Ushered forth by Cooper Ikari, it was a strange, grey land in which the Secret Storm walked.

Like cattle the dead and lost mooned over lives forsaken, their wraith hands plucked at the residual warmth of the freshly felled visitor. Sympathy was not forthcoming.

Heedless of the frailties of disconsolation and desperation, Gattan'bahar approached the great doors that barred entry to the throne of Death. Without invitation or announcement, the female Tsol'teth pushed past the giant barriers to approach the throne and its Curator.

"Neina'qamad." Impassive, as is her way, but respectful enough, Gattan'bahar greeted he who oversees Death by his name as given in ancient Underrealm legend.

"Secret Storm," mused Ugrach, "You have sent many to me these past some months. The Tide prepares to rise once again, I presume."

Uncharacteristically, the sallow Tsol'teth paused before offering only, "There will be more to come, Aldar," by way of an answer.

The Curator of Death leaned back in his immense throne, assessing the woman before him with a mild interest.

His voice as cold as the grave, the keeper of Death spoke, "You would return?" he asked, the words falling into the cathedral acoustics like tombstones.

"There is much yet to do." It was not quite humility in the Tsol'teth's tone, but there was something of a promise uttered in those six words.

"Very well," responded Ugrach, the Curator of Death, and he uttered one murderously soft, final word: "Go."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Summary: Having been slain by Cooper, Gattan'bahar met with Ugrach, a figure of Tsol'teth legend. After a brief exchange, he offered the Tsol'teth resurrection.

Penned by My hand on the 12th of Lupar, in the year 724 AF.