So you believed me dead did you? Well
I am sorry to disappoint you, but as you can see I am very much alive. I would also like to take
this opportunity to point out to my so called "friends" that stabbing one's long time companion
in the back is a most ignoble action and they deserve whatever befalls them.
So who am I? Well I am a chivalrous and
valiant priest/knight, much like your own Templars were in fact, and for me honour is all. Some
may question this statement, but they are blind to the simple law of nature, that nobody is going
to give you anything unless you ask for it, and the more "persuasive" you are when you ask the
more likely it is to be given. There was a time once when I thought differently, and I too believed
that I could achieve great things in helping the poor and the needy, but I found the simple truth
to be that these peasants are not deserving of our aid. They multiply like rabbits anyway so it
matters little if a few are slaughtered by dragons here and there. They are soon replaced.
There was a time when I had power,
wealth and influence. Sadly the designs of my so
called friends mean that time is no more. They call themselves honourable, and yet they
denied me fair trial, in the knowledge that the only crime which I had committed was to
desire a particular sword which they happened to disagree with, a crime so small that no jury
would convict me and so they took justice into their own hands. They speak of justice and
freedom, yet their actions prove them cowards and liars and they murdered me in my sleep with
a stab in the back. Fortunately the master who I serve removed me to this place of safety wherein
I was resurrected to help him in his work.
And now a few words upon the subject of my "friends" concerning their true nature, and some words of warning to them.
That miserable
conjuror Caramel is both guileless and witless and will be expunged from the face of the earth
just as soon as the time is suitable, preferably in the presence of that even more repugnant wife
of his, to whom I will take great delight in causing more damage with my fists than she would
have ever dreamed possible.
Next it will be the turn of that hateful
halfling Endil Pimpleface, who decided it would be amusing to gain experience points by
stabbing me in the back. He need not trouble himself over his child growing up fatherless since
I will spit roast the infant for the hill giants when I lead them back to the fortress, which is at least
in part rightfully my own. He may be pleased to learn that his wife will be spared so that she may
live with sight of the child's face as it turns on the spit. She will remember it the longer for being
the final sight she sees before her eyes are put out. She will however be left her hearing, that
every cry she hears may remind her of the baby's death screams.
Drizzle the user of wild magic is still as
trivial as ever. Hahaha! She died (how many times?) and lost her constitution bonus; what
ill luck, however I am sure my master will find a use for her. Those who fail to do his bidding
willingly can often be persuaded by other means. Unfortunatey she is no longer in a position to
aid the party with her magic, which was always a source of great amusement to me: that element
of uncertainty over whether she would succeed in killing her friends before the enemy even
reached them. Though truly from her current position she is capable of little indeed.
Next we reach a veritable host of lesser
minions. Steve, whose primary ability appears to be burning trees, singularly humorous given
that he is a druid, one would almost believe him converted. His first trick was to try to set a
whole forest on fire, later he poured lightning bolts into a clump of trees until they were reduced
to charred stumps. Of course his pipe is constantly smouldering too, with various narcotic
substances which significantly alter his state of his brain to such a degree that it is unclear
whether his actions are ever reasoned at all.
Sharryne is another halfling, whose whoring is
near legendary. She is no concern of mine since the only weapon she knows how to handle is
rarely on display except in bed.
I was of the opinion that all dwarves were ugly, until I saw
Olga that is, and I now believe that comparatively most dwarves are rather attractive. Singularly
gifted with a battleaxe, but a dose of magic and she will soon die like the rest.
Hyenaface was
once a town guard, and may well come to wish she had never left. Her abilities may be compared
to those of a puppet since she seems incapable of acting for herself. The gift of a kitten would
probably endear one to her for life, so witless is she.
There is another who has joined them
by the name of Horrendouslasagne but as yet her flaws are undiscovered, since she would seem
to be watching more than speaking. I shall watch her with interest.
And finally my good cousin Feringald
I turn my attention to you. It would seem that similarly to most of us your death was not
sufficient to remove you from this land. Unfortunately however you do not seem to be repaying
my master with the kindness he deserves for saving you from permanent obliteration, and have
indeed turned against him. I feel however that you are at least deserving of a second chance,
given that you were not present the whole time and may well have been misled by the treacherous
words of our companions into accepting the need for my death. All I desire is the return on my
chapel and associated buildings in the fortress together with adequate recompense for my 131
disciples who you mercilessly slew without warning. If you were to return these things, along
with that of my property which you still have and financial recompense for that which you have
used, broken or lost, plus the return of my fair share of that which was in our final adventure
together and a solemn vow to return to the service of our master then I would find it in my heart
to forgive you. If not then I bid you look to your sword, for I shall wreak vengeance of wrath
upon you.
Steve the supposed druid
has sadly not yet learned the art of writing.
A treatise by my master.
A return to whence you came.
Farewell my friend, and let you not become mine enemy.