Written into the Dead Book

Darkness. Cold and absolute and terrifying in its possibilities. No breath struggled here; no sounds invaded the sanctity of my mind. There was just the utter conviction that I would soon arise and find myself on a barren plain, pocked with rocks and scrubby trees. A cold red glow emanating from the very ground would be all the light that I would see. It consumed me, this vision of another plane. I knew that I had died.

Thump. I landed hard on the ground. Then a strange sensation – something akin to laughter bubbled up through my chest and I found myself gasping for breath. It was at that point that I realized I hadn't been breathing for quite some time. My eyes still closed, I relished in the act of breathing. My diaphragm contracting and expanding and filling my lungs with air. But the air was foul. There was a stench I couldn't name filling my nostrils. It smelled of sulfur and phosphorus and something else, and the very air itself seemed thicker than I was used to.

Images came unbidden to my mind. The look of sheer hate in Casavir's eyes as he swung his hammer at me, connecting with my head. As I fell down, the smirk of satisfaction that had replaced the hatred had chilled me to the depths of my paltry little soul. I had betrayed him; betrayed them all in that final act of cowardice before the King of Shadows. Where ever I was now, it was probably someplace I deserved to be.

I opened my eyes and sat up, feeling the spot on my head that Casavir's hammer had connected with. There was no gaping hole or indentation there. A brief inspection of the rest of my body showed there were no wounds of any sort. I must have healed. Then I took a look around, and my heart nearly stopped.

A barren wasteland stretched out into the distance. The plain was covered in rock outcroppings and dotted with small scraggly trees that seemed to be barely clinging to life. Mountains loomed on all sides, but seemed to be far away through the thick haze of the atmosphere. The sky was strange – there was no sun, or moon, or any type of light giving body at all. The red glow that filled the air came from the very ground I sat on. Things moved on the plain, but they were either too far away or too small to be discerned.

Not too far away was a small hill; rising above the plain enough to give a vantage point. If I could make my way there, then I would be able to see the landscape and maybe find a town or something. Maybe get enough information to figure out where I was and what I should do next. But as I thought about where I was, a chill descended on me that I couldn't shake.

The walk wasn't long, but by the time I reached the top of that hill I was out of breath. There was something funny about the air here: it felt as if I couldn't move enough air through my lungs to satisfy my body. And it was heavy, so the very act of breathing itself took more energy than I was used to. Not to mention the odor! Sulfur and phosphorous tangled together with hot rock and ashes. I wasn't sure I would ever get used to it. I wasn't sure I wanted to.

The rocks on the hill afforded some shade in which to hide, for which I was grateful. Off in the distance there seemed to be a village of some sort: houses were huddled together inside some sort of wall, and there were creatures moving around in the streets. It looked like it was about a two hour walk from here. Without any celestial objects in the sky, I couldn't tell if the light was going to fade any time soon or not. I'd have to take my chances on the plain. Luckily I was well versed in the field of stealth. Walking into town unseen shouldn't be a problem.

I began the descent down the hill and immediately had to dive for cover behind a rock as something enormous passed by below me. The creature towered above the surrounding rocks and had a lean form. Its body oozed tar and left behind a trail of the black murk. Luckily the rock that was closest to me was enough to hide behind. The look in that thing's eyes made me sure that had it spotted me, I'd be dead. Again.

Once it had passed and was well out of sight, I cautiously began my descent. Disaster had been narrowly averted, but it shocked me into being more careful about my surroundings. There were things crawling on the planes, and while none of them had the look of that tarry one, none of them were likely to be helpful in this place.

The trip across the valley was agonizingly slow as I dashed from one rock to another in an attempt to stay hidden. I was afraid to use any of my spells here, as I didn't know how they'd work. And it was possible that the natives could sense magic, and then I'd be caught and done for. It wouldn't do to die my first day in the afterlife.

Three hours later I stumbled into the confines of the town I'd seen from the hill. The closer I got to the town, the more civilized things appeared. A road popped up out of nowhere and the rocks seemed less haphazard than on the plains. A few hundred meters from the village I stopped trying to hide. It had become impossible anyway – there was nothing to hide behind and I had never mastered hiding in plain sight.

The village was surrounded by a wall made of bone. At first glance, I thought it was white washed clay or stucco. But as I drew closer to the front gate, I realized my mistake. The bones of something very large had gone into the construction of the wall. I really didn't want to know. By now I had a fair idea of where I'd wound up, and I wasn't too surprised. The only question burning in my mind was what I was going to do about it. For now, I'd find a place to hole up until I could figure that out.

"Halt," said one of the people guarding the gate. He sounded bored. "State your intentions and where you've come from." He glowered at me, his black armor glinting in the uncertain light. The helm he wore on his head disguised his features so I couldn't tell what his mental state was.

"My intentions are my own, but I don't plan to cause any problems. As for where I came from, it was just over that hill out there." I casually flung my hand back in the direction I'd come from, "I would really like a drink." I stood there with my arms crossed in front of my chest, hoping they'd just let me in.

The guard looked to his friend and they both shook their heads.

"Another petitioner."

His buddy said, "The second today. What? Is there some war going on that we don't know about?" His last question was directed at me, but it was plain from the look on his face he didn't expect me to answer. "Go on in. But if I find you've been making trouble, you'll be dead."

The streets of the town were wide, and the dust from the ground blew about the buildings, coating them gray. The people here were sullen and unfriendly, but then I hadn't expected anything else. They looked all around them, as if they were waiting for a knife to come out of the shadows and end them. In all reality, they probably were. If my thinking was correct, I'd landed myself on Carceri – the prison plane. Nobody here trusted anyone else. And there was no way out: not for people like me, that is.

Halfway down the main street there was a sign out in front of a building with a picture of a bed and a mug. I stepped into the inn, hoping for a drink and a room. What I found was the second biggest surprise of the day.