The events surrounding my death are what some poets will call heroic. At least that is how I imagined it would be ever since I was a young boy in Lastwall. At present, my mind is stuck in a magical, ethereal place disconnected from my senses. I could not smell, feel, nay, even see really. I am just dying. The final battle with the mimic was what got me in the end. I lived long enough to know we killed it and the rest of the party will survive. I shielded my companions in the face of eight skeletons when we had no options but to retreat. They all survived and we won that encounter. But the mimic, carefully concealed as a barrel among barrels squished me until there was just nothing to hold on to. Perhaps that is why I am floating here in this white space, waiting to meet my god…or at least I hope that will be the case. The alternative is much worse.
As my consciousness is slowly slipping away my mind replays the alternatives I could have taken that might have changed the outcome. Light. A decent light source would have made all the difference this day. Why did we go into the cave with only the one lantern? Why hadn’t I prepared the light spell I have used so many times before? If only I could have afforded a wayfinder before beginning this blasted peril-ridden quest. What good is money when you are dead? The simple, elegant, icon of the Pathfinder. So beautifully wrought of silver with gold inlay. The artistry making it worth much more than its weight in the precious metals. The badge of office would have provided a constant brought light to the darkness just like the Pathfinders do to the secrets of the ancients. Just like I was meant to do.
The skeletons, raised by necromantic magic long undisturbed, had shattered the first light source. Their dark cave proved a perfect death trap. The magic had lost some of its power. The skeletons were but fragments of their potential. Thankfully they had not acted with intellect but with simple drive to attack. They had not gone for the weakest and that allowed us to fight our way back to the entrance feeling our way along the rock walls. Once in the light of the cave entrance we destroyed them as they emerged. We retrieved torches from the keep but those smoky burning torches threw flickering light that did not offer me the chance to see the mimic for what it was. Yes, with torch and sword in hand I fought to free myself but once in the clutches of the mimic’s tight clutches I was a loss. I will remember that I died with a war cry of support to my companions who slew the beast as I drew my last breath. They have avenged me and I can only hope the bard will tell my tale for years to come.