Role

Chapter 2

I was born and raised in the mountain city of Hillcrest. A fine town.
There, I lived a simple life, a good life. Like my father and his father
before, I was craftsman O'Deagon. Although my ancestors were adept in the
arcane arts, it was never my forte nor desire to practice them. While I was
constantly hounded in the city for this, it only ensured me that it would be
best if I departed. I departed the city with no ill will, only the intent to
move somewhere a little less known, I recall thinking the outskirts of
Tir-Talath would be a good idea.

It took a few years but eventually, I had built a grand old home for myself
and my companion. My companion was an aged black and tan dog, nearing
senility, but very caring, very protective. I'd take care of him as best I
could, let him wander off during the day and fix a meal upon his return. I
loved that dog. I suppose, he was also part of the reason that I departed
the city. It's better for them in more open spaces.

On occasion, we'd entertain guests that happened upon us while traveling
throughout the eluvials and plains of the area. As fate or happenstance
would have it, one evening, we began to entertain a traveler. This one, I
should have trusted my companion on, as he immediately resisted his entering.
This man wished me, well, mainly my blood as he believed that it had dormant
magical qualities. Of course, this enraged my companion and almost
immediately, he was prepared to leap. Again I tried to calm him, but it was
too late. He leapt to his death to defend me.

I rushed to his aid, holding his head in my lap as I watched his eyes cloud
over, sores slowly protruding from everywhere and eventually washing over me.
I knew, this would be his last. He'd lived a good life, I thought, as I lay
beside his lifeless body, drifting off to a dreamless sleep.