"Blah blah blah, I hate it when he tells this story," the young student whispered over to his friend.
"Yeah, like anyone really cares about some fool monk who died almost a hundred years ago," his friend muttered, as the two exchanged a quick snicker.
"As Tiamat gasped for her last breaths, he approached her gargantuan body. 'This is for all of my friends, for taking everyone I ever cared about away from me,' he said to her angrily.
"Hey Jaedren, I have this new mace I wanna show you later on," the young student murmured to his friend.
"Must be nice having a father who buys everything for his spoiled son," his friend jokingly whispered back.
<I>'Your reign ends now, Tiamat!,' the monk screamed as he jabbed out at her with blurring speed, fist colliding with the temple of her last living head, penetrating her skull, going deep into her brain. With a sudden, massive twitch, and a last half-roar, Tiamat went to sleep for the last time.
Pulling his fist from her head, arm covered in dull gray brain matter, Yasden clutched at his left side. Her stinger had pierced him, and there was no means of healing left. Only corpses. Corpses upon corpses upon corpses. As he walked among the dead that had been his friends, he remembered each as he walked by their lifeless bodies. Some bitten in two, some charred and smoldering, some half eaten away by acid, some frozen solid, some just plain ripped to shreds.</I>
Jaedren leaned over to his friend, who was busy sketching some elaborate elven runes.
"Hey, he's never told this before Evrian. He's talking about gory stuff now."
"Wha? Oh, hmm," Evrian looked up as he began listening to the priest for the first time today.
<I>Yasden sat and began a chant of mourning for his fallen comrades. There was no way of possibly returning all of their corpses back to the Prime Material plane for resurrection. They had died here today, and so would he, he realized as he looked at the putrid green ooze seeping from the foot-long gash along his ribs. Not even slowing his heart rate could still this poison, which had already begun eating away at his lungs, making his breathing difficult. Within minutes he would be coughing up blood. In an hour, he would be dead.
He smiled to himself as the memories of his life came flooding to him all at once. He had been given a blessing, and now it was time to meet Lathander again. He looked over at Wurhana, the dwarven bard whose head had been bitten off right in front of him, and took out her journal, and began writing down the entire details of the battle, including writing down everything that he was thinking at those moments.
One of the very last things Yasden wrote in the journal of Wurhana was this,"</I> the priest said as he picked up a old leather-bound journal up.
The entire class blinked for a moment, surprised. They had heard this story before, but never this stuff about the dead and the journal. It had existed to them only as a story of legend, something slightly exaggerated.
The priest flipped through the journal's crackling pages until he came to the last page. He stared at it a moment, trying to decipher some of the words due to the dozens of dried blood smears and spots on the page.
The priest cleared his throat.
<I>'If anyone ever manages to find this journal before it turns to dust, my apologies for the blood all over this page. My time is near its end, and blood drips from my nose nonstop. Tiamat is dead, but I know she will return. I've counted the bodies, and one is missing. It seems a mage has disappeared, and probably with the essence of the dragon. I don't know what mage yet, some of these faces I can barely recognize. Hopefully I will find out before it is too late...
But I need to end this now, I'm having trouble keeping my eyes open. The pain is getting unbearable, and I need to concentrate on figuring out who the missing mage is. So for you, the reader, I give thee my utmost respect for having found this, and please never lose faith in what you believe in.
I will leave this to posterity, for it was a quote by my Grandmaster to me years ago.
"In this life, we only live to become greater."
Signed,
Yasden Vassant
_\|/_'</I>
The priest gently closed the journal, setting it down on his lap and smiling broadly.
"Father Tennell, why haven't you ever told us this part before?," Evrian asked before the priest could say another word.
"Because, my dear Evrian," the priest said, walking slowly over towards him, "this journal was just found a few days ago. It is indeed authentic, due to the blessing Yasden placed upon it before he passed away.
"By the way, you two should pay attention more often," Father Tennell smirked as he nodded at Evrian and Jaedren. "Next time you might miss something really interesting, like your priesthood."
The class burst into laughter at the two teenagers sitting in the back of the room. The duo could only manage to lower their heads in embarrassment.
!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*
"Goddammit, why not?!," the man exclaimed at the shopkeeper, as he tried to pawn off yet another stolen necklace.
"I've told you a thousand times Lind, I don't buy shit that has someone's name engraved on it! Last thing I need is the militia coming in here and chopping off MY hands because of YOUR wandering fingers!," the shopkeeper yelled back at him.
"Fine then Del, I'll take my business elsewhere. Tell your wife hello for me," Lind muttered as he walked out of The Rusty Shackle.
He hadn't profited very well over the past few days. Noble wives and their damned engraved jewelry!
As he wandered through some random back alleys in the shadier section of Waterdeep, Lind kept feeling that sixth sense when someone is following you.
Whirling around, Lind drew his dagger with lightning speed, grabbing the figure that had been behind him and holding the weapon up to its throat.
"Who are you and what the hell do you want? You have three seconds before your blood colors these cobblestones red," Lind whispered dangerously.
"I am not your enemy, I have a proposition of business for you, Lind Rassingall," the shadowed man replied calmly.
Lind withdrew his dagger from the man's throat, releasing his grip on his cloak as well.
"Well then, what do you want stolen?"
"It's not quite that simple, really. I want something procured, yes, but stealing it is just not an option."
Lind pondered a moment. "You have my interest. Before we continue, let me see your face."
"My face you will not recognize, and will do you no good in seeing. I will show it when the time is right."
"Fine then, have a nice day," Lind muttered as he walked away.
A moment later, he spun around, throwing his dagger at the man, aim true as it hungrily seeked out his throat...then bounced off of an invisible shield.
"Do that again, and not only will the deal be off, but you will be dead, too. I will offer you this proposition once more."
Lind smirked and crossed his arms over his chest. "What's in it for me?"
A low chuckle escaped from the shadows. "Nothing. Everything. It all depends on if you live through it or not."
"I'll live, you just tell me what I need to know and your deadline."
"Meet me here in three hours, and we'll discuss what you will be needing in order to retrieve a dragon's soul that I...misplaced."
Lind laughed aloud. "I thought it had nothing to do with stealing?"
"It doesn't. It's misplaced, like I said. I need someone with your resourcefulness to get it back. If I'm seen near the area I'll be killed on sight."
"Three hours from now, and you'd better be here."
"Until then, Lind Rassingall," the shadows softly said, then suddenly disappeared.
No one in these parts of the Realms knew his last name, so he assumed it was someone from his past. He would take the job, but he would find out who this person was.
Shrugging his shoulders, Lind turned and headed off to find another mark. Today just might prove to be profitable after all.
End of Part I
What did you guys think? Want more?
