As he rested and regained his strength, Gord rummaged around in his belongings, trying to find a small flask of spirits he was sure he had tucked away somewhere, and also to see what else he had. Perhaps something he carried would jog his memory. As it was, the young man had absolutely no recollection of how he had come to this… this Shadowrealm, as the now-vanished and presumably dead adumbrate had identified this place.
It certainly wasn’t home. Gord glanced around and saw nothing that even vaguely reminded him of Oerth, let alone Greyhawk. The sky was a velvety canopy the color of old charcoal. There were spots in It all right, but they were gleaming points of black, and a sphere of deep metallic hue cast a faint, mercuric light upon the world over which it floated. The world, Gord noted, was of all blacks and grays. There seemed to be vegetation, grass and trees, bushes and flowers too, all of dun coloration, some opalescent, some actually translucent. Furthermore, the landscape seemed to be a dance of shadows that shifted and flowed almost as if he were ambling through it rather than sitting quietly observing the scene. “Shadowrealm indeed!” he muttered to himself as he went back to examining his belongings for some clue.
The huge opal that the creature had called… Shadowfire? An appropriate name… was not of help. Neither was the small heap of gem-studded jewelry Gord discovered secreted here and about his person and in his old pouch. Nothing else helped, but eventually he located the silver flask and took a healthy swig from it, shuddering as the fiery liquid burned its way over his tongue, down his throat, and into his gut. Feeling better, Gord steeled himself and poured about half of the remainder of the flask’s contents on the rag that bound his arm. That burned worse still, but at least the stuff was cleansing the outer portions of the wound. The bleeding had certainly taken care of the inner part, Gord thought. One more jot for himself, and the nearly empty flask was tucked away again along with the rest of his gear.
Now, back to the other matters at hand. He knew who he was-that was no problem. But where he was, why he was here, and what had recently happened in his life still remained unknown to Gord. Was there some place he could find to refresh himself and rest? He stood up and carefully examined the surrounding terrain, letting his gaze sweep from near to far, scanning outward in segments, until the whole of this shadowy place that surrounded him had been viewed.
Now that he was somewhat used to the place, Gord could detect traces of color. There were hints of purple, suggestions of brown, deep ultramarine, and some hue like verdigris, only darker and more intense. His eye caught pearlescence, opalescence, brilliancies, and iridescence in the blacks and grays of the place that did not exist elsewhere. Black was no longer just black; the word legitimately could be used to describe a dozen sorts of colors so subtle in difference that the eye could scarcely discern them unless one concentrated. Grays were twice as varied, even if the many metallic sheens and crystalline permutations were discounted.
“It moves!” Gord exclaimed aloud. In his examination of the strange world around him, he had become so absorbed in the minutiae of things that the larger scope had escaped him for several minutes. When he suddenly realized that a low hummock in the distance that had been in front of him was now off to the right and somewhat behind him, Gord understood that the seeming play of shadows in the place was more than that. The terrain actually flowed as if it were a vast, shadowy river.
“Yet this place I stand on does not move,” he murmured to himself, continuing to speak aloud because the sound gave him a sense of security in this strange land. “Let’s see what occurs when I move elsewhere,” he said softly, and then he left the spot he had been resting upon and trudged through the shadows and the tall, black grass to the mound he had observed earlier. He sat atop it for a time, observing the scene. The hillock became a stationary islet, while all else drifted away or across his field of vision. Eventually Gord tired of the experiment and decided this place was as good as any to rest in. He curled up under a low bush with leaves of jet that hid him from casual view, and despite the strangeness and possible dangers was soon in a state of blissful sleep.
A susurration awakened Gord from his rest. Even a slight sound was sufficient to arouse him from deepest slumber, and in strange surroundings, the young thief slept even more lightly than usual. The sound disturbed him, alerting his senses on a primeval level. Without moving, Gord opened his eyelids a crack and peered out between the long, shiny-black fronds that screened him. What he observed was sufficient to cause him to grab his sword and spring to his feet, ready to fight for his life. Once he was clear of the ebon shrub and erect, the scene was far more startling. Gord was fully ringed by a circle of creatures, the strangest collection of beings that he had ever witnessed assembled in a single place.
He immediately recognized several of the congealed-shadow things he now identified as adumbrates. These were scattered here and there among a throng of other shadowy creatures-things with faintly glowing eyes that resembled snakes, men, hounds, badgers, moths, owls, elk, and a host of other, unidentifiable forms as well, all facing the hummock he was upon and looking toward him. Gord’s eye fell upon a huge, maned lion, one of umbral mane and penumbral body, with silvery eyes that gazed back at him without winking.
“Go, friend, and take all of your kind with you,” Gord said to the weird cat. “I have no desire to harm you.” To his surprise, the monstrous creature turned and bounded off, and when he did so, shadowy shapes similar to that of the huge male shadow-lion likewise left the strange circle for parts unknown.
“You are a nonesuch!” a murky form said from behind him-too close behind!
Gord spun to confront the speaker, sword ready. A man-shape of somber tones and insubstantial form drew back as the sword of magical metal neared it. “And so are you,” Gord retorted. “Come not near, or I shall have to send you to some yet-darker plane!”
There was another shushing sound, collectively from the strange assemblage of creatures, individually voiced by the murky man-shadow. “Brash!” the form hissed in a rustling shadow-voice that Gord had grown to expect now. “Never threaten… especially what might be beyond your power to perform.”
The leaden eyes of the shadowy figure searched Gord’s face, and, detecting uncertainty, the thing smiled at him, a translucent yawning that showed gray teeth and the suggestion of what was behind at the same time. “But be at ease, stranger, for unlike the others, I have come to assist and befriend you, not seeking any special gain.”
Of course, such a statement put Gord on instant alert. “Why is that, man of shadow?” he inquired calmly but cautiously.
“Shadow? Nay, though there be some here,” the dusky form replied. “I am Smirtch, the Gloam Imprimus… Is that not sufficient reason for my special accommodation?”
“Shadow, shade, or spirit-what matter?”
“Are you of dwarven ilk? Or giantish?” rejoined the shadow-figure. “As readily as you deny such heritage, so too know that there are those named shadow or spirit, shade or phantom, who are as different, one from the other, as pixie and ogre are in the world that was once yours.”
This piqued Gord’s interest, disarming him slightly and confusing him considerably. “Ever since I awoke from what I thought was death to find myself in this odd place, I have had questions answered with queries, riddles with conundrums. I will bargain with you then, Smirtch-the-Gloam. You may remain close and converse with me without threat, but you must pledge two things.”