Catastrophe struck on the Companions' 3rd visit to the Isles. The party was exploring a desolate island group northwest of the Daggers, and had split up. Most of the party had sailed west to look at a ruined tower on a nearby islet... Riordan, the dwarf, and your character had stayed on to explore the sparsely inhabited island of Turlough. A small halfling community was the only real settlement.

The dwarf accidentally set off the chain of events that followed. He was exploring a rather sizable dark cave opening near the summit of Turlough's only mountain. While inside, he woke the inhabitant... an ancient red dragon. He was able to damage the wyrm somewhat, but it launched itself out of the cave mouth and proceeded to tear up the countryside.... destroying every man-made structure it saw, and setting fire to the forests and crops.

Riordan had been exploring the forest when the attack occurred... he ran upslope toward the cave, in hopes of saving the dwarf, or at least helping him slay the beast. You, on the other hand, were in the village... and you struggled to get the halflings to abandon their possessions and run towards the safety of the sea. You had only had some small success when the dragon fell upon the village. You tried confounding it with confusing and tricksy magicks... but in its rage it could not be turned from its destruction.

You were able to hold your own for several rounds of combat, nicking the dragon with your rapier when it came within reach, and cowering behind your shield when it used it's breath weapon. When the dragon alighted on the ground and started moving towards you, though, you knew that it was going to get very dicey.

That's when you spotted the children out of the corner of your eye. A little boy and a little girl -- not more than ten, surely -- were trying to sneak past the dragon to the pasture beyond the houses. The wyrm heard their movement moments after you saw them, and it's great head snapped around like a cat which has heard the scampering of a mouse. Clearly, the children had only seconds to live...

A half-screamed shout of power shot from your lips, and a bright whirlwind of illusory colors and cacaphonic horn blasts erupted to your left, a magical special effect from one of your performances... whipping the dragon's head to the other side to locate the source of the sound. Meanwhile, under the blanket of noise you sprinted to where the kids were frozen with fear. You shoved Raven's Wing at them... making both of them grab hold of it... and commanded them to run for the sea and keep the shield between them and the dragon as they ran.

The dragon's head comes back around trying to pinpoint the sounds of movement... before he can spot the suddenly moving shield, you launch yourself once again to the left... holding Sharp straight up before you. The dragon rears up, but freezes in place as you begin to sing a proud song. It watches you from that position, uncertain what sort of creature stands so unafraid before it. After a moment it lunges forward. Your rapier pierces its scaly hide, and bites deep into the chest. But that's the last thing you see, as the great beast falls forward onto you.

You don't remember much after that. There was some sort of service... they buried you under a stone cairn on the slopes of the mountain, a stone with your arms and the Black Griffin device for a headstone. They recovered the pieces of Sharp, and carried them away. Your shield was never recovered -- you often wonder if the children made it to safety... and if they did, if Raven Wing went with them.

You wonder about the other halflings that lived here. Did they all die? Or did they just leave? No one ever came back to the village, except Riordan and Wakanda, and Max and Alisande... who came back a few years later, looking much older and sadder, to visit your grave and leave again.

Your tin whistle lies in the dirt in the village square. You can feel it in your mind. It remains the focus of your presence on the island. You wander around... only slightly aware... humming sad little songs and wishing you could have done more.

At the moment of your death, in the sea chest in your stateroom aboard the Gryphon (Max's ship), the golden strings of your harp snapped, and destroyed the chest. Ever since that day, no one has been able to string it or play it. You've felt Riordan's hands on it once or twice since, but you have no sense of where it is today.