The Dragon Queen

Eventually Eventful

In our moment of dire need, we looked to the arcane arts for our protection. It was granted to us. Though, being naive, we did not stop to think of the cost and only reached for the next rung of power. It was one act of folly upon another, and I look back with regret on those times, until I remember the eventual triumphs.

I will not tarry long to write this down. Our campaign has continued eventfully: we’ve encountered a dwarf on stilts, a caravan willing to hire us, and merchants willing to part with magical items. My new wand and pearl shine with a lurid glow and the promise of increased power. We have traveled northward in the company of this caravan looking for an in with the dragon cult. So far, they trust us.

These are strange times indeed. As our journey continued, we were beset by screaming mushrooms that prevented our passing. We were asked to leave the caravan until we proved ourselves worthier, and we even encountered doppelganger-esque creatures who seduced Trask.


To think that Trask unwittingly mated with this creature fills me with a mixture of revulsion and humor. Thankfully we were able to expose his clone as an imposter and defeat him. We are indebted to Sulion’s perspicacity.

These words grow tiring. I will return to this journal, though for now the call of adventure returns with renewed strength. To record these events seems superfluous when compared to experiencing them. Each encounter gives me new life and zeal and I say long may the unpredictable reign.

Return to the Camp
Trask's thoughts

Looking forward to heading back to the horde’s camp. Last visit sure got interesting quickly! I enjoyed taking some money off of those witless, spineless mercenaries and some damned stupid kobolds on the outskirts of the camp got what they deserved. Things got even more fun once the escape started. Not sure how we made it out of there so easily, but a giant fire and avalanche probably had something to do with it.

Maybe this time we can have even more fun by starting some fights between the mercenaries and the kobolds. No love lost there, but I would hate to work with those smelly salamander egg heads myself. At least the mercenaries enjoy a good drink and gamble! Might be worth asking Tarbaw if he’s got any money to spare for a mercenary-flipping fund.

Also I have to do something about that bright blue piece of snake spawn. Still not sure why I didn’t cut the arrogant bastard down last time. Maybe it’s because we were surrounded by his filthy and unthinking minions. People always said I was dumb, but what do they know. Hopefully I’ll get the chance to go after the fucker this time. If he wants single combat, that’s what he’s going to get. If the opportunity doesn’t come, I’ll just keep bleeding his stinking horde.

I must admit, I’m starting to enjoy this little party we formed.

Andraste is a bit preachy sometimes, but I have to grant her courage, honor and prowess. I’m not saying I’m chicken, but I’d think for at least a few seconds before arguing with her. She’s scary quick and agile.

Sulion is more interesting and harder to read. I’m glad we met aboard that ship, and I feel like he’s still having fun adventuring as I am. He can fucking shoot a bow, and the generosity of his god with healing has proven helpful more than once. Not sure what his larger plans are, but I guess he’d talk some crap about having to listen to his god to figure it out.

Greylander is a quiet one. Still feel like I don’t know much about him, but I guess he prefers it that way. That kind of magic-tossing isn’t really my thing, but I admit it’s proven useful a few times.

They all seem a bit puny for my tastes, but you can’t argue with the results so far. Plenty of fun to be had for everyone, even if they don’t always seem to appreciate it.


Pain is the mother of all growth. It does not discriminate. It will tramp with equal brutality upon the virtuous and the corrupt, as it has only one goal: to force you to adapt.

Trask and Andraste continue to impose themselves on our enemies, while Sulion and I hang back. We’ve dispatched with swarms of rats as well as several more cultists. We’ve even harried the dragon until his eventual departure. One would think such initial success would breed confidence, but I cannot summon any as we set out to look for the camp.

Securing the keep, we were challenged by one of the cult’s lieutenants. The creature looked to be some hybrid of dragon and man, though mostly humanoid. He bellowed nonchalantly that he was feeling generous and would release a few prisoners if one of us would accept his challenge in single combat. Trask was not about to let such a challenge go unanswered.

He stepped forth, swinging his weapon without much effect. Instead of a parry or counter attack, the creature flicked his head slightly backward before releasing a torrent of lightning. This instantly disabled the barbarian. Trask lay defeated on the ground, with a willing spirit but devastated flesh. I wondered if his life would then be taken from him, but the creature merely smiled smugly and sauntered off, exuding self-assurance. Naturally, the mood around the keep did not lift.

Again I can feel myself growing in knowledge. The skill of our opponent, however, is formidable. I should feel grateful that Trask is alive, even if I only recently have met him. Yet I find no solace. This creature no doubt answers to even more powerful foes, and his ability to dispatch one of us was utterly disheartening.

Thus, grim fears abound. We are drawn to this dragon cult like moths to a flame.

On Dragons and Destiny
Andraste's Fears

Lennithon… I still think about that battle in the village. I still remember the dragon’s soul-piercing roar. Suddenly I was a child again, unable to hear for the screams, lungs filled with smoke and running between burning buildings.

It took all my effort just to stay in the keep. I wanted to not find a dark closet or a well to hide in until it was over.

Back in the monastery, I was drawn to the study of dragons, as if by an unseen power. I poured over the ancient texts, the historical documents, the anatomical drawings. The language of dragons came to me naturally, much more more easily than Elvish or Dwarven.

Most of the other monks interpreted my interest as desire for vengeance and some even discouraged me from my studies. I admit that revenge for my family and my village is still always on the horizon of my thoughts, like a dark storm I carry in my mind, but it always felt like there was something more to my studies. Dragons seemed…right…somehow.

Looking back on their reactions, I now realize that perhaps the monks were trying to discourage me from discovering our monastery’s horrible secret. Our ties to the Cult of the Dragon.

Lennithon was my first encounter with a dragon since I was a child. Magnificent and sublime, it bent the elements to its will. Somehow, with my knowledge and my anger, I thought I would be more prepared. Again, I learn the lesson that knowing can never truly prepare you for doing.

And now Tiamat, the Queen of the Dragons, the worst dragon of all, is returning. Motherfucker. I had better be ready.

A Common Purpose

Unseen forces coalesce around the mind of Greylander Orcum, permeating his dreams and turning visions of idle study into violent portents. Does Faerun itself grow restless for times of war? Is the imminent devastation worth its ability to create heroes from obscurity?

I must hurry to record the day’s events, as our resting period will no doubt be brief. Even now, I can sense Trask’s impatience at our delay. I wonder if he would be confronting the dragon now if not for his grievous wounds.

I must go back, however, to the beginning. The day had been utterly wasted in terms of finding my lost tome. Varth said he saw one of the guests exit from my room, and I believed him. But it was of no use. The thief’s trail had gone cold, despite my spell to track him. Accepting my day as wasted, I returned to the main path with an air of resignation. That was when I met the first one.

I heard footsteps behind me, moving with speed. I must confess that I was about to cast a spell on myself out of fear of brigands, when an exotic -looking monk passed me be. She was moving with purpose, and had her eyes fixed on the village. Normally, I am not hungry for gossip, but it was clear from her demeanor that she lead a more interesting life than my fellow innkeepers and patrons. I asked her what her business was in the area.

She responded tersely, something about being on a mission and the dragon clan. Hearing these last words, I decided instantaneously to ask her for permission to accompany her on her quest. I told her of my desire to learn more of them, to leave the doldrums of Greenest, and to use my store of arcane knowledge for some practical purpose. This may have been my first impulsive move in a lifetime, which unsettles me…

She took a moment to give me an appraising look. I think in this time she was deciding whether or not my “curiosity” was an innocent one (a question to which I have no answer). I felt tense again, wondering if my life hung in the balance. She didn’t appear to be from a peaceful order. Then she assented to my company. Her name is Andraste.

As my relief was sinking in, we were overtaken by more travelers with a similar purpose. A barbarian, Trask, and a cleric, Sulion almost gravitated towards our small party. They spoke of their desire for adventure and to defend the realm against the cult of the dragon. We quickly reached a mutual understanding that we could aid each other, despite our awkward differences in background and appearance.

Then we reached the town. Smoke towered above us, signalling the likely death of my possessions and the utter bedlam that lay ahead of us. Towards the center loomed what appeared to be a great wyrm, circling ominously as people sprinted in every direction. We were swallowed by the fray, forced to react with every arcane, divine, and martial resource we could call upon.

My companions proved to be intrepid. We decimated scores of kobolds and cultists, who fell victim to the axe, the fist, the beam, the arrow, the fury of a mutual purpose and the frenzy that comes when you’ve seen yet another home destroyed by the senseless, insatiable need for conquest. Even in our rage, though, we knew to avoid the dragon’s surveillance. We reached a sheltered checkpoint, where I now log the most hectic day of my existence.

I wonder at the purpose of the cultists, and why I’ve found their order strangely alluring. Up close, the zeal in their eyes betrays their lack of autonomy. They seem slaves. Hypnotized by some higher calling, however ignoble. But I digress. Such musings will only serve to distract time I must use to refocus on my spells.

As I write, the ultimate purpose of my studies becomes increasingly apparent. Such knowledge, however beautiful, cannot be isolated. The arcane truth must be tested, applied, and carried into reality if it is to have a life of its own. I do not know the future of our party, nor our chances of success against such hordes. I do know, however, the power my magic holds and its ability to defend others. To this ability I must dedicate myself, and trust that my newfound companions share my aims. I am swept up in the river, likely for good this time…

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