Well I wasn’t wrong about that now was I, After I pocketed the book I spent the evening drinking, five Dwarven Ales and two Flagons of who knows what, it didn’t take long before I regressed into my muttering states which appear after five drinks. I had lost sight of my short companion awhile back and now I was becoming steadily less conscious. Just to keep myself moving I began to stack the empty glasses, Flagon’s first then the Ales, I got to the third Ale before I began to overstretch my reach, tottering on an old wooden chair it didn’t take long before I collapsed onto the Tavern floor, glass bottles rolling every which way they pleased. I heard heavy footsteps approach me before I was lofted into the air by an immense figure, even in a haze I knew it was Phalanx, I could smell him. As he threw me over his shoulder and began to head to the stairs I could see a faint glimpse of the little one, he looked drunk, but something was off about him and his new companions, a set of Dwarves clad in thick armor.
Phalanx threw me onto my bed, an old moth infested thing, but it could have been worse, it didn’t have those nasty bed-bugs. Phalanx sat at the other side of the room, I can’t remember if I had said anything to him, but I was glad he was there. He watched out for me, he cared, that reminded me of Lilin… I miss her…
After a short time I heard the Halfling enter the room, I couldn’t make out what he had with him, but he was messing around with a new set of something which he look particularly fond of. I had blurted out “The Mouse has the Cheese”, not realizing at the time that they were Dwarven Daggers, the crafty devil. Not long after that was when it seemed all hell was going to break loose, and Asmodeus himself had decided to claim Fallcrest as his own personal bitch. Phalanx and the Halfling were gazing out the window, fire illuminating their faces, I wanted to get up to check it out, but all I managed was to roll onto the floor with a loud “Thump”. Phalanx turned and placed me back onto the bed, as I felt a gust of air rush past, the Halfling was gone. Phalanx soon followed behind him, at a noticeably slower pace though.
My mind drifted off to sleep. I began to mix the current happenings with the events which had unfolded what seemed like so long ago. I felt I was back at home on that fateful day. My Grandfather, a wise-man named Mastema Ben-Abba, was considered by many to be a heretic, hated by the forces of Darkness and Chaos for his active role in their defeat, by the forces of light and “good” for his active outspoken hatred of the Gods (who he knew in his heart were not as upstanding as they claimed to be), and by other Tieflings for his words against their violent ways and horrid beginnings at the will of the Greatest of Devils. He was not a well like man, which is why he had lived alone in a house upon a great hill out in far desert lands. Though he wasn’t truly alone, he had his three sons with him, who he raised to be great scholars and warriors, but terrible diplomats. They were my uncles Peor (he married a Tiefling named Dinah), and Mocoton (who married a human woman named Naamah), and my father Reuel (who married Dinah’s sister Laylah). Each of them had many children, except Reuel, who was content with just one. Grandfather had told my cousins and I of great faraway lands and the legends of their faiths. He also taught us his deemed Heretical ideas. Our father’s and their eldest sons and daughters would each seek different ways of applying Grandfather’s philosophies. Peor sought to destroy the connections between the realms using arcane magics, forever separating the realms of the Gods, Devils, and Angels, from our own freeing us from their whims. Mocoton was more direct, he wished to cut off the god’s power, by striking down their worshippers, for this Mastema disowned him, he hated Gods, but he hated murderers more. Reuel had a different approach, who sought Alchemical ways to drain Gods of their power rendering them mortal, like many had once been. Not all of the family had joined our fathers in their quests. The two eldest daughters of Peor: Ariel and Erem, took a different path, and became natural philosophers like their grandfather, though they could care less about Gods and zealots, they moved to the city of Zarathustra to learn all they can about the natural world, its history and processes. I always respected their decision to leave, though Mocoton did not. Of all my cousins, the one who I set before all others was Lilin. Lilin, a daughter of Peor, was older by four years and had been my constant companion through schooling. She always had a different outlook than our fathers. She believed that mortals were foolish for challenging monsters of far greater stature, she instead felt in order to rid our world of these egomaniacal ethereal psychotics you must take on an immortal with and immortal, knowing that Gods have killed Gods, but angels and devils had as well, it was Asmodeus who killed ‘he who was’ before his fall from grace. Wishing to know their power, six years ago when I was just seventeen, Lilin left to learn all she could about the ways of Angels. I haven’t seen her since, but I have heard from Ariel and Erem that she is fine, she is apparently living near Zarathustra, that’s where I’m trying to go, if I can ever find it. She left just in time, for two months later a massive army made it to our door. Burning atop a pyre was Mocoton, who had led his forces against the Dragonborn in a foolish raid. The Zealots began to launch an attack upon our home, slaughtering all they could get their hand on, they cheered as their blades pierced the flesh of my family, they treated my family as they were less than people and they slaughtered them as they had done many dark cults. They called out Bahamut’s name, as they lit fire to Mastema’s works and home. I hid in any little cranny I could fit, finally hid in the old well out back. Unable to help my family as the reptiles lined them up and beheaded them all, even Naamah. Mastema was the last to go. After they destroyed every trace of our home, I crawled from the well and beheld the destruction in the wake of the zealots. It was gone, all gone, they were dead, all dead, even the little ones. I began to cry…
It ended as a great roar brought me back to the waking world and my door crashed open. A large dwarf (kind of an oxymoron, but you get the idea) stood in the door frame. He asked if I had seen, as he put it, “A god-damned filthy fucking Halfling!” I told him, “No dear Owl-Bear I haven’t seen your hammock”. He left after that, kind of in an irate mood, what midget got your blade? I got up from the bed at this point, stumbling slightly before regaining my footing. I began to run. I ran until I made my way to the House of the Sun, a grand Cathedral to a more or less useless deity. Stumbling through the now destroyed doorway I regained my footing. Staring up there was a sight to behold. Phalanx stood next to a partially melted statue of the useless god Pelor, a Half-elf Cleric stood between Phalanx and myself, she look kind of perturbed. I think she tried to steady me but I was too focused on the scene. A fat, Lard-like human wizard stood slack jawed and firing a bolt of flame at the statue, he looked tired and… well… on a metric shit ton of drugs. My eyes spied the Halfling lying on the floor near the wizard, not moving. Much of the Cathedral was in ruins. A priest followed by two city guards came and apprehended the wizard and the Halfling.
As the situation began to calm down I could see the guards chaining up the wizard, the Cleric speaking with Phalanx and two guards removing the Dwarven daggers from the rogue’s person. A smile grew across his face, but Phalanx caught that, he called out to the guards to check his sleeves, boots, and other pockets where he has been stashing other blades and general loot. As the guards were finishing their search, I drunkenly called out, “Check for his ass dagger!” The Little man’s eyes grew to an amazing size. There was no ass dagger, but they didn’t know that, what followed sent me cackling for what seemed like hours. It seemed we’d be heading to Winter-what the fuck you call it sooner rather than later, and the Cleric would be coming with us. It was later I found out that she was the person Phalanx managed to get a job from. And apparently we had to take the rebel-rousers with us. I’m glad we still had our Halfling, but did we need to bring the wizard, I do not trust his fat ass face.
We set up camp alongside the road, Phalanx and I set up the tents as the Cleric, who I would come to learn is named Arywen? Aryaan? Aryawwn? (I’m not best with her name, she seems to avoid me for some reason, is it the horns? I think it’s the horns) watched the prisoners. The wizard I learned was Mykhail, from past experiences I know that name as a derivative of Mikhail otherwise Michael, he far from deserves that title. As I and the reptile set up the tents, I was beginning to have trouble with the setup; every noise came in like an explosion. Phalanx gave me some sort of herbal remedy for the hangover, I’m glad he’s here, I haven’t had that kind of a support for six years, he’s the closest thing I’ve had to family since that day.
Around the fire, Aryawwn told us way we were heading out to Winter-fuck, apparently a dark cult has been spotted keeping a low-key profile in the town. She was hired to find out what they are up to, I forget most of the details, because my head was spinning with the names of Gods and Devils which are followed by these Dark Cults. Could they be necromancers? Or about to summon an abyssal demon? Dagon comes to my mind. What was said next escaped all our minds as the Halfling began to speak, he had, supposedly been bound the entire time, but now his hands were free of their bonds and were gesturing as he spoke. Reacting quickly I whipped him across the face with my tail, a loud crack broke the air as the hobbit tumbled to the ground clenched with pain, still sore after the… um… “search” back in Fallcrest. That night we split the two tents. Phalanx and the Halfling had the luxury of watching the prisoner that we were (I suppose) transporting. While I and the cleric took the other tent. I tried to strike a conversation with the Half-elf, but she ignored me, or she fell asleep fast, either way I felt alone in the tent.