Death and failure.

Dead. When Alkadian had fallen, Drevlin thought for sure it was something he could fix, not a mortal wound that had carried his charge so far down through the river. But as Drevlin searched for his spirit, the whispers came screaming out of the void, telling of a passing beyond the final gate. He knew then for sure that the evil mage was gone, his spirit taken like a piece of floatsam, swept away by the current of a swollen, raging river.

The screams subsided back to the almost inaudible hiss that always danced just outside of comprehension. But they were speaking. Speaking about his failure. About his weakness. Drevlin wondered for a moment, there on the edge of the cliffs surrounding the castle that had been Alkadian's doom. He wondered what to do next. For the first time in an age, he felt lost. Without a direction or purpose. But all he could think about was how he had failed his master. And then, in a fearful realisation, he wondered what his master would do to him as punishment for his shortcomings. Velsharoon was not know to him to have a shred of mercy in his being. Quite the opposite. He would not have to wonder long.

"JUMP!!!" The whispers were screaming again. "JUMP! Fall to your doom. You have failed. Velsharoon commands and you shall obey." For just a moment, Drevlin thought of ignoring the whispers demands. He, of course, knew that it would be futile. It would be but a small thing for Velsharoon to claim his soul. He knew he had no choice. Without so much as a look back to his companions, as they were of no import without Alkadian, Drevlin threw himself off the path and into the void. He could see the rocks below rushing up at him and then he hit with a wet smack.
At least Drevlin thought he did. He definitely hit something. Hard.

Drevlin lay in the dark of the abyss. Not breathing. Not feeling. Not moving. Then he jumped out of his skin in fear. "Drevlin! Rise and come hither." Drevlin knew that voice all to well from his nightly rituals. It belonged to his master. Velsharoon was calling his name. Drevlin tried to open his eyes, but he saw only darkness. True darkness, for even his dwarven eyes could not pierce it. He turned his head, looking for anything that he might see. Something was coming to him, a snaking tendril of green light was slithering across what must have been the floor. It stopped on the ground near him and Drevlin realised it was nothing more than a guiding light for him to follow. He stood in abject terror. Drevlin knew where he was. He knew where the light went as well. He was in the astral crypt of his god, and he was doomed. Drevlin began to float along the lighted path through the darkness, seeing neither wall or floor, as if the small glowing tendril was the only thing that existed besides himself. He knew all to well that this was not so.

Drevlin followed the light for what seemed to be forever. He realised that the whispers had returned, quietly murmuring about things in a language he did not understand, words that made his head swim with dizziness. They were getting louder as he went along the path, and he thought he could see light up ahead. The flickering light of a fire or torches. Eventually he came to the edge of the darkness, and Drevlin peered into a cavernous room lit in the center by a huge fire, although the fire itself looked strange. There were pillars with torches ensconced along them all through the huge antichamber, row after row of them. Drevlin couldn't even begin to imagine the size of this place, until he realised that the wall that ran along his left was actually a huge mirror, and was reflecting the pillars and torches. He imagined that somewhere to his right, if were to look close enough, there would be another mirror wall, reflecting the the other mirror's image to infinity.

"Come in, my faithful servant. Your journey has been long and fraught with hardships. Something or someone very powerful has been working against me, against us. You have done well. Now put away your fear and come to my side." Drevlin thought the voice was coming from by the fire, which was sunken down in a small amphitheater. This was strange to him for two reasons. The first was that Drevlin could see no one by the fire. The second was that for the first time in his life, the voice of his lich-god and the whispers as well, were coming from somewhere other than inside of his head.

Drevlin approached the fire cautiously and circled the small amphitheater. Seeing nothing, Drevlin turned his attention to the huge blaze. Strangely, he felt colder the closer he got to it. And then something else made him feel even colder. He was looking at the flames and realised that it was not fire at all, but writhing souls trapped inside a circle of... blood and salt it looked to be. A powerful binding, to be sure as even a master necromancer would have to work very hard to trap even one soul like this. And the price to be paid for such was unthinkable. But here within the circle, Drevlin thought there must be hundreds or even thousands of souls, all writhing and twisting within the circle. And they were whispering incoherantly. Drevlin swore he could see faces in that writhing mass, coming to the surface, only to be drug back down into oblivion. All of them looked to be frozen in a scream.

Drevlin felt a hand upon his shoulder, and he snapped around, startled once again. He screamed aloud then, for what he saw was horrifying. Red glowing eyes, full of evil and hate, floating in a skeletal visage. Drevlin was staring into the eyes of death itself. And death was staring back. Drevlin had finally met his master, Velsharoon.