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!"

Puck waved his hand and the chronicler's ridiculous cry to Validor was denied. Her crispy appearance just fell off as the wind blew away the burnt husk that covered her entire body to reveal a new look. "AH-ha! Much, much better! An old school look of the Mickey Mouse Club attire better suits this one than that drab, scantily skin tight outfit that she's been wearing all this time. Well, what does everyone else think?"

"I guess that would work," Serna shrugged her shoulders, "What do you think, Caliaphy?"

"OOOooo! Master Puck! He's a legend, Serna," Caliaphy flew up and over to the trickster, "Uh, why are you really here, Master Puck?"

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

Alyson face palmed, "Ugh! That is so not cool, Scribe. Seriously, Irzen, where did she learn about Thunder Cats from Earth?"

"Long story short?" Irzen began, "When we first got to the Realm, Dungeon Master split our rather large group of twenty into two teams. One group was to head to The Kingdom of Yarfell to save it from falling to Venger. The other group was to head to The Stinkwell Swamp to rescue our old Druid friend, Gareth, from his imprisonment. While we were there, the swamp created evil Drow versions of ourselves to kill us. Zakiyah the Lorekeeper popped up there to check up on us and when she departed she left us with War Scribe. That Drowling is Zakiyah's her evil twin sister complete with all of her knowledge yet acts as the mirror opposite of her in every way. For example; Zakiyah is orderly, War Scribe is chaotic, Zakiyah loves life, War Scribe adores Death, Zakiyah is calm, disciplined and focused while War Scribe is hyper, undisciplined and scatter-brained."

"Hey!" War Scribe yelled at Irzen, "Who are you calling undisciplined? I resent that! I will have you know that it takes a great deal of discipline to be a Chronicler of Validor."

"Yeah, right!" Irzen deadpanned, "Anyway, that's how War Scribe knows so much about Earth culture. She was literally born of a woman who actually lived it."

Somewhere nearby the sound of several mirrors breaking echoed throughout the area. Shaking a finger Puck added, "No, no, no silly Chronicler, you merely took on an UNDEAD disguise as to blend in, which by the way STUNK! If you were truly undead, these two fine gentlemen would have TURNED you permanently transporting you to a one way trip Between the Worlds.

"And Validor would have rescued me with a snap of his immortal fingers!" War Scribe concluded with a snap of her own fingers to emphasize her point, "He looks after those who do his bidding and rewards those who are faithful to him. And I am soooo faithful! Faithful to Validor! Faithful to being a Chronicler! And faithful unto Death!"

Caliaphy shuddered, "Oh no, the Sidhe King has beef with you silly drowling and that means you're in BIG trouble if he sends the Huntsman too."

"The Sidhe King?!" War Scribe hunched her shoulders, "Who the hell is that? Is this someone I should know? Or someone who knows me? And what beef could a runt of a fairy king have with me? The last time I checked I didn't trample any fairy mounds or do anything THAT stupid."

"A Wild hunt, here?" Lazheros grumbled, "That would be bad indeed."

"A Wild Hunt for me?!" The Chronicler asked in pure disbelief, "Personally, I would consider it an honor to be hunted down by a pack of wild dogs, caught in a beartrap, drowned in a river, stuffed full of cotton and mounted with my head hanging on a wall looking down on a Sidhe Court."

"But I would at least like to know why I'm being hunted by the Sidhe King?" War Scribe mused as she thought wistfully, "Hmmmm, let me think, have I ticked off anyone recently that would want me dead?"