The process of writing is actually quite therapeutic…at least, that’s what my new companions have told me. Regardless, I suppose I will try.
My name is Dorric Grimdall. I’m a native of these waters and of the Shackles. I was born in a fishing village of no consequence to parents of no means. There was an old retired scholar who played the role of babysitter and teacher for the village’s children. A better child than I would have taken advantage of such an opportunity. However, my fiendish blood set me apart from the other children – not in looks for its touch was subtle, but in behavior. The schoolyard was often the site of brawls between myself and other children. It was there that I first killed another person.
I would have been sentenced to death if the old schoolmaster had not shipped me off in the dead of night to a former colleague of his. It was there, on the mainland and amongst a cloister of monks that I began to gain a handle on my nature and impulses. I learned to center my mind, allow my emotions and urges to pass through and to channel my energy towards the betterment of myself instead of simply lashing out.
Though I gained much from the lessons at the monastery, such a place was not ideal for an adolescent. Thus, in my spare time, I explored the cliffs and cave systems beneath the monastery – secretly hoping to find some small diversion by which to employ my training. My explorations continued for several years before I found what I was seeking…and so much more.
My final excursion from the monastery saw me reach the upper edges of the Underdark and stumble upon a colony of Myconids. I readied myself for a brawl but instead was approached by a single, older member of the colony. As its gaze passed over me, I could feel its emotions passing from curiosity to interest, and then…finally…to some sort of acceptable. It raised an appendage to me and my sense of surroundings vanished.
Recalling the vision itself is nigh impossible. All I can remember is vague, but insistent dread seemly tied to weapons of great power scattered amongst the Shackles themselves and various humanoid figures that I am sure must come to wield them or great disaster will befall these seas.
When I came to, the Myconids had vanished. However, I now had an overwhelming sense of purpose and a newfound connection to the land of my birth. I set out that night in search of the foci in my vision. Years passed in fruitless searching…until just recently.
I was out sailing when a massive fog rolled in, out of nowhere, and resisted my every attempt to dispel it. Before long, my ship ran aground on an island that I was sure had not appeared on my maps. I hoofed it to the center of the island, making my way inside the castle there in an attempt to locate higher ground and ascertain my surroundings. After that, my memory grows fuzzy. Sometime later, I awoke in a dark room – my magic seemingly spent. I had just finished preparing a new set of spells when five individuals dropped from a hole in the ceiling…