The Chill of Death

It has only been a few days, and yet the memory of the Death Spirit invasion is one that I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to shake.  I woke last night in a start, whirling about to bring my knife to bear, convinced I wasn’t alone in my bedroom.

I was.

Living on Temple Hill, outside the city walls, brings it’s own problems.  But did I honestly believe there was a Death Spirit in my bedroom?

My heart slowed to it’s normal pace, and I laid back down, attempting to catch a bit more sleep before the sun rose, and I had to be off again, in search of the next adventure.  As I closed my eyes, I heard the whisper of cloth as it grazed against the nightstand.

My knife came up again, lunging at the shape, sure it was a Death Spirit.  The knife flashed a brilliant silver, and the spirit fell to the floor.

Why were they being driven from the monastery?  And, why was one in my bedroom?