This story should have ended a long time ago, and yet, in the same way winter heather only flourishes during the coldest months of the year, it ultimately began right after its protagonist's heart ceased its beating.
It is quite the uncommon tale of misfortune, and yet, don't all tragedies lose their uniqueness in the end, their exclusivity washed away by the fact they are none other than a sob story? How much does a person have to endure to be remembered purely on the collective memory of their suffering? There are no good answers to this question, only talented writers, devoted historians or sacrilegious bards. But I am none of the latters, only a stray soul who finally went home and wished to leave a trail of ink in this plane. To spare you as much as possible from the aforementionned sob story, I will make this prelude as short as I may be able to.
My progenitor brought me into this world in 1305 DR in the slums right outside the city of Arabel. She was a human woman with nothing for herself except the love she bore to the fossergrim of a nearby waterfall who had planted his seed inside her belly. That was the extent of the love Mother could offer, and as such, I was not the intended vessel to receive it. Perhaps if we had gotten more than twelve years together, I would have uncovered the secret to claiming some piece of it. Alas, when the river pouring its clear water into the fossergrim's waterfall turned polluted by the city's newest sewer installations, the fey became ill. After a few years of struggle, he breathed his last. The woman who hosted me under her roof sank deeper every day into her cup, becoming more violent by each sunset. When she finally kicked the bucket, she was merely anything more than a lump of saggy flesh wallowing in her own vomit. And so I left to try my luck inside the metropolis, full of hopeful expectations.
And it was absolutely miserable. Barely scraping by each day, eyes down, begging to strangers glancing at me with disgust. I grew tired of it quite fast. I wanted more. I deserved more. And so I gave myself the means to become more. I learned to steal from hours of scrutinizing expert thieves' every moves on the crowded marketplaces. I learned to lie, cheat and threaten by studying the very worst specimens of the lower city's scum. I learned to use a dagger and a hand crossbow by spying on the local militia's training grounds whenever they received a batch of fresh recruits. Evading I already knew from the years spent dodging empty glass bottles and rusted cuttlery thrown at me across a shoddy excuse for a house. Twenty two years on the streets, and I finally was getting the hang of it. It is at this moment that Azul made his dramatic entrance into my life, as every bard with great taste in theatrics does. He had a deal, but not the kind that would cost me my soul. The kind that would only cost me my mortal life.
He laid it out as plainly as one could: I had been considered, observed, analyzed and investigated upon for nearly ten years, by him and his associates. He was a vampire looking to form a syndicate of talented individuals with a flair for criminal activities. He didn't want any flesh puppets, he yearned for unique characters to become his accomplices. What was promised was eternal life in good company, all at the meager cost of one's mortality and the warmth of the sun.
I took the deal, expecting a long lasting career. What I didn't foresee was becoming a fully fledged member of the most colorful and chaotic family I could have ever imagined.
-Excerpt from the prologue of a book without title, probably never read by anyone and written by my good self (1485 DR)
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On the Death of Stars
FanfictionA fanfiction based in the extended universe of DND 5e, following the characters and plotline of Baldur's Gate 3. Elen was lucky enough to have their life finally begin right at its end and find their place in this world. But now? It has been snatche...
