Facing down an ancient black dragon.
This is what’s to be expected of such fool hardy individuals such as ourselves; but then again, you don’t earn the title “The Saviors of Serin” by just sitting in the local pub, drinking the local vintage, and consorting with the barmaids that works at said estabishment. You earn such titles by jumping into whatever situation that presents itself, no matter how dire the consequences are, with the courage and selfless determination that makes ordinary men into the stitching of the fabric of history…though with company like ourselves, we tend to start off just sitting in the local pub, drinking the local vintage, and consorting with the barmaids that works at said establishment; then some frightened villager storms through the door claiming that a warband of orcs is heading straight for the hamlet. At least that’s how it all started. Anyway, I’m digressing. Black Dragon. Possible certain death.
I would have to consult the historical records of Serin, but, I’m fairly certain that the King of Bastion has never been involved in so many diplomatic missions in which his very life were at stake. Just a short time ago, I was teleporting myself and my friends to an underground city overrun by demons gone mad. Of course, one of us died…but then he got better. Now, we track an ancient dragon gone mad. It appears that madness is a common theme that keeps repeating as of late. Mad demons, mad dragons, and mad Quin, Kenzerin. I would be lying if I didn’t think our luck is beginning to wain; though through some bizarre happenstance, we always seem to come out on top…especially myself, Vatroci, and Nebin. Korbin, freshly ressurected, seems to already want to get back into the thick of it. Which is astonishing to me due to the fact that he imploded on my behalf. I’ll have to speak with Price on the matter of granting Alec a parcel of land for his trouble, it seems to proper thing to do.
When I think back to the beginning, I didn’t think I would be in the postion that I am now. It almost seems like yesterday that I was riding on that caravan to Feldway. A freshly empowered Warlock, just ready to take on the world, and research his book on The Glassed Hill. I don’t think I’ll ever get to finish that book, since being the King of Bastion requires me not to have an abundance of free time.
I’m dying. Thoughout all the endeavors that my friends and I have gone through, orc warbands, demonic invasions, and the Cataclysm; it always seemed that we had just enough time to make plans to counteract these obsticles. Now, for the first time, I don’t have any time left. There is so much left to do and I don’t know if I’m going to be alive long enough to make sure loose ends are tied up. I know Nebin will do his best to make sure that my wishes are fulfilled (with a little revisions here and there, for it is his custom), I know Korbin will make sure that Set Solaris are prepared for Kenzerin’s return, and Vatroci will die with a blade in his hands rather than flee from what’s coming down the road. Then there is me, this damned malady eating away at me, and there isn’t anything that I can do to stop it. Perhaps this Glitterfang will put me out of my misery. Well, I didn’t see that one coming; wonderful, acid breath. I suppose I need to teleport away from this monster and then repay his kindness with a bit of my own.
Nevermind. Damn, that ended quick.