A land filled with magic and war is in danger from being shattered by the Deamon Blade, Ragnarok. Only the Sword of Life, Gladeon, can combat Ragnarok's destructive powers. But the forces of good are slowly diminishing in this war...
My first story that was written past 15 or so pages :P
The Abbot of Lokotz stood in the cathedral window, a grave mood on his face. The sun shone brightly, yet a tension filled the air. He looked down at the city gates, and saw the multitude of reptilian soldiers, armed with their spears and swords, their armor gleeming in the afternoon light. They marched in unison out the open portcullis, out to the battlefield, where they would most likely meet their demise. The soldiers marched with pride, however, fully aware of what awaited them.
But, to die for Lokotz and for the Dragonborn people was not their goal. Rather, they fought to destroy the orc army, lead by the one known as the Black Priest. The Elder Concil decided he had to be stopped, and maybe he did, but, the Abbot thought, conscripting men was no way to do it.
The Abbot sighed deeply, and watched the new soldiers march onward as he leaned more on his carved staff. Looking down from the top floor of the mighty Menzoberran cathedral, the town seemed unalive and empty, save the military presence.
The door creaked behind the Abbot, but he already knew who the visitor was, and did not bother turning around.
"Your Excellencey?" a Dragonborn monk was able to utter before the Abbot turned around.
"... Jorris... When can we have peace?" , The old priest asked weakly, yet with conviction.
"Ah, have we ever had peace?"
The cleric relized the truth of that statement, and turned back to the open window in time to see the gate close silently behind the army. He spoke, "The Dragonborn race has always been content with staying out of Human affairs. Yet we jump into this war willingly... 'Why now? Why us?' I ask the gods, yet they are silent..."
Jorris put his clawed hands behind his back, "It seems the Elder Concil has the overconfidence to take men away from their wives, and turn them into warriors... This war is rather... Inconvienent." He checked the sleeve of his cassock to make sure his dagger was still there, "-Perhaps someone should convince them to call it off?"
The old priest heard the subtle threat in the monk's voice.
"Jorris... How long has it been?... How long have you been trying to bend me to your will?"
Jorris, not surprised by Abbot Draconis, put his hands out innocently and asked, "-What do you mean, Your Excellency?"
"-Do not play fool with me. You and I both know that you are trying to use my postition for your gain. You even went so far as to bring a weapon this time..." The Abbot turned to see a scorned and angry Jorris.
"...And-" The old lizard added, "I know about Mirri... I know of your trips outside the cathedral... You're not only trying to control our country, but you're not the devout monk everyone thinks you are."
At that, Jorris grabbed his dagger. 'He knows about Mirri?!?' he thought to himself, 'Now I have to kill him! He will die!' his mind raced.
The Abbot, with the same depressed mood as when he started the conversation, said, "...Even as we speak, she is with your child, awaiting his birth..."
The monk's pupils widened with shock. He nearly dropped his weapon. 'What? Mirri's pregnant? Me? A father?' His mind wanted to dash off in a dozen different directions. His emotion was a mixture of pure shock, hatred of the old Dragonborn, joy for Mirri and their child, dread of the complications this entailed, and a burning desire to kill the Abbot and get back to Mirri.
The cleric, still leaning against his staff, told Jorris, "...Go... Retire from the priesthood, and care for your child. But, forevermore, you have brought dishonor to us, and to yourself..."
Jorris stared at the knife in his hand for a moment, thinking of the future, and what it held for him.
And dashed at the Abbot.
He ran at the aged priest, dagger held high and ready to dig itself into flesh. Perhaps he chose to fight him to erase all the memory of his wronghood. Foolish, since he would have probably regretted killing him, later in life.
The Abbot raised his staff in a flourish, knocking the knife from Jorris' hand. Jorris' pupils widened once more, realizing his fatal mistake. Faster than ever thought possible for a Dragonborn of his age, the Abbot shifted over and slammed the back end of his staff squarely in Jorris' back.
He fell out the open window without time to react.
Witnesses said that he fell silently to his demise. Perhaps in recognition of his sins. Perhaps simply because of pure shock. They also said he hit the ground with a resounding, earth-pounding thud. There was no hope from a fall of that height. He never got to care for, much less see, his child.
That Child was me.