The Demons Within

The Sentinels

This note will be removed later, I unfortunately do not have my maps with me currently to fill out the location. In a couple of hours I can fix it, but I wanted to push this out for now.
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This tale would start of like so many others, with a trio meeting under uncommon circumstances, and forging a bond that would shape empires. It was truly quite impressive what a grand epic would start in such an austere clearing- filled with lightly clothed savages worshiping the Pyromaniac Gods. Of course the magic of Fate would twist their paths, but even I don't change everything to suit what I wish- what's the fun in that after all?

The three young champions we watch over today are a young Half-Elf Noble with Father issues, A Dragonborn who fancies herself a true dragon, and a Elf who... well, who really know what the heck he is up too? The only thing for certain is his love of alcohol.
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Deep in the Great Elven Forest of ____ a small clearing stuck out like a sore thumb to the Dark and crowded Trees. A Great stone obelisk was erected in the very center of the mostly circular clearing, with dozens- maybe even a hundred- of humanoid figures packed into the clearing. Every civilized race had at least one representative here, from the stocky Dwarves to the magical half-breed Dragonborn. This clan of druids- calling themselves the sentinels- had assembled every last member of its organization for a ceremony that was only performed once every hundred years. Even outsiders had come to the ceremony, as an official from the pervasive Inquisition was watching carefully over the ceremony.

Except for the oldest elves and a few select Dwarves, no one really could recall what the ceremony was for. Still, it caused a zealous haze to descend upon most of clan- excluding a few of the more cynical druids, the Inquisitorial Representative and a elven outsider. It would be from this group that our adventurers would be drafted from.

The entire clearing went quite as one, as the heavy beat of drums sounded from inside a large tent that had been assembled close to the edge of the clearing. The leaders of the sentinels had locked themselves inside for over an hour, forbidding even the Inquisitor access. An older elf quickly ran up to the tent and pushed aside the heavy cloth flaps, and a old hunched dwarf slowly trotted out. His long white beard was matted with dirt, and hung almost down to his kneecaps and his face resembled a broken china plate, with heavy creases blocking most of his features. In his hands he held a single purple and red mushroom, reverently holding it as if it were some kind of holy chalice.

The drums slowed down as the dwarf approached the stone obelisk. The crowd slowly moved out of the elderly man's path, but quickly rushed forward to see better as soon as he had passed. The walk was torturously slow- even for an immortal god of time such as myself.

Eventually the decrepit old fool made his way to the Obelisk, and he turned around to face his tent once more. In what seemed to be an attempt at shouting, he croaked out a few words. "The ritual is to be finished! I have been chosen to consume this holy relic, blessed by Saint Klidan himself! May the Gods deem me worthy of such a reward!"

After a few seconds of the crowd cheering despite having no clue what was going on, the old dwarf took a large bite out of the purple Shroom. Almost instantly a bolt of lightning erupted from the clear skies, striking the stone obelisk, and the old man collapsed to the grassy floor. The stone obelisk slowly began turning, and a black smog drifted out of one of the simple etching. Soon the old dwarf was roughly pulled off onto his feet, though not by mortal. He jerked roughly forwards, his eyes still rolled to the back of his skull.

Shoving his way through the crowd he managed to form a larger empty circle around another stone outcropping. After clambering on top of it, each muscle being moved one a time, he turned to face the larger portion of the crowd once more.

"The gods have decided to grace your Order with a quest! I will choose three lucky individuals to perform this job!"

Each word was slow and raspy, as if the dwarf had to manually force out every letter in the common tongue. The crowd of skeptics at the far edge of the clearing grew larger as they heard the inquisitor muttering about it being simple blood control.

The old dwarf simply ignored the secondary crowd for now, and passed through the crowd in front of him. After a cursory glance at each of the Druids he would simply continue, each member falling to the floor quickly after.

Dozens of druids bodies littered the ground as the dwarf slowly circled the clearing, and soon only the dissenting crowd in the back was left, watching their comrades fall unconscious one by one. The first person the dwarf gazed upon in this crowd was the tall Inquisitor, whose heavy steel plate made her stand out even more among the druids and visitors.

A dull pressure suddenly erupted around her skull as the old dwarf look at her with his pupil-less eyes. After a few seconds of staring, longer than he had for anyone else, the pain grew stronger. Despite the Inquisitions' training for mental assaults, she had never felt anything like this. She could almost feel what was controlling the dwarf look through her memories, and she was helpless before it's power. Then the pain disappeared all at once, and the dwarf stepped back, roaring loudly that she was the first to be selected to the like, 15 people left standing.

Then the dwarf continued on its path, quickly skimming over three people, their bodies joining the pile on the grassy floor. The old dwarf stopped at the last conscious Dragonborn, proudly staring down at the feeble old Dwarf. Her glistening white scales around her eyes marked out her heritage, occasionally blinding people with the light it reflected off of the now setting sun. The dwarf for the second time locked eyes with a mortal, and began the same treatment once again. Her family, killed when she was still a welpling, was brought before her eyes. Locked inside her mind, she screamed at the invading presence, and eventually it left. The old dwarf, now greeted with a dark glare that promised death, proclaimed that she was to be the second champion.

The old man simply ignored her reactions, and pushed forward, tearing its way through the past of the conscious. Five more bodies slumped to the ground before he stopped for the final time. Dark red blood slowly trickled out of the old dwarfs mouth, and he gazed upon a elf. A bottle of beer lay shattered on the ground, his long tapered ears quivering in shock as he look at all the bodies. Most had simply fallen unconscious, but some looked to be laying in positions too... unnatural to be still living.

The dwarf dug further into the elven warriors' memories. He dragged up the pain of exile, and the pure terror of watching his first master be slaughtered by hooded men. Red blood pouring forth and splattering like a spring flower, and so much more pain. With one final nod the dwarf began speaking once more. "A third champion! You three have been chosen, now you must go out and destroy the corruption of this world! Do not return to this place until you have!"

With the end of that, the old dwarf fell to the ground for the last time. His once white beard was soaked red with blood, and he gazed eternally up at the blue sky.
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I'm trying something a little bit different here, with a narrator actually sort of present in the story. Hopefully it turned out well.

For reference this was the beginning of the D&D campaign that me, eclipse_0 and Gameover075 are slowly progressing through. It's a sort of prequel to one of my actual separate stories that I actually need to work on more. Actually I need just need to work more, period. I have like 10 drafts mostly ready to be published, I just need to add the final parts. Sorry about that guys.