The dragon lies dead at the foot of the peaks. For a time, I did too. Each time I return, I feel different. Less than I once was. And more. That could be because of the power the Three are having me gather though. My jaw and teeth feel different after eating it, and my voice has an intonation that I have seen the others look at me strangely for. Uneasily. Hearing the whispers and wails of the dead is not new to me, but it is to them, and each time I speak they hear those voices whisper and echo each word I say.
The conventions of my clan were kind when they gave me my name, offering me something of nature, of Faerûn, but I think they must have sensed at least a touch of what I was to become. I hear hints of the wind on the arctic peaks when I speak now, but only because that sound is only a whisper apart from the needs and regrets of the dead.
We made it to the old elven stronghold atop Icespire Peak. There had been no sign of the dragon, but the weather got worse as they day progressed. There was no movement, no hint of anyone or anything around, but I could feel that the dragon was closeby, even if I could not pinpoint it. The front gateway seemed unmanned, but I was wary, and so instead we clambered our way to the small cave entrance that led to the Hold's crypts. Idris nearly fell to his death, but we managed to save him.
The half-ogre mercenary, Tokk, whom Idris had recruited to go with us, was less than useful. I found myself becoming irritated by his presence on more than one occasion on this journey up the mountain, and that did not lessen when we got to the Hold. I kept my irritation to myself and continued on.
But I was worried, as I have before related, at the difficulty of our task. I didn't feel ready, or properly prepared, but there was little else I could think to do. Zenari had seen the layout of the top of the stronghold where the dragon had lain its icy hoard, and there were many things I could see going wrong during the battle to come, so very many. And so in that crypt of old elven heroes, I sought guidance from the Three, knowing that while they might tire of my seeking aid, they did at least need me to succeed in the task. And they answered.
It was Bane who spoke with me the most, being the most tactically minded. He laid out each piece of information we could use to our advantage in the fight with the white dragon. I listened and made sure to remember, but even so I was so very aware of how Bane was having to lower himself to explaining things to me in such a way as one might to a cub, or worse. No matter my words on these pages, I have never been one for books or learning in the way that creates minds so vast as that of the wizard Zatharius, or even a hint of the intellect of a God like Bane. I feel it keenly, when I think back on the times I have interacted with them, and I feel lacking. Someone like Zatharius would not have had to have such things spelled out to him. And yet they still have use for me, and so perhaps I am not a lost cause, if for no other reason than I have fallen in with their plans without a fight.
I was to eat the heart of a dragon to consume the power it held.
I relayed the information to the others when the Three left me once more, all but for that last part of my task. I did not know whether they might fight against it; whether they might try to subvert things at the end since they did not like the Three's presence much. Zenari seemed distrustful, but I could only relay what had been given to me, and so up through Icespire Hold we went.
The fight was short but brutal, the preparations we had undertaken, along with the warnings from the Three, had done us well. Cryovain fell, and Idris walked over and swung his sword down top sever its head, but no matter that I felt death from it, suddenly its head snapped to the side, and Cryovain shattered that blade and rose, swelling in size as it drew in all the magic from the Hold, its lair, and its hoard. It was dead, but not dead. A mythic creature rising up in furious retaliation, and none of us could stop it before it unleashed its vengeance upon us all. In panic, I used my cloak to teleport behind it only seconds before a huge beam of energy coalesced into ice, freezing all in its path. Only Zenari was saved by the warding I had put upon her.
The dragon though, it was suffering from the use of magic, from its new state. Poised to take off, I was only too aware of the words that Myrkul had warned me with. Between saving those in the group, and completing my task, I would have to make a choice. He had told me to be wise. As I saw Zenari make her way over that ice towards Falcon to revive him, I made that choice.
I climbed swiftly up Cryovain's tail and back, hoping to find some wound to widen, some weakness to take advantage of, but no matter how close the dragon was to death, there was nothing visible. I called up my spirit guardians, hoping to gain some advantage, some aid. The dragon could not dislodge me, but instead bore itself, and me, aloft. My claws gained no purchase to damage it, barely able to keep myself atop the creature. Below me, Siax regained consciousness and started firing at the dragon, and I could only hold on as his own desperation to succeed in our task bore more fruit. Two arrows embedded themselves in the back of Cryovain's skull, and I felt that unnaturally extended life come to an abrupt close. The dragon plummeted down the mountainside, with me still clinging atop its corpse.
This was the second time I had faced death and known it to be the end. I had those moments to desperately seek some way of getting to safety, but there were none. I was too far from the keep, too far from the mountain, and the angle we were falling didn't provide any possibility of survival. Then, from the shades that surrounded me still, Myrkul's voice murmured to me, a voice heard over the howling of the wind and storm, "Do what was promised." I knew then what I had to do. I would not survive, but I could still fulfil my task. Somehow I managed to claw my way into a wound at it's neck and shoulder, digging deeper with claws tipped in the power a dead frost giant had gathered, the shades around me tearing the body to make a way for me. I feared it wouldn't be enough. I desperately feared, as I tore through muscle and flesh, that I would not manage to tear myself deep enough to get to the heart.
But I did. I got it. I tore the heart and I tore into it with my teeth, swallowing it down, blind to anything but the action, blind to anything but the power that filled me like a roar.
And then in an instant, it was all gone. A moment of blackness, of nothingness, and I once more stood in Jergal's library, and he once again sat on the other side of that desk reading.
He did not speak, nor look up, and I did not rush him. He had warned me I would lose my chance at life should I fall again, and I had, but I was also satisfied, for I had managed to complete my task for the Three, much as I had agreed to do. My debt was repaid, and I hoped they were satisfied by what I had wrought.
I do not know how long I stood there in that library. Time had no real meaning, and it was peaceful there. In some ways it felt more like home than any place ever had. Perhaps it was because the amulet that was a small facet of god-power had bound itself to me, and it knew where it truly belonged, I do not know. I liked it there though, the quiet, even if books did not hold the same importance to me as it did to someone like Jergal. However after a while, I started to hear voices; Siax; Idris; Zenari; and then the Three.
The Three's voices were clearer to me than the others were, and I heard their voices, listened to their scheming. I might not be book-smart like Zatharius, but I understood what they were doing. Understood that they were gaining a trade, a sealed agreement, without outlying any of their own power to leverage it. It was Zenari's wild magic power that would bring me back, and only their knowledge would be guiding it. But agree the group did, to continue to travel with me, to support and see to my success in doing the Three's bidding.
I felt very little as I stood there in that library, not fear, nor hope, nor joy, merely patience. Jergal finally looked up towards where I stood, and I could see a slight quirk on his lips, perhaps amused by the Three's machinations, as I heard he once had been.
And then I was back in my body, the frigid temperatures, the blood and the mess, and the relieved and worried faces of my companions around me. My claws were red still, my teeth felt strange, and Siax was desperate to know if I was well. I had few words to give him, my mind slow to return to functioning in the living world, my mouth feeling garbled with the strange sensations.
We are in Axeholm now. There is no sign of the green dragon, nor the assassin. We will head to Phandalin first, to get the residents resettled there, for Idris is eager to see to them. Eventually we will head south to the Mere of Dead Men, for I have an appointment there it seems with the Three. After that we are to deal with the cult of Talos who are fighting to gain the fragments left over from the deaths of gods. Four months ago I could not have conceived that this would be my life, my task, but much has changed since then. My teeth feel vicious, I look at people and see their worth in the tasks they can perform, and my voice is filled with death. I will do what I can to serve the Three, but I do not fear my passing. I remember that library and the peace that I felt there. I have been given time and opportunity to serve the Three further, but death is not the end, and my place waits beyond it. Death is inevitable, and I find a great comfort in that.
The conventions of my clan were kind when they gave me my name, offering me something of nature, of Faerûn, but I think they must have sensed at least a touch of what I was to become. I hear hints of the wind on the arctic peaks when I speak now, but only because that sound is only a whisper apart from the needs and regrets of the dead.
We made it to the old elven stronghold atop Icespire Peak. There had been no sign of the dragon, but the weather got worse as they day progressed. There was no movement, no hint of anyone or anything around, but I could feel that the dragon was closeby, even if I could not pinpoint it. The front gateway seemed unmanned, but I was wary, and so instead we clambered our way to the small cave entrance that led to the Hold's crypts. Idris nearly fell to his death, but we managed to save him.
The half-ogre mercenary, Tokk, whom Idris had recruited to go with us, was less than useful. I found myself becoming irritated by his presence on more than one occasion on this journey up the mountain, and that did not lessen when we got to the Hold. I kept my irritation to myself and continued on.
But I was worried, as I have before related, at the difficulty of our task. I didn't feel ready, or properly prepared, but there was little else I could think to do. Zenari had seen the layout of the top of the stronghold where the dragon had lain its icy hoard, and there were many things I could see going wrong during the battle to come, so very many. And so in that crypt of old elven heroes, I sought guidance from the Three, knowing that while they might tire of my seeking aid, they did at least need me to succeed in the task. And they answered.
It was Bane who spoke with me the most, being the most tactically minded. He laid out each piece of information we could use to our advantage in the fight with the white dragon. I listened and made sure to remember, but even so I was so very aware of how Bane was having to lower himself to explaining things to me in such a way as one might to a cub, or worse. No matter my words on these pages, I have never been one for books or learning in the way that creates minds so vast as that of the wizard Zatharius, or even a hint of the intellect of a God like Bane. I feel it keenly, when I think back on the times I have interacted with them, and I feel lacking. Someone like Zatharius would not have had to have such things spelled out to him. And yet they still have use for me, and so perhaps I am not a lost cause, if for no other reason than I have fallen in with their plans without a fight.
I was to eat the heart of a dragon to consume the power it held.
I relayed the information to the others when the Three left me once more, all but for that last part of my task. I did not know whether they might fight against it; whether they might try to subvert things at the end since they did not like the Three's presence much. Zenari seemed distrustful, but I could only relay what had been given to me, and so up through Icespire Hold we went.
The fight was short but brutal, the preparations we had undertaken, along with the warnings from the Three, had done us well. Cryovain fell, and Idris walked over and swung his sword down top sever its head, but no matter that I felt death from it, suddenly its head snapped to the side, and Cryovain shattered that blade and rose, swelling in size as it drew in all the magic from the Hold, its lair, and its hoard. It was dead, but not dead. A mythic creature rising up in furious retaliation, and none of us could stop it before it unleashed its vengeance upon us all. In panic, I used my cloak to teleport behind it only seconds before a huge beam of energy coalesced into ice, freezing all in its path. Only Zenari was saved by the warding I had put upon her.
The dragon though, it was suffering from the use of magic, from its new state. Poised to take off, I was only too aware of the words that Myrkul had warned me with. Between saving those in the group, and completing my task, I would have to make a choice. He had told me to be wise. As I saw Zenari make her way over that ice towards Falcon to revive him, I made that choice.
I climbed swiftly up Cryovain's tail and back, hoping to find some wound to widen, some weakness to take advantage of, but no matter how close the dragon was to death, there was nothing visible. I called up my spirit guardians, hoping to gain some advantage, some aid. The dragon could not dislodge me, but instead bore itself, and me, aloft. My claws gained no purchase to damage it, barely able to keep myself atop the creature. Below me, Siax regained consciousness and started firing at the dragon, and I could only hold on as his own desperation to succeed in our task bore more fruit. Two arrows embedded themselves in the back of Cryovain's skull, and I felt that unnaturally extended life come to an abrupt close. The dragon plummeted down the mountainside, with me still clinging atop its corpse.
This was the second time I had faced death and known it to be the end. I had those moments to desperately seek some way of getting to safety, but there were none. I was too far from the keep, too far from the mountain, and the angle we were falling didn't provide any possibility of survival. Then, from the shades that surrounded me still, Myrkul's voice murmured to me, a voice heard over the howling of the wind and storm, "Do what was promised." I knew then what I had to do. I would not survive, but I could still fulfil my task. Somehow I managed to claw my way into a wound at it's neck and shoulder, digging deeper with claws tipped in the power a dead frost giant had gathered, the shades around me tearing the body to make a way for me. I feared it wouldn't be enough. I desperately feared, as I tore through muscle and flesh, that I would not manage to tear myself deep enough to get to the heart.
But I did. I got it. I tore the heart and I tore into it with my teeth, swallowing it down, blind to anything but the action, blind to anything but the power that filled me like a roar.
And then in an instant, it was all gone. A moment of blackness, of nothingness, and I once more stood in Jergal's library, and he once again sat on the other side of that desk reading.
He did not speak, nor look up, and I did not rush him. He had warned me I would lose my chance at life should I fall again, and I had, but I was also satisfied, for I had managed to complete my task for the Three, much as I had agreed to do. My debt was repaid, and I hoped they were satisfied by what I had wrought.
I do not know how long I stood there in that library. Time had no real meaning, and it was peaceful there. In some ways it felt more like home than any place ever had. Perhaps it was because the amulet that was a small facet of god-power had bound itself to me, and it knew where it truly belonged, I do not know. I liked it there though, the quiet, even if books did not hold the same importance to me as it did to someone like Jergal. However after a while, I started to hear voices; Siax; Idris; Zenari; and then the Three.
The Three's voices were clearer to me than the others were, and I heard their voices, listened to their scheming. I might not be book-smart like Zatharius, but I understood what they were doing. Understood that they were gaining a trade, a sealed agreement, without outlying any of their own power to leverage it. It was Zenari's wild magic power that would bring me back, and only their knowledge would be guiding it. But agree the group did, to continue to travel with me, to support and see to my success in doing the Three's bidding.
I felt very little as I stood there in that library, not fear, nor hope, nor joy, merely patience. Jergal finally looked up towards where I stood, and I could see a slight quirk on his lips, perhaps amused by the Three's machinations, as I heard he once had been.
And then I was back in my body, the frigid temperatures, the blood and the mess, and the relieved and worried faces of my companions around me. My claws were red still, my teeth felt strange, and Siax was desperate to know if I was well. I had few words to give him, my mind slow to return to functioning in the living world, my mouth feeling garbled with the strange sensations.
We are in Axeholm now. There is no sign of the green dragon, nor the assassin. We will head to Phandalin first, to get the residents resettled there, for Idris is eager to see to them. Eventually we will head south to the Mere of Dead Men, for I have an appointment there it seems with the Three. After that we are to deal with the cult of Talos who are fighting to gain the fragments left over from the deaths of gods. Four months ago I could not have conceived that this would be my life, my task, but much has changed since then. My teeth feel vicious, I look at people and see their worth in the tasks they can perform, and my voice is filled with death. I will do what I can to serve the Three, but I do not fear my passing. I remember that library and the peace that I felt there. I have been given time and opportunity to serve the Three further, but death is not the end, and my place waits beyond it. Death is inevitable, and I find a great comfort in that.