It was a dark and stormy night, in an eternally shifting forest; of those places sanctified by Chaos in the making of the world, this was the last to retain its power, though its original purpose - protecting the glade of the evil Goddess of Chaos - was long since null and void. Somewhere within it was a place all lost in the forest would eventually find, a log cabin in the middle of a strange clearing other than dead Sairi's glade. A log cabin that now sheltered those Chaos creatures in the forest that could not just 'go incorporeal': the few remaining wood elves, along with large numbers of the tiny, lightning-fast, supremely annoying spriggans, were gathered by an old witch's everburning fire, one of the few warm places in this time.
She checked that their next meal was going well, then went by to entertain them. The elves still here were orphans, robbed of any other parental figure by the overall ruler of the outside world, and as for the spriggans, their elders were more childish than the little elf girl sat torturing a doll. And so the witch had little trouble catching their attention; they were spellbound (quite literally; she cheated) by her retelling of an age long ago, of a time when three gods, rather than just one, walked the earth; of a time when elves were widespread and 'carefree' (translation: murderous, pansexual psychopaths); of a time when humans had something noble to fight for... basically, a time that all those in the cabin would have been better off living in. A time that the old woman had lived in, of course, but none of her company were naive enough to actually believe her when she said that.

Just as she got on to the quest of the last great Red Knight for support against the usurpers of his kingdom, describing how he impressed an orc chieftain by slaying an army of his enemies in noble combat, the door opened, letting in a cold breeze. She glanced briefly at the newcomer, and her mouth almost formed words of dismissal before she realised who exactly it was.
"Ah. Your coming was foretold." She gestured for him to take a seat.
"So what you're saying," spoke the rogue, "is that my ressurection was a predestined thing, not some necromancer's whim?" As he said it, he moved to the seat she pointed to; she gestured to the door, closing it with parlour sorcery.
"In a nutshell, yes. How couldn't it be? What grave robbing mage would waste effort on someone who wouldn't serve them?"
"One who didn't know me... last time?" The Reborn had no firm knowledge of his life before the moment he was ressurected, of course; the only clue he had was the skills he'd begun his journey with. Skills he'd had to expand from greatly, to survive even the trip here, let alone what was to come. "She said she just wanted to see if she could do it properly."
"A greater undead, having pride in their actions? The god-lich hasn't taken all good from His creations then."
"The god-lich?"
"Is he really the Chosen One?" piped in a little elf, doubtfully.
"A chosen one, I think so. The others should be coming."
"Others? But no one followed me."
"The destiny that had you return from the grave to come here probably meant for you to meet any others here. If, indeed, you're their leader, which I doubt; he'd be more dashing, more charismatic..."
"Better informed?"
"That too." The witch checked on the cooking again, and the Reborn prepared to fall asleep in the chair. He'd envisioned himself just stopping off here for orders, and setting out immediately; all Lord Ridley had told him, between discussions about slave trading and spice smuggling, was that the old crone in the Chaos forest wanted his services.