"Just let me go." Her faint whispers still echoed in his mind. Was he
still awake or was this another dream? He stared at the half empty mug in
front of him. What am I drinking? What is that smell? He turned his head
and then noticed the passed out goblin who was napping in a pool of his own
vomit. Gradually the memory of entering the Severed Hand in Southern
Naerlan returned. His head hurt. Was he hung over or was it something
else? He couldnt remember how long he had been sitting there. He couldnt
even remember if this was his first mug or his twentieth. He stood up
carefully. "No, not dizzy," he thought to himself. But the strange feeling
wouldnt leave. He felt awake and yet didnt. It was as if his soul had been
ripped from his body and he was staring at himself staring dumbly back.
"Mistress..." He spoke out loud but hoarsely. He grabbed at the shadow
symbol around his neck and stumbled out of the tavern.
