[I might have lied last night when I said that I would have more to say. Some stuff came up, and I also kinda forgot.]
Cog told his tale. He was an adventurer of some repute, hailing from the dwarven mountain home of Dragongild. His adventures had taken him far and wide, from the crashing waves of the Wetness of Shadows to the windy sands of the Scorching Dune. He had made his name as a slayer of beasts fell and terrible, and had no fear of dragons, colossi, or hydras. He had slain more than his share of each.
His most recent expedition, given to him by the dwarven king himself, was to slay the vampire necromancer Osman Idlafathri. Osman was holed up in his tower, which he then filled with his legion of undead. Cog knew that, mighty though he was, it would be suicide to attack it alone. As such, he called in many of the considerable favors he was owed, and led his troop in a siege of the dark tower. They had crashed down on the tower with a fury rarely seen and terrible to behold, and scattered the zombies within. Making their way quickly up the stairs, Cog at the fore, they fought their way through considerable opposition to reach the top.
Osman was waiting for them. He called forth a terrible wave of dark power, and Cog's soldiers were overwhelmed. Those of weak wills were simply consumed, and the rest had no strength left in their bodies. Osman laughed, a hideous sound, absent of all the emotions that normally inspire laughter, and readied his dark magics for another attack. Cog, knowing that he could not survive another blow like the first, struggled to his feet. He readied Vol, his trusty hammer, and tried to charge the necromancer. His strength failed him though, and he stumbled and fell to his knees before Osman. The sorcerer laughed his terrible laugh again, and loosed another wave of power.
Even now, Cog could not say what allowed him to resist that horrible darkness. All he remembered was a wave of all-consuming emptiness washing over him, and then darkness. When it passed, seemingly ages later, he was the only one left against Osman, of the twenty men and dwarves who had come with him. He got to his feet again, still unsteady, and gathered what remained of his strength for one final, desperate attack.
Osman stopped laughing. He was looking seriously worried. This dwarf, this ordinary, mortal, puny dwarf, had shrugged off his most devastating magic. Twice. Cog shook himself, and straightened. He glared at the necromancer, with a look that said, "You will die here, by my hand." Suddenly, the air around him began to glow with a brilliant, white light. Cog, wreathed in his eerie aura, leaped at Osman with a scream.
That was all he could remember, before he woke up in that dining hall.