Prologue
November 13th 2644
I have made an amazing discovery today. However, it has been too long since my last entry and I do not wish to forget the events that have led me to my current position.
A fortnight ago I had set out on an errand for my lord King Thurgaos for the city of Zerapa. My task was to negotiate with the Drow Lord Ron’Evir and have him sign the Peace Treaty between the Eight Faiths and put an end to this war that has continued since before recorded history, during The Beginning when the Timeless Ones battled through the void and Urak became a newborn planet.
By the time I had approached the steep stairs that climb Mount Pegrowyn to the giant black doors of the Drow stronghold my paranoia had increased severely. I requested to have several Paladins with me for this journey, but Ron’Evir made it clear in his response that protection would not be necessary.
Personally I wouldn’t trust a Drow as far as I can throw him, but as a representative of Order and for the sake of the Peace Treaty I had no choice but to listen to my lord’s counsel and take his word for it. I was almost certain that Ron’Evir would have me killed the moment I rode into his realm, that this meeting would be a waste of time and my life. But strangely enough I had gotten this far without seeing one enemy.
Perhaps I had underestimated Ron’Evir’s word? Doubtful. This was all a mind game and he is damn good at playing it. “He probably wants to dispose of me himself the scoundrel” is what ran through my mind as I dismounted Jasper my loyal steed since 2626 when I was dubbed a member of the Accord. A fine horse he was and I fear I shall not enjoy any more adventures with him or even see him again.
The meeting took place in a dinning hall that was dimly lit by three candles in the centre of a long table carved from Renor Khaliizi, with nine chairs of the same material. Their bases formed into the ground as if the entire room and its furniture were chiselled directly out of the mountain. This was a common practice by Dwarven architects, which indicates to me that the Drow didn’t initially own Zerapa.
Drow hate bright light for they are a subterranean race and rely on their night vision, but Ron’Evir made the effort with the candles for my benefit. As I looked around I noticed a lack of decoration save for a single portrait of a large, horned figure wielding a sickle, whose face and most of his body was cast in shadow…Balkoth the Destroyer no doubt. I would’ve thought the young Drow would idolize his predecessor. However he had the painting placed directly behind his seat at the table rather than opposite so that his own shadow enveloped it. A subtle hint of superiority I guess.
Everything seemed to be going smoothly until I got carelessly close to Ron’Evir and offered my pen for him to sign the treaty. He then attacked me with what I realise now to be a “Curse” spell. I know this because of what I’m about to tell you and because it is so typical of him to inflict such ill fate on an old man.
After I blacked out for who knows how long I awoke on the floor of the entrance hall by the unmistakable wailing of shades and the clatter of marching feet. I realised instantly that I was about to become the hunted fox in a sadistic chase and Ron’Evir’s army were the hounds. I stood up and swung the doors open with a thrust of my magic staff and ran out of the stronghold to find that Jasper was no longer there.
With an army of bloodthirsty Drow on my tail I had foolishly fled in the wrong direction of Nogren and found myself caught between them and the cliff edge that formed the Zerapan gulf. My only options were to dive into the Dead Sea at the risk of landing on the sharp rocks below, then swim for dear life or wield my magic to fend off my pursuers until they overwhelmed me. Pride made me choose the latter of course.
Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how you look at it I had no chance to put up a fight. As soon as I turned to face my oncoming foes I was lifted off the ground by a shade that swooped down and grabbed my staff taking me over the edge of the cliff and sent me plummeting into the water. I can still hear the Drow’s taunts and laughter as they looked on.
After swimming for two nights I found myself crashed on the ashy shores of a strange island. Strange because none of the maps I’ve studied have ever illustrated an island off the Zerapan gulf.
As I explore the island I find it to be a bleak place indeed. Much like the rest of the “Darklands” as most people call the north of mainland Urak these days, there is nothing but grey mountains as far as the eye can see, hardily any vegetation remains or any signs of life. A landscape that was once rich with forest that became poisoned by the shadow of Golgoth. Finding enough food to satisfy my hunger is near impossible. I have to live on roots and grimy maggots and I’m lucky to find the odd rat to feast upon. Even so, I fear now that I may be diseased by them.
Anyway, I guess we’re up-to-date now, which means I can finally tell you about my discovery. Judging by the sun I’d say it is around two o’ clock and I find myself sitting in the shade of a tall rock overlooking the gate of what seems to be an ancient underground city long forgotten by Men, Elves or even the Dwarves. I have yet to enter this “Pit” for the gate is of solid rock and I alone cannot begin to shift it. Even if I still possessed my staff magic will not aid me. Dwarves may be slow but they certainly know how to keep unwelcome visitors out of their cities. Assuming this gate and what lies beyond it was built by Dwarves. If I ever make it off of this forsaken island in one piece I may have to pay a visit to old Lamli, see what he knows of this place.
That is IF I make it off the island!