Long ago I had learned to revere Charlie’s insight. His granite lips spoke truths beyond the vision of mortals, with a kindness, and an earnestness, that I knew better than to ignore.

In truth, Charlie was the spirit of the woodsman who built my treehouse. He was slain before my birth by a pack of defiled carnregents in the deep of the forest. Only by happenstance was a roving enchanter passing through at that moment to hear his cries for help. The wizard chased away the dogs but was too late to save Charlie; as recompense, he imbued an ancient stonework with the good man’s soul and disappeared without so much as an introduction.

Charlie spent his days from that moment forward as a kindly seer, showing to others the same compassion that enchanter had shown him, always hoping he might one day meet the man who had saved him from the spectral abyss.

It was a very similar circumstance that brought the two of us together, but that’s a story for another time. This tale is the one about our great adventure.