From Chapter Nine: Owlfeeders

In moments I came to my senses.  I lay in damp, loose earth, poked by riven roots.  I could not find my swords, nor see a passage back above ground.  I continued to hear the grim battle above me.  The chaotic melee had begun to grow sparse, as though the deaths of most had already been decided.

In the darkness I began to notice the dim glow of fungus on a whited sepulchre.  I felt compelled to touch the ancient vault and was amazed when it crumbled before my grasp.  a skeleton in a suit of armor tumbled out and I took two steps back in revulsion of things long dead.

 

It was then that I noticed a dim purple glow from the pile of filth I had unearthed.  I reached down and came up with a fabulous longsword, glowing purple and graven with runes and magical symbols.

“Magic sword!” I breathed, tucking the instrument into my belt.  The last war cry had been uttered and a fell chill penetrated through the earth into the unquiet air around me.

Blindly, I padded in all directions until I found a suitable slope going upwards.  I gained ground until at last I had come from the rift, back to firm earth.  

It was dark, the fog was thick, and bodies lay strewn about the deserted battlefield.  There was no sign of the ghoulish creatures who had preyed on so many in that battle.  Feverishly, walking carefully in the darkness, I strode up the sides of the canyon until I regained the trail.

The trail was in pitch blackness and I had to walk it slowly and carefully.  But before too long I beheld torchlight and came out amongst my people.