Chapter 1

The sound of rocks and pebbles being crushed under track could be heard by the sharpest of elven ears. A large carrage was leisurely rolling down the side of a gravel road. In the front of the vessel were two small brown horses, leading the way up north as they pulled a wagon half full of logs and processed pieces of oak wood and other wooden furniture.

The master of these animals and the owner of the wagon they were pulling, was a tall, large, muscular brown haired man by the name of Volondove Caladian. A man who's shoulders were as broad as they come, and who's hair was as short and brown as the maine of the horses pulling the wagon.

It was a rather lovely day for travel in the country side that day. The sky was as blue as the sea to the east. the sounds of the sparrows chirping and other various sounds of nature were echoing through out the wood line surrounding the area. And the sensation of completing a long days work made the evening all the more enjoyable.

Volondove was a hard working man who's skill with a hammer and a saw is like none other. He had his own trading post just a few miles to the south where he would sell stacks lumber that he had harvested himself. He would also craft furniture and other wooden products by hand to sell on a daily basis.

As the working man he was he would commonly stay up very late, sometimes all night working on his lumber crafts, at least in recent times. It was his full time job after all. He had no boss, no manager nor any assistants. His ran his little company all on his own. And today was no different.

Well, kind of. He had finished selling more logs this day than he usually would. He made several sales with some of the local humans and wood elves just a few miles down south. So he was feeling especially good about hi labors, and even more beat that evening.

It was a rather successful business he had. As he set up shop in the wood elven lands of North Varamath, a region teeming with life and an abundance of trees for any random joe to come along and chop down. The wood elves don't mind outsiders much as thier practices of elemental magic meant that they could simply regrow any lost Forrest in matter of days so it worked out for him to start his career up here.

And to make things even better for his business the elves generally don't have a need for extreme amounts of wood harvesters outside the villages. Other than the elementalists elves replanting the Forrest, but their terramancers have allowed them to harvest stone for building and other minerals basically for free. (Though these practices are controlled by the government of the Commune.) So the elves don't mind it if others come and harvest some lumber here and there or take up some building bricks back to the human kingdoms to the south.

All was going well for Volondove that day. He was looking forward to coming home to see his lovely wife. a fare but plain maiden she was, a brown haired woman from the human kingdom of Delirious. A lovely woman by the name of Natilda. They had been married for several years now and expecting a new addition to the family fairly soon.

But as much as he loved to be with her he also become rather drudged. You see, Natilda had been sick for some time now, and the symptoms have only gotten worse. Her condition made him greatly worried as he didn't know how to cure her illness. But he was determined to cure her, by any means necessary.

But Volondove soon pulled on the reins to his horses in an instant. The animals stopped dead in their tracks when he pulled the reigns. something caught his attention out in the distance.

From among the canopy wood line of the great northern forrest A pillar of smoke rose through the tree tops. Just over the towering tree tops a black smoke pillar twisted and turned with the light breeze as it rose higher and higher into the evening sky.

Volondove stood up and squinted his eyes to try to get a better look at where the fire was coming from, or at least to get an idea as to what was burning. As forrest fires in the region were pretty rare. (Again as elementalists we're normally on top of maintaining that kind of stuff.) The thought of a forrest fire was the last thing that came to mind. In fact, wild fires in the region were so rare, that through out all the time he had lived in the forrest (wich was his whole life) he had never once seen a forrest fire break out.

But it didn't take him very long to figure out where the fire was coming from. He had gone down this road a hundred times over to get to work and back. The smoke looked like it was very close to his log house in the woods. He kept several log stack within his property for his business. If one of those were to catch fire, not only would he have to spend a whole day replacing the ruined lumber, but they might spread to the other lumber stacks or even his house.

"Oh no no no, not again." He said to himself in a sudden panic. He got back into his seat and with a whip of the ropes, his horses stood on Thier hind legs as they let out a loud neigh. As their front hooves stamped the earth underneath they galloped down the road increasing in speed quickly. He had to get to the fire before his house was burned to the ground.

Fortunately for him he was already close by when he first noticed the smoke, so it didn't take him long to get back home. As soon as his front yard was in his sight he leaped off of the carriage and rushed towards the fire, all the while saying to himself, "please don't be too late. Please don't be too late. Please don't be too late."

Luck was on his side that day. Because the house wasn't what was on fire, yet. Instead at the source of the smoking pillar, a small stack of half burned logs lay on the ground right next to an old stone fire pit.

Although this wasn't as big of a problem as having his home being burned to a crisp Volondove still didn't waste any time. He rushed across his property to the back yard over to an old, run down well in the north eastern section of the property. There were several wooden buckets stacked up neatly along the edge of the cobble well wall. But he was still in a rush. So before grabbing a random bucket he looked inside the well first to see if there was a bucked already attached to the pulley.

At the bottom of the well he could see the slight shining of the water and the metal rim that would stretch along what looked to be the brim of a bucket. Quick as a flash, the muscular Volondove began cranking on the well winch at a rapid speed.

"Come on come on, can't this thing go any faster?" He said still in a panic. He cranked the winch faster as he hastened to extinguish the flame. When the bucket finally reached the top of the well he whipped it out of the well, causing a bit of a splash around his bare feet. He then untied the knot keeping the bucket fastened to the pulley system as fast as he could.

With the bucket now untied and some what full of fresh water he rushed back to the fire trying not to spill too much of it as he went. Grasping the top handle and with a push of the buckets bottom, the water rushed out like a small wave, and snuffed out the fire almost instantly. Or so It had seemed.

Volondove waited a second to see if the flame would spark back up again before running back to the well. The sound of fire being fizzed out by water filled his ears. He gave a sigh of relief as the smoke died down signaling that the fire had died. Volondove then began to look around the fire sight to investigate what it was that started the fire in the first place.

At the base of the fire pit, Volondove hovered over the half burned lumber stack and set the dripping wet bucket onto the ground. The logs were scorched in a way that he couldn't salvage. He gave out a loud sigh of frustration as his stoic physique towered over the logs.

"Well there goes a day's worth of work." He said to himself as he continued to examine the now ruined logs. "At least it didn't spread to the rest of the wood." He thought.

As he investigated the area a bit more, he noticed the glass pieces of an old oil lamp laying on the ground near the logs. Or rather at this point, what was left of it.

It must have fallen off of the tall wooden lamp post that stood near by. The post went up into the air a ways, and then hung over the chopping block that lay just to the left of the lumber stack. The oil inside the lamp had spilled all over the wood stack. No doubt that is what started the fire in the First place. The heat of the sun must have come down at just the right time to ignite the spilled lamp oil.

"Well that's what I get for being too carless. I really should have put that thing away last night." He thought to himself out loud. "Note to self, get some traps for the local squirrel population around here. let's just hope this carelessness doesn't boil over into tending to the needs of Natilda." He said to himself again.

"Speaking of her, it has been a couple days since I last checked up on her. I should probably go check how she is doing now. I'll clean this mess later when it's bright out." He said as he looked up at the evening sky.

He was so busy with his lumber sales that he hadn't had the time to check up on her for a couple days now. He loved his wife very much and would do anything for her. But if he let his business fall apart in tending to her he would have nothing left to give her. He couldn't cure her if he had no money left. So prioritized his job over his wife, at least for the most part. He felt guilty setting his own wife behind his job. But he still did what he could with her when he returned.

He turned around to go back to his small log house that stood all alone in a small clearing in the vast woods of Northern Varamath. He stepped on to the old creaky floor boards of the short, wooden stair way that lead up to his front porch.

The whole house was old and creaky come to think of it. The place was even older than he was. Wich isn't really saying much since we was only 32. But that never really bothered him all that much. After all he had spent his whole life in this run down house in the middle of the forrest. Or at least as far back as he could remember that is.

As he walked up the creaky stairs up to his front porch, he turned his head to his right and face his father's old rocking chair that sat at the edge of the porch. As he stared off into the chair, memories of his long deceased father came flooding back to his mind.

As the memories came back to him, He recalled watching his father build that rocking chair. He was just a little boy at the time. In fact, the more he thought about it, he also remembered helping his old man with that very chair. He had also helped him with multiple other projects he did while he was still around.

He also remembered how he used to hand him tools when he needed like most little children do when they want to help out their parents with important projects. He would bring him water from the old well when he was thirsty. And most of all, he gave him plenty of elbow room for him to work. That was his number one rule.

But as the young boy he grew older, and his father went don into the grave, he soon figured out that the life of a carpenter wasn't the life he wanted. While he didn't build much furniture or other things like his father did, he still liked working with wood. In fact, he had started harvesting and chopped lumber back when he was a young man in his late teens. And he hopes to be doing that job for the rest of his life.

Volondove actually makes a pretty good living harvesting and chopping lumber to sell. He has cleared several acres worth of forrest all on his own, all the while with no helpers, no extra tools, just him and his father's old chopping ax.

But he soon snapped out of his day dreaming as he remembered why he went over to his house to begin with. He turned his gaze back to his left facing towards the window in the side of the front wall.

There he had a clear view of his tiny bedroom where Natilda was resting. In hindsight though, that would normally be a design flaw and an invasion of privacy for anyone who just happened to be coming by. But seeing as hardly anyone comes to his house, even for business reasons, he didn't mind it all that much. He could simply throw a curtain over the window if he needed.

He took a quick peek through the window. There in his bed he saw his wife Natilda still under the bed covers, just as she was when she first contracted the disease. She was so weak, she couldn't even get herself out of the bed on her own anymore. She had been confined to her bed for weeks now. Volondove had to feed her in bed every day, Giver her the needed medicine and maintain all the house chores that would normally fall on her while he was away at work.

Putting on a smile he waved to her through the window letting her know that he was home from work. She noticed him waving at her, But she was too weak to wave back. Instead she tried to rais her hand up a little ways, and then flopped her hand back into her stomach.

This concerned Volondove a bit. Even though she was getting weaker by the day she was always able to at least wave back to him. If she couldn't even do that anymore, than this disease was definitely getting seriously bad and fast. So he quickly went over to the front door and went inside.

The first room he walked into upon entering the house was the kitchen. A rather small room wich also served as a dinning room. There was a small round table just large enough for the two of them. The table and two wooden chairs (also made by his father) were sitting to his left as he stepped inside.

There was also a variety of kitchen utensils hanging from long nails sticking out of the walls on his left. Serving spoons, pans, pots spatulas and knives of different shapes and sizes covered a large chunk of the kitchen walls. Complete with a stone bread oven in the left most corner of the room.

He turned to his right, and walked into the bed room that lay in front of him. Turning the corner to his left as he entered the bed room, he saw his wife looking half dead as usual as she lay helplessly in her bed.

"I'm home my love." He said with a heart warming gentle tone. He has to dull down his tone when speaking to her due to him naturally having a deep masculine and sometimes intimidating tone in his voice.

Natilda turned her eyes to face him for a brief moment before letting out a nasty cough. As she heaved it out she unconsciously lunged herself forward to let it out, pulling herself straight up. And then she flopped back into the bed once she had finished. She cleared her throat a little before responding.

"It's good to have you back my love." She replied still feeling weak. Her voice was getting all scratchy and gravely as she spoke after her whooping cough. So much so that Volondove could hear the soreness in her throat just from her speaking. Considering she once had a voice as smooth as butter before the infection, things were clearly taking a turn for the worse.

Catching something at the corner of his eye all of a sudden, Volondove turned his head to face the night stand in the left corner of the room closest to him. There on the edge of the night stand counter top he had left some medicine in a small vial he had made himself for her to take while she was recovering. But the vial was still full from that morning.

Volondove rolled his eyes at the unsurprising discovery. He had recently taken up the study of dwarven alchemy in his spare time in the evenings in an attempt to find a healing potion for Natilda. But she hasn't been taking his creations as she believed that they were a waste of effort. She hade urged him to see a professional medic to look her over several times now. But Volondove was determined to handle the problem himself.

"My darling you are getting weaker and weaker by the day." He explained as he reached over the night stand.

"Oh really?" Natilda asked with sarcasm in her voice. "I didn't even notice." She said with a small cough. Volondove choked down the disrespect as he grabbed the vial.

"You have got to take your medicine if you are to get better soon my darling." Volondove said walking over to give her the medicine. But in response, she just stared at him through her long brown hair. Her eyes were blood shot and looked like they could light a fire. He could tell by the fierce look in her red eyes that a wave of frustration had swept over her.

"Volondove my dear, just face it. your potions and medicines and dwarven alchemy or what ever it is you want to call it hasn't worked in the least so far." She said. "You don't even have the slightest idea of what it is that weakens me so. How do you expect to cure me when you don't know what it is you are curing?"

"Natilda, the symptoms you possess are like nothing anyone has ever seen before." Volondove replied.

"Even a professional couldn't diagnose you and make a conclusion. And besides, the dwarves are the masters of non magic related miracles." Volondove explained.
"They have a potion out there somewhere that can cure you I just know it. It is only a matter of finding that particular recipe and replicating it."

"And how well had that gone for you so far?" She said raising her voice slightly.

"How long do you have to meddle in the mystics of dwarven alchemy before you see that there is no point? You know as well as I do that the dwarves keep their discoveries to themselves as best as they can. When will it be enough for you Volondove? When will you accept defeat and open up to others? When will you have a professional medic look me over? Someone who actually knows something about medicine?"

Volondove was struck with a Sence of betrayal as he heard this. After everything he has done for her in her time of need. The time he spent studying, brewing and missing sleep he so desperately needed and she has the nerve to seek somebody else? How could she trust some stranger to take care of her over her own husband?

"My love, you know I would send you to someone if needed." He explained with a bitter thorn in his mind.

"But the war is still going on to the south. as long as the man-orc war rages on, no human city is safe." He replied.

"It would be foolish to venture down south during the conflicts. For your safety, and for the sake of our little boy I will not bring you down to that meat grinder that is the human kingdoms."

Now one thing you need to know about our hero volondove, is that he is what some might say, Territorial in a since. He believes that as the man of the family, he should be the one to lead his family at every turn. And with that mind set, he believes that her well being should be his responsibility as well.

So in his mind If he were to have someone else provide her needs, he would have failed to provide for her. And if he failed to provide for his own family, than what kind of leader would he be?

"She is my responsibility gods d#@& it. No elf nor human is gonna take her from me. I can handle my wife's needs on my own." He thought. Though he dare not say his thoughts out loud in fear of starting a fight with her.

"Well if you still think magic is the way to go, than perhaps we should still seek someone who knows a little bit on what they are doing." Natilda said taking on a softer tone.

"What of the wood elves?" She asked.

"Surly the elven mages would have some kind of healing rituals or spells they can use. And they are far enough up north to stay out of the war you're so afraid of."

"Perhaps they are adept magic users, but the wood elves are primarily practitioners of the elemental magics, they are not so much for healing." Volondove explained.

"And yes, while they do tend to stay out of most conflicts as best they can, you know that they restrict their knowledge of magic and culture to outsiders like us." He said.

"Even if there was no man-orc war I doubt they would even let us in the front gates of Thelendor."

"Well there has got to be someone we can go to for proper healing treatment. Magic or otherwise" Natilda said with a desperate expression stretching across her pail face. While he felt distressed at her despair, This idea of hers frustrated Volondove.

"How could she have such little faith in her husband?" He thought. "Why can't she see that I am the man of her life. I must be the one to nurse her back to health. No matter how long it takes."

"I have thought already about that possibility too." Volondove said masking his frustrations.

"From all the studies of magic in all the world, only the long dead people of the Tistive have been known to possess healing properties. Although realistically speaking, the goblins also have been known to have some healing magic as well, but We would have to cross half the world just to reach the borders of goblin territory. And even if we survive the hazards of sea travel, the probability of you surviving such a journey to Isakaal in the state you are in, let alone assuming the goblins won't just kill us on sight..."

Natilda lunged forward to let out a second loud cough, interrupting volondove in the process.

"whoa whoa there, now take it easy honey." Volondove said as he laid his hands on her sides to gently lay her back down into the bed.

"I understand your concerns, but take heart my love." He said as he sat down on the bed next to her, His dark blue eyes locking into her crimson eyes.

"I am very close to having the cure ready. I have everything I need prepared for you in the work shop." He assured.

"In fact, as long as all goes to plan, I should finally have it ready for you first thing in the morning, maybe even sometime tonight. That is if I don't sleep tonight."

"Another night without sleep?" Natilda asked.

"Look at you. You look like a zombie. You are going to run yourself into the earth darling. You need to rest."

"No" Volondove said boldly.

"I have come so far. I am so close to healing you once and for all. I can't give in now. Besides, it's just one more night. One last night and we will be together again. I promise."

"You had better be right about the use of dwarven alchemy replacing proper professional medicine my darling." Natilda said.

"For both my sake, and our future child."

"Don't you worry about a thing my love. I'll stay up all night if I have to, again. I'll stay up for months on end if I have to." Volondove said. He leaned forward and gave her a kiss on her burning hot fore head. She was feeling so hot that For a second there, he thought that his lips might actually fuse to her skin.

"I love you Natilda." He said as Their eyes remained locked on each other before standing back up again.

"I love you too." She replied. She gave a sickly chuckle to herself as he was about to leave the room.

"And I love you too little Arnold." He said as he rubbed her pregnant belly.

"I'll see you soon little guy."

"I knew I should have married your brother instead." Natilda said as a joke.

Volondove knew that he was an only child. But she would sometimes playfully tease him with the current running gag of marrying an imaginary brother of his. She would normally make that joke whenever they disagreed with each other. They both figured it was a good way to keep things between them light hearted.

Volondove gave a little chuckle at the joke she told before leaving the room.
As she nestled back into her wool blanket, volondove turned around and walked through the kitchen. He then turned the corner on his right. On the other side of the house, A small wooden door about four feet tall was seen in the far corner of the kitchen. The door was old and withered as cracks stretched all along the boards, and large gaps appeared in between each board. He opened the old wooden door, and crouched down as he walked down the narrow stone stair way.

Cob webs and dust littered the path way that lead into his alchemy lab he had set up in the basement. He would have cleaned those up but he was clearly too busy to maintain cleanliness of a small hall way.

He crouched down to enter the narrow path. About ten steps down the cold stone stairs and he would enter his alchemy lab. An old, grey, brick chimney stood along the west most wall of the basement, that was to his left. A large cast iron cauldron with a small amount of rust sprinkled along the exterior lay right in the middle of the room.

Several poorly constructed shelves were laid along three out of the four walls of the room along the north, the south and the east. Each one filled with various bizarre ingredients wich were mostly kept in glass jars. Body parts from pests and vermin of various origins, herbs and spices found around the area or other wise purchased for a hefty price, and jars of fluids each with different levels of vescosity and texture.

Other shelves held books of dwarven recipes for various potion types. (Though they were extremely hard to come by) and Tistive spell books. (Even harder to come by) he would occasionally look through these books as references and guides for his recipes.

Now another thing you need to know about Volondove was that he was no adventurer. He was never one to venture far from his home or the surrounding area. All this to say he never went out of his way to get these resources for his projects. Rather they were already here. When his parents were put six feet under he just sort of stumbled upon this stuff.

He was never sure how it all got here or who it was that got all this stuff. And for the most part he didn't care. He was content with the lumber harvesting gig. But ever Sence his wife grew ill he had reopened this treasure trove of relics in search for an answer.

He walked inside the small stone room and looked into the cauldron, only to see the yellowish gold concoction inside. He had been brewing this alleged healing potion for weeks now, and now it was almost finished. Just a few more hours of mixing and minor additions of ingredients and it should be ready for use.

He sifted through the book shelves, looking for a particular recipe book. When he found it hiding in the nearest shelf to his right he took it, opened it right down the middle, flipped through a few pages and continued his work.

He grew more and more weary as the night progressed. When he said that he would stay up for months on end to get the potion done he wasn't joking around. He had spent several nights through out the brewing process without sleep already. Only taking naps when his body uncontrollably fell from exhaustion. and now two weeks into the brewing, the toll of sleep deprivation was once again kicking in. It may not have been healthy for him to resort to this level of sleep deprivation. But as long as his crash landings were providing him with enough rest to get through the next while it would be good enough for him.

His eyes were so heavy that they felt like ankle weights were strapped to his eye lids. He felt like he could collapse at any second. That he might fall again some time soon. But he refused to give in. His wife's life was on the line. He wasn't gonna let sleep deprivation get the best of him, not again. He pushed on all through the night, constantly battling his tiredness with every ounce of will power he could muster.

Despite the heaviness of his weary eye lids, at about one thirty in the morning he had finally finished it. He took a step back to admire his creation as he realized it was finally done. The most powerful healing potion the dwarven alchemists had to offer (from what the small library he had knew) was now at his disposal.

It was hard to believe that he had actually done it. It felt like an eternity since he started this project. And now it was done.  He could hear his own voice echoing in his head, cheering and chanting repetitively. "You did it! It's finally over! You saved your wife all by yourself! Your family is safe now! Well done Voly! You did it!"

With his eyes still weighing down like ankle weights, he wasted no time to get Natilda her new medicine. Quick as a flash he scooped up some of the golden elixir with a glass vial he had taken from a wooden bench nearby. It was thick like syrup but smooth and creamy in texture. With the potion in hand he began the trip back up to his bed room. And that was the last thing he remembered before he finally blacked out from exhaustion on the stone stair way.

He hadn't realized he had fallen asleep on the stairway until his mind began to conjure a dream. Or perhaps a nightmare. He wasn't sure what to make of it as it was very strange for him.

In the dream he was in the middle of an island somewhere in the middle of the great ocean. He could see the coast of the island a ways to his right, and on his left was a small but dence forrest. He stood facing north where a second island layed. The second island was smaller than this one and more barren as a mighty volcano rested along the eastern side.

As he stood and stared at the peak of the volcano he realized he was in the midst of  a great battle. The sounds of fire and metal clanking and the shouts and cries from tens of thousands of people filled his ears. Creatures and people's from different origins were here on this island. Elves, orcs, dwarves, even trolls. He had never seen these people's before, with the exception of wood elves. But he knew enough about them to identify what race they were.

He looked around the battlefield to see the tops of the people's heads. He then realized that his feet were hovering above the ground just above the heads of the warriors below. As he hovered overhead he felt a sensation of great power. As if he was given a great level of authority.

But his moment of power soon faded into a state of terror. For in front of him near the top of the volcano were two monsters of gargantuan proportions emerging from the fire. Creatures that have been thought to be  extinct ever Sence the great hunt. The first one to come forth was a giant humanoid being. Standing as tall as a mountain with a massive sword in its hand. Fire and lave covered his skin for a brief moment before melting away like water off the back of a swan.

Before long the second monster came forth from the depths of the volcano. A black dragon about the same size as the giant with a crown of scales black as coal resting upon it's head. It let out a soul shattering shriek as it's head popped out of the mountain top.

The two gargantuans then turned to face Volondove. He could feel Thier stare piercing through his very soul and became weak in an instant. The dragon started to laugh at him as if he had just done something terrible. The giant began to follow along in the laughter. Volondove drew closer and closer to the mighty beasts against his will, as if he was being controlled by some other third party. The eyes of the dragon then ignited in a golden flame with the heat of a thousand forges.

Volondove knew that the fire in its eyes wasn't real. But he could still feel the heat as he drew closer. It was as if death itself was coming that he was falling into the realm of the underworld. The dragon then raised it's one wing and took a swipe at Volondove with a crushing blow.

In response to this Volondove woke up in a cold sweat. When he finally came too, it was early morning already. The sun was just about to rise. Though it was still mostly dark outside. He felt his body thinking he was dead. He took a sigh of relief as he realized that it was all a dream. "You are okay. You are okay." He said a couple times. "It was all a dream. It wasn't real."

But that accidental power nap really helped him out. With the exception of the sudden terror of his dream he felt refreshed when he woke. Recon he was still tired from the previous nights without sleep. But in comparison to how he was doing now and last night, he was feeling much better.

Recalling the events before his crash landing, he recalled his dream. He didn't think much of it though. He never took those kinds of things to heart. He knew that they were just dreams. They didn't mean anything anyways.

He then he remembered that he had finished the healing potion for Natilda last night as the vial of golden syrup was still in his hand. This almost immediately filled him with enthusiasm. He was just seconds away from fulfilling his promise to her.

As he went up to the bed room again, the voices came back to him. This time they were chanting as if he was running a marathon. "You got this! Keep going! You are almost there! Keep it up! You go Voly!

But at the same time he could hear another voice. A sinister voice laughing at him. Laughing as if he was tricked into doing something terrible. A laugh that sounded very similar to the dragon in his dream. Its sinister sound echoed inside his mind. But for the most part it was drowned out by the positive voices cheering him on. It was nothing more than another face in the crowd now.

When he pulled himself back up to his feat he went straight into the bed room. He felt like he had just climbed up a mountain when he reached the top of the stairs. He then turned the corner and headed straight to his bed room. Natilda was still sound asleep when he arrived. He gave a smile of joy as he walked in the room. This was the moment of truth.

"Natilda, my darling." He said softly. He was very excited that he had done what he said he was going to do, though he still didn't want to startle her awake from his excitement. So he did his best to conceal his excitement and quiet down as much as he could.

"Time to Wake up honey. The healing potion is finally ready for you." He said as he gently shook her trying to wake her up. But she didn't even notice him. She stayed under the covers not moving a muscle.

He didn't think much of it at first as he recalled that she was a rather heavy sleeper. And being plagued by an unknown disease would absolutely increase her drowsiness.

"Wake up darling. The healing potion is ready for you now." He said a second time continuing to gently shake her. But she still wouldn't budge.

Growing a little concerned, he pulled the covers off her head. Her face was as pail as a sheep's wool. Her eyes were still shut, but now they were crusted over like an infant's eyes.

"Natilda, wake up sweat heart." He said with a slightly louder tone this time. He continued to shake her as he spoke as well, though a bit rougher this time round. But there was still no response.

"Natilda, Natilda my love, are you okay?" He said growing even more concerned. When she still didn't wake up again, he then gently slapped her face to wake her up. Still with no response. He tried it again, and then a little harder a third time time. Still no response.

He continued to slap her in the face slightly harder with each blow. But when she still didn't respond, he began to be very afraid for her life. He slapped her in the face easily a dozen times, maybe more, still increasing in power with each slap. When she still didn't respond to a full on blow from his large calloused hand, he feared the worst.

He leaned his head forward so that his ear would rest on her chest. He was trying to hear her heart beat. He was horrified when he heard no plus in her chest.

"Oh no no no no no." He said to himself. Naively hoping that he wasn't too late yet. He poured the potion into her mouth in a maniced craze. Some of it spilling out onto the bed as he poured it. With the combination of his panicked mind and the dimness of the very early morning light outside, it was hard to tell where exactly he was pouring.

He shoveled as much of the golden syrupy goo as he could into her face in an emotional haze hoping that it would bring her back to him. But once again, She remained solid as a stone.

He began to sob loudly when she still didn't move. For some reason the potion wasn't working. He realized that he was too late. She was gone. The disease has taken over her body and sniffed out her flame. If he had gotten there before he crashed in the stair way he could have been able to save her in time. But he couldn't. He had worked himself to the breaking point and now the after shock of his decisions was too much for him to handle.

Reality hit him like a brick to the face as he now fully grasped the bitter reality that she was dead now. He had failed to save her. He had failed to fulfill his promise to her. And now it was too late. He could never get her back again.

Yet he still stayed by her side as he grieved for her death. He held on to her hands with bone crushing tight grip as his bellowing sobs echoed through out the house. He was too late to save her. All he could do now was plan her burial. And he knew just the spot to bury her.