Githrin, The Twisted Mage

[SiliconMagician]

"Children! Children! Today we have a visitor!", the head mother said as she strode into the room of orphans, clapping her hands to get the children's attention.

Githrin breathed a sigh a relief.. as several of the bigger boys had his little twisted and fire scarred body hemmed into a far corner of the room and were slapping him around and pushing him towards each other in the corner laughing at his twisted facial features and shriveled, damaged right leg. They called him a freak, and said he was cursed by the Gods.

They broke away from him upon the instant the head mother arrived in the room, growling into his ear that worse punishment would await freaks like him later and took a seat on the floor around the head mother along with the rest of the children. All human children between the ages of 5-10 winters old.

The head mother just ignored the bullying, as she really didn't like Githrin very much either. It wasn't anything she could place her finger on.. but there was something disturbing about the way he looked at the world. His eyes had a light behind them... the light of genius untapped. A genius with the potential to change the lives of all those around him, but a genius tainted with the spectre of dark possibilities.

Indeed, Githrin was different from the other orphans. His little body had been terribly twisted and scarred in a fire as a babe. The same fire took away his parents. He had no memory at all of them. His only home he knew for the last 8 winters was here at the oprhanage, under the head mother's care.

He wasn't particularly violent in nature. If anything he had a disdain for direct physical confrontation due to the weakness of his body. But his young mind was always alert, and developed a cunning, after having been brutalized for years by the other children, able to help him deal with most of the bullies.

Luckily for him, a local mage by the name of Fillomar came to visit the children every week, and took delight in the fact that Githrin was gifted, and took it upon himself to teach the boy his runes. It was one of the rare acts of kindness the boy ever knew.

By the time he was 8 he had learned his runes well enough, that when fate looked down upon him, he was ready. One day, after his studies with Fillomar were completed and the young man got up to leave, a small pamphlet fell from his overstuffed bag of scrolls and parchments. Left on the ground unnoticed, the young mage strolled out the door. Githrin cocked his head and looked at it curiously. Then hobbled over and picked it up.

The pamphlet said "A children's guide to cantrips." and showed all kinds of neat diagrams showing strange finger and hand movements, and funny words. At first his young mind, bright as it was, couldn't make sense of it. So he took the pamphlet and left the study room to retire to his cot.

At night, with nothing but a burning stub of a candle he stared at the pamphlet.. he made imitation of the funny gestures and intoned the words. Never anything happening. Until one night, by sheer trial and error, he managed to make a tiny spark from his finger.

His mouth dropped in awe, and then he smiled with glee! The sheer feeling of exhilaration he got that moment would stay with him the rest of his life. He tried it again, and again.. each time the spark got a little bigger.

Later that day.. while playng in the orphanage courtyard. He snuck through the bushes of a hedge lining a wall of the courtyard compound where he had his "secret place". It was merely a space between teh hedge and wall but it was big enough for him to stand in and move around a bit and he loved that space. It hid him from the bullies. he guarded it jealously.

From that space he practiced the spark again and again.. and no one ever noticed the dim flickering behind the hedge in the full light of day.

Then.. the bullies came and found him in his spot. They began to laugh at him, calling him a bushrat and saying that he had a nice bushrat den. Then the biggest boy stepped into the space and punched his fist into his palm and said that he knew just how to hunt a bushrat and because they were completely hidden, he was planning on taking his time doing it.

Githrin began to panic, there was no way out he was hemmed in between the wall and the bullies. His eyes darted left and right, vainly looking for escape. The bully came closer, grinning a crooken, broken tooth grin.

Githrin, out of sheer fear, did the only thing that calmed him. Intoned the cantrip, only this time.. his fear driving the power of the cantrip.. increased its power to more than just a simple spark. It became a jolt..

A jolt that sent the biggest boy flying back out of the bushes to tumble to the ground a few feet in front of them. Knocked out cold. The other boys gaped in shock as they saw the small burn in the center of the boys chest, still slightly smoking. They instantly looked at teh twisted Githrin in fear.. and ran away as fast as they could.

Githrin simply smiled, or rather, the twisted grin that his scarred lips would allow him and stepped out of the bushes and past the unconcious bully. He looked down on him and spit in the boys face.. then hobbled away on his bad leg.

What Githrin didn't know, was that from the patio.. a man had sensed the small blip in the Al'Noth around him and looked to the source in time to see the big bully crash out of the bushes and the other boys run away in terror from the twisted little one that hobbled from the bushes.

He saw the boy spit on his tormentor.. and the man smiled and stepped into the orphanage to speak with the head mother.

Which was why Githrin was shocked when the head mother blew in the door clapping her hands and saving his neck. The other boys knew he'd never use his trick in front of the other children or orphange staff, for fear that he would be cast out and onto the streets. So they chose indoor places to torment him when possible now.

Behind the head mother strode a middle aged man. He had a long beard, finely woven in the fashion of dwarves.. but he was human no doubt. Tall and thinly built.. but he had an air of power around him. The air almost crackled when he walked in. The other chldren shrank back from him. But Githrin didn't.. he looked at the man with awe.

The man took no notice of the other children and strode directly to Githrin and looked down on him and ordered him to stand quite firmly. Githrin did as he was told and looked up at the man, who now towered over him and suddenly the man snatched Githrin up by the chin.

Githrin froze in terror as the man looked deep into his brown eyes and squinted, as if appraising him for sale. Then he released him and turned to the head mother. "Have him ready to leave within the hour.. he will need no belongings but a simple tunic and sandals. I will provide for him the rest of what he will need."

With that he whooshed out the door, his cloak disappearing a moment behind him and the head mother hurriedly grabbed Githrin by the hand and led him away...

That was 10 years ago to the day, and now Githrin stood in the basement level of his master's tower with a broom in his hand. The man had not been some kindly soul, come to help the worst of the worst grow into a meaningful life.

On the contrary, the man had taken Githrin from the temple and put him into a rigorous routine of physical and mental anguish from the moment he arrived at the tower. It was made VERY clear to him that he was nothing but a servant, a slave basically. He had a brutal routine of chores and errands. From keeping the tower clean, to going out into the woods to collect various herbs and roots and other minor components.

The mage would cast invisibilty on the boy and send him on errands into places that were so deadly.. that veteran adventurers shrink back from going there without heavy support. Githrn knew no better, becasue he feared his master far more than the giants and ogres and other things he walked around with impunity.

His genius began to assert itself and his learning skyrocketed. As he grew older and more experienced, the mage would send him out on more errands into more dangerous places. Always protected by the mage's magics.. some of the trips the mage would come along on, and in these rare moments the old man acted with a little civility and caring for the boy.

It was mostly only behind the closed walls of the tower that the old man, surrounded by his dusty and tomes and strange artifacts, would twist into some sort of magically induced rage or anger that constantly threatened Githrin with the pain of the lash, and would reduce him to mere servitude.

The mage taught him simple magics, designed to help him attain the components and things he might need when teh situation demanded it. Githrin studied religiously whenever he could, the magical tomes the mage provided him forming a steady framework on which he could progress.

Now he was 18 and into his manhood and problems began to develop between the two men. The mage became meaner, more arduous in his beatings and rantings. Githrin became older, and his mind and body immune to the constant lashings and verbal insults.

Githrin took to wearing a hood over his face to hide his twisted appearance and the old mage encouraged it, telling him he was tired of looking at his ugly face every day.

Finally, Githrin had had enough of this bully. Just like the bullies in the schoolyard he knew how to even the field now that he was grown and could stand on some sort of even playing field with the evil old man.

He couldn't match the man in magic, no doubt.. but who needs to directly use a spell? Why not trickery?

So he thought and he though and waited, and finally the time came.

The old man had come up with the idea that he was going to turn himself into a lich, bottle his soul up in a jar and live forever. It seemed crazy even to Githrin, who had followed all the mage's crazed plans wherever they carried them.

The problem was the magics the mage needed to learn were so rare as to reach impossibility. So he came up with a shortcut. He research had shown that he could summon and capture a certain extra planar being of great power that had the knowledge he sought. The ritual was dangerous as to be on the verge of suicidal.. yet the mage craved this immortality so strongly he was willing to do anything to achieve it.

Githrin had a plan. On one of his journeys he hobbled into a local temple to one of the God's, he wasn't sure which and didn't care really. There he bought a simple dispelling focus. A rather weak piece of magic indeed, but enough for what Githrin had in mind.

That night, as a raging thunderstorm hammered at teh walls of the isolated tower.. the ritual began.

The mage, having checked every single detail compulsively, finally felt ready to begin the invocation. He chanted rhythmically and spoke funny words that Githrin had never heard or read before.. and he stepped around in a circle around a large pentacle drawn out in the floor.

The Pentacle began to glow a firey red and there was a loud crack as lightning exploded a tree outside the tower. Githrin stared in terror as first a claw appeared in the center of the pentacle, then another.. and another.. and another.. 4 all told came out of the hole and grasped the the floor around them. Then lifted and out of the floor itself lifted a creature of such horror that Githrin recoiled in terror from it sight.

The mage merely shouted out in a glee and stood with his hands on his hips before the creature.. staring at it. It returned the stare and there was a moment of silence as the creature pulled itself to its full 10 foot hieght.

They stood there staring.. and Githrin realized they weren't speaking with voice.. as teh creature did not appear to have any form of mouth capable of speaking. But telepathically.

He knew it was his time.. he reached into his pocket and pulled the dispelling focus from his pocket and swallowed his fear then tossed the little stone at the beast.

The moment the stone hit the magical barrier that encompassed the pentacle and kept the beast within trapped, it exploded with bright sparks and then Githrin could see faint, etheral cracks developing in what was some sort of ethereal dome surrounding the creature.

Suddenly the mage's trance was broken and he looked in terror at teh cracks forming, then at Githrin. "YOU!! You FOOL! You've killed us both!" and with that he muttered a few words and moved his hands so quickly Githrin could not beleive it and suddenly a stream of fire raged forth from the mage in Githrins direction.

Githrun dove for the ground at teh last second as the wave of flames struck just above his head..lighting some old faded and worn tapestries on the wall into flames, which quickly leapt up the wall and began spreading through the volumes of flammable books and oils and flasks.

Suddenly, a terrible laughter erupted from the beast int eh pentacle as it reached out and snatched the old man up with ease with one claw and the old mage's screams echoed off the walls of the tower.

Githrin, terror moving him, crawled across the floor and up the stairs as fast as his bad leg would allow. Terror perhaps aiding his movement.. flames were beginning to fill the doorway and the mage was still screaming and that laughter.. that awful laughter.. filled the tower.

Githrin hobbled/ran for the door.. stopping only long enough to grab his traveling pack he had set up the night before and carefully laid by the door so that he could grab it in a hurry. He stepped out into the thunderstorm.. the mages screams were muffled but still audible in the storm as he broke for the trees and headed uphill towards the nearest settlement.. Ft. Vehl.

Behind him, the first flames broke out the windows of the upstairs parts of the tower as the fire began to consume all within, including the mage and the foul creature he had summoned.

Githrin could still hear the laughter of the being on the wind for quite some time afterward.

[SiliconMagician]

Githrin limped into the front gate of Ft. Vehl exhausted, hungry, and wearing rags for clothes.

He had hobbled all night through the forests of Mistone and had arrived just as the orb was rising over the eastern horizon. He climbed the wall of Ft. Vehl and looked out over the landscape, and just picked out the rising column of smoke that represented his former masters tower. No doubt, there was little to nothing left of it now but a charred ruin.

He smiled again, or rather, the twisted sneer that was all he could manage for a smile. The old man was dead and gone, a victim of his own hubris. Of course the fact the Githrin had been responsible for his master's death in a rather direct way held no weight with him at all. The man was a bully to him, and all bullies would suffer the same fate eventually.

He hated them, the perfect people with their perfect strides and unscarred faces. He hated them because they stared at his ravaged body as if he was a freak of nature, unable to exist in the prime material plane. People went out of thier way to avoid him and he rather preferred it that way.

He hobbled down the street and kicked a drunk out of the way as he limped into the sundries merchants. There he purchased a few minor spell components and a brand new black robe and balaclava hood to cover his twisted features.

He liked the mask, it hid him and his thoughts from the outside world. It hid the sheer hate on his face when people looked at him limping down the road with pity.. they called him a cripple and felt sorry for him.

But he was no cripple! His body was weak but his mind was a steel trap and he was always considering his next move carefully. At first he had been confused as he wandered the streets of Vehl. He had been there many times on errands for his master, but his master had cast powerful illusion magics that hid his twisted features to the casual observer.

Without those magics now, the world saw him for what he was. A twisted little hobbling beast of a man. A horror to be shunned, or even better, hounded out of the town.

Ft. Vehl was home to many such outcasts so the merchants and guard noticed him no more than the various vagrants that lay about the gutters getting beaten or robbed on occasion by wandering bands of youths.

Such a band had attempted to make sport of Githrin, until he tore off his hood and stared at the youths with his twisted, evil looking face. They hesitated, then he intoned a jolt cantrip and let the electricity dance around his fingertips. The boys thought this monster far to much for them and made a hasty retreat into an alley to find easier prey. Githrin merely cackled at them as they ran away.

Power.. Power was what he needed. His master had power indeed. But Githrin knew that a lifetime of hard study was what gave the old man his power. So much power that he showed little fear when the evil extra planar being pulled ittself out of a glowing hole in the floor. Lot of good that power did when the beast grabbed hold of the old man.

Githrin smile/sneered when the vision of the look on that evil old mans face, as the beasts claws penetrated his skin, entered his mind. A look of fear.. of knowing his own apprentice had done him in. Githrin also thought he saw a bit of.. admiration in the old mans eyes?

Githrin shrugged.. He didn't care one way or another how his master felt. Githrin had ridded himself of a cruel taskmaster, and he was glad for it.

He realized however, that with his disabilities, and weak frame. He was going to need a powerful ally indeed if was going to survive and reach the pinnacle of his own unrealized power.

He knew what he was looking for.. he had met many mages in his lifetime with the old man. Most of them dithering old men with soft, complacent attitudes. Others, were twisted by their own magics into crazed loons. The idea of apprenticing himself to such men sickened his stomach. These men would never help him realize his true potential in the art of twisting the Al' Noth.

He knew the cruelties that a firm master can inflict on an apprentice, but knew that such discipline was necessary to mold and strengthen a mage's mind so it can handle the knowledge, not all of it a person should or would want to know.

So a firm hand he would accept, but an overly cruel one he would not. He was not a servant or a slave. He was a student, and as such knew that while the threat of a head masters whip was always present, the actual use of such a thing should be rare indeed. He had felt the sting of the lash to many times to accept otherwise.

So he limped out of Vehl and headed towards Hempstead. A group of people having a conversation just outside the gate saw him, and quickly moved out of his way as he limped past looks of concern on their faces.

They should be concerned, Githrin thought. For once he found the right master.. and he learned teh ways of the Al'Noth and grew powerful.. those very beings would cower down before him for his forbearance and mercy.

Mercy..the idea of a supplicant getting down before him and begging for mercy pleased him. He thought that he might grant it, should the creature look pathetic enough. AFter all tis always better to leave at least one survivor to tell the tale.

With these thoughts in his mind he limped his way towards Hempstead, and his awaiting destiny...

[SiliconMagician]

Githrin peered into the darkness of the Gloom Woods.. his eyes straining to pick out the moving shadows of the tyrantfog zombies as they shambled silently through the trees.

He was absolutely fascinated by the undead, and the magical power that created them. He had come to understand quite alot about negative energy and its uses recently.

As his spell skills increased, he searched high and low for new scrolls relating to anything that used negative energy as its power source. Every necromantic spell he could put his hands on he greedily copied into his spell book.

He would test his negative energy uses on the zombies of the gloom. He would summon forth Shellengard Persistant Blade, and send it after the zombies. Then, he would cast various forms of negative energy spells on them to see the effects it would have on them

The results were predicatble of course. It healed the undead. This led him to beleive that he was on the right track as far as negative energy was concerned. He pored over the few texts he had managed to retrieve on the subject of necromancy from his masters work.. perhaps with the goal of continuing it one day when he was powerful enough to control the wicked energy of the nether planes.

He sat back and thought to when he was younger, when his fascination with death and the deathless arts began. A wounded gnome had appeared out of the forest at the door of the tower one day. Githrin was about to send him away when the master appeared behind him and chastised Githrin for being inhosipitable, which came as a shock to Githrin. He had never known the master to invite a guest into the tower before.

At first the Gnome was quite relieved. He had been part of a party exploring a patch of forest in the area, when the party had been done in by a band of ogres. The gnome explained that he was the sole survivor, only because he stumbled upon the isolated tower.

The Master tended to the mans wounds, then fed him and invited him a cot to sleep on for the night. The gnome accepted his benefactors generosity and was soon asleep on the cot, probably helped by his masters magic.

When he was asleep, the master and Githrin had lifted the gnome up and carried him down to the experimentation room in the basement, and lashed him to the table.

The master spent weeks experimenting on the unfortunate gnome. He would summon various undead from ghouls to wights to worse to come and touch the gnome and record the effects on the gnome's body and mind.

It was horrific, but fascinating to see how the gnome reacted to the various touches of the various undead, then he dutifully recorded the notes his master dictated to him while he continued to watch the unfolding horror before him.

Finally, after about a month of this torture, the gnome finally died. As if such a paltry thing as dying would stop the torment. The old mage merely made an undead out of the gnome, and continued experimenting on the thing until there was little left but animated body parts.

So, here Githrin found himself in teh forest pursuing the same lines of research his master did in his youth. Reinventing the wheel perhaps but what choice did he have? It's not like his master was going to be sharing his research with him.

Finally, having learned what he could from the exchange, Githrin cast a fireball on the group of tyrantfog zombies and incinerated them and any evidence that might be of the experimentation he was performing with them.

Then smiling wickedly at good work being done for the day, limped towards Vehl, and a warm bed and hot ale...

[SiliconMagician]

..upon arriving Vehl, as he was limping towards the gate to the dock district to the Harpy for well earned rest. He noticed a dark figure leaning against the frame of the gate.

The man looked up as Gith was limping and past. His whisper barely audible above the noise of the street around them. "I've been watching you boy... come with me."

Githrin narrowed his eyes, and looked around for a trap. But the man's walk spoke of power and influence. Not just that, but of master of the Al' Noth as well. Githrin saw how the very air seemed to bend when he walked by. He had seen that before.. his own master had the same attribute.

Githrin limped behind the figure over behind a set of buildings near the gate..

The man identified himself as a powerful merchant, with connections all over Mistone and Dregar. Wealthy and powerful. He had a proposition for Githrin.. Join him as his assistant.

The idea was intriguing to Githrin. He knew he needed an ally, someone to help him continue his research into the deathless arts.. and here might be the man to do so.

But there would be cost.. possible death not being the least of them. It was made very clear to him that should he accept the offer, failure would probably mean the end of him..

Githrin shrugged, had he failed before, he wouldn't have been standing in front of the man having this conversation in the first place...

The man gave him a week to think it over, and an address. Within the week, if he was interested, he was to present himself to the address with nothing but the clothes on his back and what he could carry in a sack...

This was a dangerous time for Githrin... and a choice had to be made.

[SiliconMagician]

Githrin quietly crossed the forest floor the best he could given his weak leg. The cloak that he had recently aquired from Riam for the head of the Zamin helped considerably. His leg just seemed to work a little better.

He crossed the ground slowly and steadily and peered through some bushes at the targets he was stalking this day. Treants on the dragon isles.

He had discovered that the slow moving trees made for perfect target practice for his various new spells as he discovered them. However he had to be very careful that druids or other naturist types did not discover his activities, which was why he chose the dragon isles for his practice.

He was in the act of immolating a treant in the hallowlight forest when a group of naturists happened upon him and the scene was quite tense as they quite vehemently reprimanded him for what he was doing, so he decided that the dragon isles were far enough away from most of the druidic groves that he would be able to immolate the stupid trees to his heart's content.

And he was doing so with glee and on a regular basis, and had just finished when he stumbled upon a group of ugly mongrelmen making thier way through the forest almost as quietly as he was.

He quickly intoned the invisibility incantation, and disappeared from sight as quickly and quietly as a shadow disappears in the dawn's early light. A wicked grin crossed his lips as he saw the chance to see his shelgarn dagger in action.

He quickly intoned the spells and then took a  dagger from his belt.. he then enriched the dagger with a flame weapon.. and the with the flick of his wrist the blade darted through the trees and into the center of he group of ugly beasts.

They bellowed in anger and vainly sought to knock the quick and wicked little knife from the air. It hummed and crackled as it flew around their heads.. inflicted wicked cuts on the mongrelmen.. their howls of pain pleased Githrin and he cackled loudly as the blade slowly, bit by blood bit, took the group apart..when the last few bloody and exhausted mongrelmen were left.. Githrin made short work of them with a fireball.. and the creatures were incinerated instantly.. their screams echoing through the dark forest around.

Githrin merely laughed, and stepped out from his place in the trees and limped over and looted the bodies.. then he took the levitating dagger from the air around him and put it in his belt where the enchantment died out and it was once again inert and nearly harmless.

Then, with a huff and the pride of yet another good day's work done.. Githrin limped back to the dock and took the ship for Vehl.

[SiliconMagician]

Githrin sat steaming in anger in the Harpy at Fort Vehl..

He stared at his mug of ale and cursed under his breath at the memory of the feirce fight against the gnolls of the black dog moors.

The best part of the trip was he was able to test out all of his necromantic spells in very fine ways. He had practiced diligently all of the necessary incantations and gestures, and his spells were growing in power.

The expedition was taxing, a long muddy slog through the muck of the black dog moors. The sucking mud and thick vines were as much an enemy as the foul swamp inhabitants themselves. Githrin was miserably wet and exhuasted. That was even before reaching the cave deep in the swamps that held the temple of the black dog clan.

The party dove in and there Githrin was able to cackle with glee. In the heat of battle, the party is too busy to see him using what they foolishly considered forbidden power. He would launch vicious attacks of negative energy on isolated gnolls in the caverns.. draining their lifeforce and feeling it flow into him. THIS was POWER.. he thought to himself. His face twisted into a gleeful sneer under his mask.

His favorite time came, his very last spell he saved for the perfect time..and it came. A gnoll had broken away from the main group and was chasing one of the party down, Githrin intoned the spell he had waited a very long time ot try safely.. one that simulated the effects of a vampires wicked touch.

The gnoll was so distracted by his quarry he never saw Githrin sneaking up behind him.. and it never saw the preternaturally glowing hand of Githrin as he laid his palm squarely on the beasts back.

A terrible scream erupted from the gnoll and it howled out in pain as its life force was torn from it's body and ran through Githrin like a jolt of electricity. He cackled in glee at the creature as it became visibly weaker. The power that channeled through him caught him by surprise, and he backed away. The creature, terribly weakened, was easily dispatched by the party member to its front.. and Githrin sneered that awful grin.

He was moving ever closer to his goal. The creation of his first undead minion. The thought of it pleased him immensely. He worked so hard, studied constantly. Twisted his magics in new and awful ways and slowly the understanding was beginning to dawn on him.

Soon... very soon the work his master had begun could begin again, once he learned the power of actually animating a dead corpse into a being under his control. The power behind that act would unlock research paths his mind could only now begin to imagine.

The terrible shine in his eyes at that thought caught a patrons stare, and Gith returned it with ice. The patron merely looked down at mug and that was that.

Githrin narrowed his eyes and stared at the man.. he growled under his breath, then stood and went to his room...

[SiliconMagician]

Githrin narrowed his eyes into the darkness of the Red Light Caverns.. his ears straining to pick up any out of place sounds. Unnatural ones. Then he heared one, a sneeze. Soft, but audible none the less.

Githrin sneered and looked back to his newest creation, an undead skeleton warrior. It stood silently and obediently at attenton. Awaiting his command. It held a great, rusty sword in its hand and battered helm upon its skull. The only possesions it had when it clawed its way out of the soft Gloomwood soil within which it had lain, maybe for centuries.

No matter.. with the undead beings help he had become a terror to the goblins of the red lights. He had taken up a temporary residence in a far dead end corridor halfway down in the complex.. and from that base he would make raids into the outlying chambers around and above him, his imp and his skeleton bodyguard his only company for days at a time.

Sunlight was fast becoming a stranger to him.. the soft, eerie red glow of the cavern was his only light source as he crawled carefully through the caverns, picking off the unwary and stupid.

Occasionally small groups of would appear.. and tiny skirmishes and pitched battles between Githrin and his deadly minions and the goblins would erupt.. the noise echoing off the cavern walls as they vainly sought to chase him from their home.

Through sheer experimental trial and error, Githrin had come up with the perfect combination of spells that would enhance his minions and make them tougher.. to take on the deadlier goblins that sometimes appeared from deeper in the complex..where he rarely dare tread.

The goblins occasionally won.. and Githrin would be forced to retreat and become invisible and escape into the darkness.. laughing as his pursuers gave up in frustration at the foe that tormented them relentlessly.

He would merely sneak back later and collect the fallen bones of his skeleton comrade and raise them again.. then together they would disappear down the corridors to wreak havoc on the next unwary goblin that happened to pass by.

Days would pass before Githrin would emerge into the sunlight for the trip to Hlint for supplies to keep him going for another several weeks, then he would disappear again..

Down in the caves.. there was no one to persecute his pursuit of knowledge of the arcane in general and the mastery of negative energy in particular. No one to falsely judge him for the use of the magics that would one day vault him to power and wealth...

For now.. he would live with the monsters. Learn from them... and become like them.