwards and had never been referred by that shameful name ever since.

"My name is Warlord Reaver. Who are you , and why are these gnolls in my keep! ", demanded the Mercenary General.

The elf held out its hands in feigned terror. " Oooh….Warlord Reaver….ooooh big and scary …..,"teased the elf before knocking its hands on the invisible wall. "Listen Fetch, and don't tell me your name isn't Fetch, cuz I saw you react to that name. My name is Lady Surry and I just saved your hide. These gnolls aren't from this world, they stumbled on a temporal rift caused by the big fight with the Githyanki. These are the last remnants of the Great Horde and decided to seek you out for revenge. That's great and all except they don't know too much about alternate realities or temporal mechanics. They pretty much hopped into this world, and sought out the equivalent to our beloved Warmaster Fetch, which happens to be you….the terrible Warlord …ahem….Reaver. "

Reaver wasn't sure what she said, but he did not like her tone. He had killed men for much less. He considered stabbing this wizard or whatever she was at close proximity, but he thought her death might bring the gnolls upon them.

Surry saw Reaver glance at the gnolls and nodded. "Ahh I get it, you're worried about the shaggy clown show. Here let me do what I came here to do. " With that she snapped her fingers and two streams of distinct glowing silver motes appeared. In a flash the invisible barrier holding the gnolls vanished. Reaver expected to be trampled by the gnolls, but a bolt of lightning struck the lead gnoll, before arcing multiple times around the room striking its comrades. The gnolls fell dead, ozone and charred flesh wafting from their bodies.

"Sorry about the scent Fetch err I mean Reaver…", she said before another stream of motes gathered and then reduced the slain gnolls to dust. " There all better," she smiled.

Reaver dropped his jaw at the display of power. She was definitely a wizard of some sort, but there was definitely none that powerful in his world, at least none that he knew of. As Reaver blinked his eyes in disbelief, a bloodied Franksada burst into the room.

"Reaver! Gnolls have penetrated into the keep! ….Surry?", asked the tall warrior in surprise.

"Frank? ", questioned Surry.

"The one and only! ", declared Franksada proudly before hugging the green robed elf.

Reaver wasn't sure what was happening. Did the entire world go insane? " Wait..wait…you two know each other? Who is she Franksada?" demanded the Mercenary General.

Franksada rolled his eyes and grinned. "You can't make me talk. I don't work for you anymore …remember! ", he proudly stated. Franksada watched Reaver go red for a few seconds then relented with a smile. " Ok..ok….I met her on a quest to the dimensional city of Sigil…or was that Axis… you know the trips I always invite you to join me on, but you are too whiny to come. Anyways she found me and started calling me Frank. I obviously didn't know her, but after a couple bottles of wine, everything was made clear. Apparently she's your daughter from an alternate dimension, where you are called Fetch..the waterboy of all things.. HAH! Seemed you banged the brains outta Brita the Pure..as she's known on this world, and you had twins. "

Surry frowned as Frank revealed her heritage,"Oh please...no hugging or touching . That would be awkward," she said while rolling her eyes.

Reaver was stunned, not that this Surry was from an alternate dimension, but because of his lowly status on this other world. " I am still known as Fetch the waterboy in your world. How pathetic!" he spat angrily.

Franksada held out his hand, " Look Reaver , your doppelganger Fetch is big potatoes where he comes from. Surry was being charmingly evasive, but I did my own research and found out quite a lot. On their world he stopped the Gnoll horde, rescued McDunnalds, defeated Duke Ari, released a half dozen goddesses , sacked Frost haven, amongst other things. It's said he even has a pit fiend for a familiar and the god of entropy as his wife. We're talking big league stuff."

Reaver fumed. "Why didn't you tell me this before! "

Franksada shrugged but Surry replied first. "Probably didn't want to embarrass you. "

Reaver wanted to slay these two fools but stayed his anger. His friend Franksada was a far superior swordsman than himself, and he just witnessed the mindboggling magic of …of his other dimensional daughter. "I do not need you two to berate me with wild tales of my other self. I don't care of his deeds. I saved all the knights that I could at the destruction of the Great Host, I carved myself an empire from the squabbling cities, I built my fortune by the skill of my blade. I am proud of what I've done and will not be shamed by the accomplishments of another man, even if it is some warped version of myself."

Franksada shook his head and sighed. "Listen Reaver. I was with you when you lead whatever knights that followed you to safety , and I am thankful for that. However, since then you've been living off your laurels, playing the safe route. I consider you my friend, but I must tell you I've seen you squander so much of your potential. Your cautious methods might have let you survived all those battles and wars, but merely surviving isn't living. It seems everytime you were given a chance for glory you opted to let someone else attempt it and failed. I know in my heart you were meant for greater things than drinking about minor victories in your keep. Fame isn't the be all and end all of things, but you have the skill and talent to save the north…possibly the world. You have the gift to be a legend that people will praise and sing about. You have the talent that could get your best buddy laid just by mentioning your name, but you are too afraid to use it."

Surry chuckled at Franksada but nodded in agreement. "I am sorry for any casualties you incurred by this Gnoll attack, but I must be going. It was good seeing you again Franksada, maybe we can share a drink next time you're in Sigil or Axis. "She smiled before vanishing in a shower of motes. Reaver closed his eyes and attempted to summon forth her memory. For an elf, or more accurately half elf, she was not that remarkable looking, but the knowledge she was his daughter in another world warmed his heart. He was truthful when he said he wasn't jealous of his other self's accomplishments, but the knowledge that Fetch had a child and he didn't made him oddly envious of his doppelganger.

Reaver collapsed into his chair and stared into the fire. "Did I really squander my life Franksada? Did I waste my youth by avoiding conflict and seeking the easy path ?"

His old friend remained silent for what seemed like minutes. "Few are given an opportunity to glance at what might have been. It's both a gift and a curse. It doesn't matter if people scoff at your deeds, in the end the only person that you have to answer to is yourself," waxed the old knight. "Wow…I was like …deep there. I should get a philosophy degree or something, " added Franksada with a chuckle.

Reaver thought over his words and looked deep within himself. Franksada was right, he had taken the easy road all his life. He should have made a stand when those brigands attempted to kidnap the Innkeeper's son. He should have never spurned that bard that made his soul sing. He should have fought with the host till the bitter end. All these things shaped the mold of his life, and the long spiral down afterwards. Instead of battling the gnolls actively his mercenaries did nothing but assist the petty rivalries of the city states that ensured destruction of the north. The times he battled the real enemy actually made a difference in the world, but they were few and far between. He was given the opportunity on many occasions to lead the fight against the gnolls but let a less competent and able general to take charge. The weight of his life crushed him as he sat on his chair.

Only the memory of the smile of the half elf named Surry broke the darkness around him. She wasn't his real daughter, and even if she was, he considered her a foul mouthed shrew of the first caliber. Despite this the thought that there existed a possibility that he could father a child warmed him. That would of course be impossible now, his own world was falling apart, starting with his friend's hold.

Warlord Reaver dug into his pocket and retrieved Franksada's resignation letter and ripped it to shreds. " I reject your resignation. Prepare the War Ravens for battle. I'll need every man I can get to break the siege on Ymir's Thaig! "

Franksada pumped his aged fist into the air. " Alright! That's the spirit! Three cheers for snotty flat chested alternate dimensional daughters !"