The entire dwarven company marched from the capital to the northern edge of the Southern Valley. He pointed out where the vineyards were and as they rode down the old road, there were elves out in the fields with the threat of invasion gone from their lands. Even some of Mandur's kin were helping out those wineries that were hit the hardest by the hoard that were once destroyed, now mostly rebuilt.

"Since we're basically heading towards either Deeping Dale or Storm Haven, did anyone want to stop by and see anyone in particular? Or are we sticking to the road and see where it leads us?" Alyson asked everyone.

"I say let's stick to the road and see where it takes us," Irzen replied without hesitation.

"Ditto." Serna added her two cents before she turned to the Fairy, "What do you say, Caliaphy?"

"Hey, I'm just here for the company, Serna." The kurori quipped.

Mandur reigned his war goat along side the party, "Your all welcome to visit my home town, folks. Proper titles were left back at Arbor Haven. Out here, just be yer selves lads and lasses."

"Thank you for the invitation, Mandur," The Swordsman smiled, "Since we have no pressing business or place to be at the moment, I see no reason why we can't visit your homeland."

Lazheros rubbed his goatee, "Hmm, I would like to see the Grand Monument that your cousin, Martuk speaks of."

"Aye the Grand Monument. Where all our ancestors are recorded. The great paragons who came before and those who have yet to come." The hill dwarf captain replied.

"The Grand Monument?" Serna asked no one in particular, "Is that like a tomb?"

Mandur was about to respond when...

Without warning, a wild-eyed War Scribe suddenly appeared covered in Orc blood from head to toe, "TOMB?! TOMB?! DID SOMEONE MENTION DEATH?!"

Caliaphy added her own dramatic flare to War Scribe's entrance, "Don-don-donnnnn!"

His war goat and the bronze man's mount simultaneously rammed the chronicler in a vice like position. ***BAMMM!!***

"OOOOOHHHHH!!! YYYYYEEESSSSS!!!" War Scribe screamed at the top of her lungs, "RAMMED TO DEATH BY WAR GOATS! GIVE IT TO ME! GIVE IT TO ME! YES! YES! YES!"

A chorus of laughter erupted from the dwarves nearest to War Scribe, "That's what happens when you pop up between two war goats, you dolt!"

"Not the sharpest tool in the shed, is she?!" One said laughing from behind.

"That's a 'she'??" Another dwarf stammered.

"Meh!" One waved the chronicler off, "Too much sun light for drow. Stuns 'em ever single time! Har! Har! Har!"

"The Grand Monument is NOT a tomb, young one. It is simply a huge pillar of stone that dates back to the very first paragon of the hill dwarfs who broke away from our mountain cousins seeking a life above the earth instead of beneath it." Mandur yanked the reins of his war goat away from the chronicler now.

"Oh! It's a giant marker. I get it now. Thanks for explaining it to me," Serna replied with a smile before she held her nose, "What is that foul smell?"

"Good Lord!" Irzen looked over at The Chronicler, "What the hell, Scribe? Did you swim in the sewers of Northaven or what?"

"Nope!" War Scribe replied cheerily, "I became UNDEAD! To better record the story of the battle from the battlefield itself, I decided to change myself into one of the undead. And let me tell you: THAT BATTLE WAS GGGGLLLOOORRRRIIIIOOOUUUUSSS!!! Never have I seen so much carnage, so much fear, so much terror, so much dread, SO MUCH DEATH!" The Drowling shook herself and returned to the topic at hand, "And it worked. So now, I look like Death! I smell like Death! And now I'm UNDEAD just like Death! What do you think?"

Mandur gripped his war hammer tightly now and Lazheros did the same.

"I think you need to be turned!" Irzen looked over at the Cleric, "Care to do the honors, Lazheros?"

Alyson backed her mount far enough away to know that this was not going to be a simple new way to die for the Chronicler.

Irzen didn't have to ask the bronze man who viewed the chronicler's latest disguise with utter disgust as he raised his own weapon above him muttering something in draconic as the clouds formed above the party, "There is a DIFFERENCE between DEATH and UNDEAD, chronicler. You have chosen poorly!"

"I'm going to be TURNED!" War Scribe cried in pure glee, "YES! YES! YES!"

Mandur added a Branding Smite in case War Scribe some how survived and tried to disappear. "Death comes for us all even those who believe themselves immortal and untouchable by normal, or magical means. You are a travesty! Pure and simple!"

"I'm not a travesty!" The Chronicler argued, "I'm UNDEAD! And I'm going to get TURNED! Is that so bad?"

A beam of radiant fire blasted the Chronicler into a crispy husk of a drowling with one catch, she was still alive. In pain but alive.

When the beam of radiant fire struck War Scribe, the Chronicler cut loose with a blood-curdling scream mixed with pain and joy as she bathed herself in the divine inferno and dropped to her knees.

"Well damn, Scribe," Alyson gasped noticing her new attire and suddenly surrounded by images of giggling children, "Uh, does anyone else see this or it is just me?"

"Nope!" Irzen replied, "I see it. I just don't believe it!"

"What in the Realm?" Serna asked in pure disbelief as she surveyed War Scribe's new countenance.

"You see that's the problem with someone like that creature," Came a new voice floating over to all of them, "Allow me to introduce myself, I am Puck and I say that want-to-be drowling as you call her needs some joy and children in her life to give her a different perspective. Wouldn't you agree?"

Though War Scribe was a crispy critter, the Drowling raised her burnt head slowly rose to her feet and cried out, "Ancient spirits of Validor, transform this decayed form to WAR SCRIBE, THE EVER-DYING! YYYYYYAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!"

With a look of complete maudlin upon his face, Irzen deadpanned, "Yeah, right."