Shullat: In Hrogar's Camp

It is odd to think that thousands of years have passed since I was last here.

The faces are different. The men I traveled with are long since dead, and the armies arrayed against the aboleth go by different names.

But as I walk amidst the armies gathered here, as I watch them practice maneuvers and offer words of advice, of encouragement, it feels very much the same. Another great and varied army, hoping to forget themselves into an army before their enemies can split them apart.

I help them where I can, knowing as little as I do. I watch for points where this units cavalry might be best supported by the slingers of that group of halflings.

And all the time I try to ignore the sense that someone is watching me. The sense that, at any moment, I will be ripped away from all this again and find myself trapped in another crystal for another ten thousand years.

I know that I must trust my allies. To give in to distrust, to believe that the aboleth has already taken the minds of my allies, is to be paralyzed.

But then I think: if the aboleth could take the lich, what chance do these paladins have?

I can only thank the gods that the aboleth was defeated in spite of that treachery.

Though if the lich knew the plan, I must wonder: if he knew my death would change nothing, why would the aboleth have caused him to imprison me, rather than one who would matter more in the final battle?

Every answer to that question troubles me.

So I focus on what I know. I tell young men to keep their shields up, and perhaps they listen to me, if only because they don't know what else to make of me.

At least I know that soon, it will all be made simpler in the haze of battle, and the destruction of our enemies.

I only pray that this time I am allowed to make it to the battle.