This particular eve, the wind blew sharply outside and the air was cold with the stinging salt spray characteristic of Serpent's Hold, that stoned and fortified bastion a speck of land in the otherwise vast expanse of the south seas. Like a dead man's face, the great ocean is featureless except for the mighty walls constructed stone by stone on that lone isle, bane of pirates and beacon of hope for any lost in a storm.

As the meeting drew to a close, several ideas had been drawn up and the assembled ladies and gentlemen drew forth their mugs to finish off their last bits of ale before departing. A pitiable, blind old man began rapping his seeing stick rather loudly on the floor. He had shuffled in almost unnoticed earlier in the evening in the midsts of the meeting. Quietly taking a seat in the back of the pub, he had remained silent throughout the evening - until now.

As a kindly soul asked why he was rapping his stick so sharply upon the floor, he complained that he was seeking his daughter. Apparently, she had taken up an acquaintance with a gentleman, a mage in fact. Their budding relationship had raised a few eyebrows but nothing overly alarming in a land replete with practitioners of the arcane arts. Unfortunately, this blind old man was now here because his daughter had recently disappeared, very uncharacterstic of the young and, perhaps, naive lass. But now the father had grown worried and solicited what information from the tavern guests on her whereabouts.

After a bit of head scratching and several outbursts of possible explanations, maps of the realm and near-lands were brought forth and scrutinized. Indeed, a wonderous memorial lay in the wild and sparsely inhabited lands of Ilshenar. The memoral was had been constructed by unknown peoples, some sages even conjectured by the gods themselves, in tribute to the legendary bard Gwenno. For the younger readers of these pages of parchment, Gwenno was among the near-legendary companions of Lord British in his younger days, often providing crucial and invaluable assistance to the king in the earlier days of his monarchy which were times of peril and darkness. She herself had passed beyond the veil of the living many, many years ago. The memorial to her had been found when the lands of Ilshenar were discovered. It is a stone monolith, the words carved into face in the human tongue with a simple and warm epitaph.

Many of the older and wiser of those present agreed that this must be the place they should first check as it bore too uncanny a resemblance to the rumored "Gwenn" word. Many brave souls quickly volunteered their service and armor was soon fitted, weapons checked and horses brought out of the stables for the long journey to the memorial in Ilshenar.

The assembled force was notable indeed, rarely an armed contingent this large is seen outside the eternally warring lands of Felucca. But unlike those troops of war, this force had volunteered for the simple mission of returning a naive, young lass to the embrace of her faltering, blind father.

As the mighty force wound it's way south from the Shrine of Valor, through the highlands of Ilshenar, east of Terort Skitas and toward the plains of Pormir Harm, the increased presence of the undead was both felt and soon seen. Wraiths, zombies, liches and finally the powerful undead mages, the lichlords, were soon encountered. The band quickly began vanquishing whatever evil dared confront them as some members began scouring the areas for clues. It was not long before a spirit of another sort soon appeared - the GateKeeper.

Appearing to the untrained eye as yet just another disembodied soul, this one is quite different. It's physical form has never been seen, some even question whether it is the soul of a formerly living person or is an entirely different sort of being altogether. Unlike the apparation of the recently slain, this spirit exudes a palpable aura of what is best described as a silent presceince, a sort of unspeaking knowledge, almost as if it is watching but not commenting, observing but not reacting.

At first, the GateKeeper spoke in the OoOooOo's typical of the dead, indecipherable to all but the most talented mediums. Since no such practitioner happened to be among the armed band, Jon of the Fellowship of Virtue made sacrifice of his living being for a brief foray into the netherworld to communicate with the GateKeeper. These attempts at communication yielded little initially, frustrating the would-be rescuers. After some cryptic admonitions and finally some demands for the completion of some tasks to prove themselves worthy, the group agreed to follow the instructions of the GateKeeper.

The first task was for the continued eradication of the roving undead near Gwenno's Memorial. This was done with little efforts and the GateKeeper was momentarily sated. Soon, the spirit made another demand for the slaying of a number of powerful titans. The armed band set out for a known encampment of the giant warriors. After a fierce battle, a number were finally slain and many of their belongings brought back for the GateKeeper's inspection.

Still somewhat unconvinced, the GateKeeper indicated that the party must seek out and bring back a torch and a word. Jon began the long ride back to a town to get a torch while the party returned to the titan encampment. After another set of fierce battles, a scrap of parchment was discovered bearing the word Sumuta.

The party raced back to Gwenno's Memorial and soon met with Jon, bearing the requested torch. The torch was lit and the word was spoken. The GateKeeper stood silently, apparently unmoved by these latest efforts. Some of the party members began chanting the word, louder and louder, until finally everyone yelled the discovered word.

In in course of a single second, in the time a drop of water is consumed in the heart of a roaring fire, the GateKeeper vanished and the blind man's daughter suddenly appeared forth from the ethers. She was a bit shaken, but unharmed. She was questioned about her whereabouts and said she remembered little except that she had seen her mysterious mage friend and then only remembered, as in a trance, being led away from her home and into some sort of void. Her next realization was standing before the assembled party, knowing nothing of the GateKeeper or the amount of time that had passed since her disappearance. She did query the party as the nature of the famous woman whose memorial she now stood before and the party soon relayed to her lore from old days, now rarely discussed except among scholars and historians.

While all were overjoyed at the touching reuniting of father and daughter, some pulled at their beards and uneasily gripped the hilts of their swords in contemplation of the mysterious figure known only as the GateKeeper. Was the GateKeeper behind the apparent kidnapping or working as an agent to restore the woman to her father? Perhaps the GateKeeper had been playing a more sinister role in all this, testing the group to see if they could handle something such as finding a kidnapped maiden? Perhaps the GateKeeper had found a worthy party? Dozens of questions and many more possible explanations filled the air in the tavern on the stormswept isle that night. Only time could, hopefully, reveal more about the mysterious GateKeeper.

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