...The past several days have bled together like an angry fresh wound. As what remains of the wizard circle beneath me powers it’s blinding flash, I am reminded that where it takes me shall be a new beginning in this logbook. Uncertainty clouds my thoughts so fully for the first time in my life. Although I carry with me my betrothed and a contingent of my most loyal servants, I leave far too much behind.
This continuing account of my life has a new beginning. One that I hope to look upon in days to come with a sense of accomplishment and content. This is not one of those days.
Brevity has never been one of my shining attributes, nevertheless, I shall attempt such as I recount my time. I am Brant Dracos, Baron among a handful of baronies of the grand kingdom of Argensloft. Being raised with a modicum of humility, I will only touch lightly on the subject of myself. I am human amidst monsters. My female colleagues would tell you that I am quite appealing and hold a statuesque, warrior’s manner. I have always prided myself in my youth for being learned in the ways of court and war. My tastes are fine, if not slightly dulled by my time within the revered Queen’s monstrous armies. Having seen twenty three winters, my prime age has just begun, much to the chagrin of my now-hated uncle.
Mind you, even though the company of abnormal beings within Argensloft is somewhat commonplace, a human amongst the denizens does not leave me with ill-mannered dreams. My blood holds a dark secret which most who face me learn to fear. Passed down from my great, great grandfather’s time, every male in the Dracos family line has revealed the traits of the were. Not just any run-of-the-mill lycanthrope, mind you, but that of the noble dire wolf. It has been lost the how’s and why’s this occurrence began, but it has been recorded that this is one reason we, the blessed, have been granted the gift of nobility. We die hard and slow.
As the teleportation particles trickle before my eyes and disperse as so much dust on the wind, the floorboards beneath my feet creak from the weight of I and my contingent. Having been through much just to follow me thus far deserves proper introduction on their behalf. A man clad in armor stands with his back before me, alert as our surroundings change before our very eyes. As an Aasimaar, he stands tall and justly like his race, but that is where his likeness to his kin ends. My family ‘received’ this person at an early age, before his own people could shroud his thoughts with ideas of righteousness and compassion. Loyal and faithful of my command, he follows as my betrothed’s personal guard and my sword bearer.
At my side, a human woman gently tightens her grip on my arm. Countess Lola Von Stroker, magi and Archmage aspirant. Her glamour is only surpassed by her keen intellect. I can see her look of derision toward the wood framed vessel which materializes around us, and, dare I write, a hint of fear? A grin slips over my mind as I recall her insidious and deceptive idea this was in the first place. I’ve never met another woman with such a studious, curious and manipulative nature. My love.
On our sides I’ve placed two tieflings, both to be trusted only by me. Delia D’Marko, a voice as sweet as hers I’ve not heard before. Her gifts in study, rumor, combat and uplifting tall telling have made her a requisite to any incursion I’ve overseen. A fine conversationalist, that one. Dart Caustic, not worthy of my noble gaze, happened to be one of my finer markswomen amongst my castle guard. Both women can be noted by strange inverted joints on their lower legs and several markings around their faces. Delia’s seem to accentuate her beauty much more ably than Dart’s. It should be noted that they hail from the same village, some days ride east of my castle. I must look into the name of that village; there may be more skill to recruit.
At the rear flank stands a human female around the same age as myself. That would be the only similarity I can mark. A fiery mane of red hair reflects her bloodshot eyes and crazed gaze which only warns all of the twisted nature of Sardi Col. Apprentice to the castle torturer, she delights in all manner of pain toward others. She has a unique talent of which not even the Countess understands. You see, she harness’s strange mystical energy and unleashes it wherever she pleases, scorching any that cross her path.
Our pack animal stands at my right, hauling all of our necessary goods. It is by my grace that I even mention this human male, Shmee Mgee. A man of many trades, he is truly an expert at what he does. Work.
My ink well is all but bare, I must recall mister Mgee to fetch more. The recounting of this beginning has just begun...
This continuing account of my life has a new beginning. One that I hope to look upon in days to come with a sense of accomplishment and content. This is not one of those days.
Brevity has never been one of my shining attributes, nevertheless, I shall attempt such as I recount my time. I am Brant Dracos, Baron among a handful of baronies of the grand kingdom of Argensloft. Being raised with a modicum of humility, I will only touch lightly on the subject of myself. I am human amidst monsters. My female colleagues would tell you that I am quite appealing and hold a statuesque, warrior’s manner. I have always prided myself in my youth for being learned in the ways of court and war. My tastes are fine, if not slightly dulled by my time within the revered Queen’s monstrous armies. Having seen twenty three winters, my prime age has just begun, much to the chagrin of my now-hated uncle.
Mind you, even though the company of abnormal beings within Argensloft is somewhat commonplace, a human amongst the denizens does not leave me with ill-mannered dreams. My blood holds a dark secret which most who face me learn to fear. Passed down from my great, great grandfather’s time, every male in the Dracos family line has revealed the traits of the were. Not just any run-of-the-mill lycanthrope, mind you, but that of the noble dire wolf. It has been lost the how’s and why’s this occurrence began, but it has been recorded that this is one reason we, the blessed, have been granted the gift of nobility. We die hard and slow.
As the teleportation particles trickle before my eyes and disperse as so much dust on the wind, the floorboards beneath my feet creak from the weight of I and my contingent. Having been through much just to follow me thus far deserves proper introduction on their behalf. A man clad in armor stands with his back before me, alert as our surroundings change before our very eyes. As an Aasimaar, he stands tall and justly like his race, but that is where his likeness to his kin ends. My family ‘received’ this person at an early age, before his own people could shroud his thoughts with ideas of righteousness and compassion. Loyal and faithful of my command, he follows as my betrothed’s personal guard and my sword bearer.
At my side, a human woman gently tightens her grip on my arm. Countess Lola Von Stroker, magi and Archmage aspirant. Her glamour is only surpassed by her keen intellect. I can see her look of derision toward the wood framed vessel which materializes around us, and, dare I write, a hint of fear? A grin slips over my mind as I recall her insidious and deceptive idea this was in the first place. I’ve never met another woman with such a studious, curious and manipulative nature. My love.
On our sides I’ve placed two tieflings, both to be trusted only by me. Delia D’Marko, a voice as sweet as hers I’ve not heard before. Her gifts in study, rumor, combat and uplifting tall telling have made her a requisite to any incursion I’ve overseen. A fine conversationalist, that one. Dart Caustic, not worthy of my noble gaze, happened to be one of my finer markswomen amongst my castle guard. Both women can be noted by strange inverted joints on their lower legs and several markings around their faces. Delia’s seem to accentuate her beauty much more ably than Dart’s. It should be noted that they hail from the same village, some days ride east of my castle. I must look into the name of that village; there may be more skill to recruit.
At the rear flank stands a human female around the same age as myself. That would be the only similarity I can mark. A fiery mane of red hair reflects her bloodshot eyes and crazed gaze which only warns all of the twisted nature of Sardi Col. Apprentice to the castle torturer, she delights in all manner of pain toward others. She has a unique talent of which not even the Countess understands. You see, she harness’s strange mystical energy and unleashes it wherever she pleases, scorching any that cross her path.
Our pack animal stands at my right, hauling all of our necessary goods. It is by my grace that I even mention this human male, Shmee Mgee. A man of many trades, he is truly an expert at what he does. Work.
My ink well is all but bare, I must recall mister Mgee to fetch more. The recounting of this beginning has just begun...
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