Malice Hart's Journal
You’ve found a leather bound journal. There is purple and yellow stitching down the spine, the papers seem to be natural. Papyrus maybe. Amidst the rubble of fallen soldiers' camp. Alongside the journal lies a lute with a few strings cut and frayed.
IF LOST RETURN TO:
Malice Hart
As you flip through the pages a few lullabies and poems catch your eye.
Fear not for your future now you must sleep
In Zuggtmoy’s Cradle your body shall steep
Your flesh a fine banquet of delicate food
Your gift to the lady shall nourish the brood.
What births from your leavings and grows in her nave
Shall feed from your ruins and fat from your grave.
Beauty is more than skin deep; it issues from the core of one’s being and shows one’s fair and foul face to the world.
The contradicting origins make your head churn as you continue to flip through the soft papyrus pages.
You find more original songs, ones about strong army men and the fragility of life. There are a few pertaining to an enemy, it’s unclear yet who. On the backside of pages you can see some scribbles and droplets of what seems to be blood or ink.
I’ve heard that She’s in Shadowfell. Luckily my move was not a fruitless effort. Perhaps I can find the wicked bitch.
I lost my life, my queen, my everything for what? Your righteous glory? Did your mighty Father ask for this favor?
Your lack of knowledge of The Abyss shortens your sight on who this enemy might be. You continue to read about the owner in the writings.
I got my lute tuned today, luckily Adraf gave me a hefty discount. Must’ve been the new bustier.
I miss the court. How they loved my songs. Oh the flowers, they always smelled lovely.
Since the collapse I can’t find work. Taverns, inns, the fucking baazar. Nothing. I hate these horns.
As you’re flipping through, a pink figure enters your peripheral.
“I think that’s mine, love.”
Her voice had rasp and an accent similar to those from Faerun. As you look up, you see her smiling face. Her short fangs are peering at you it seems. Malice grabs the book from the spine, marking the page you were reading.
“Intrigued by my travels, weary one?”
You nod quickly, shuffling yourself further away from the woman. You question her loyalty to her God with a crack in your voice.
“You see, this world is a fickle thing. Spend your whole life worshiping a God just for them to strike you down… it’s sad really.”
“Sune was first, a few lines down you would’ve learned I’m not just a horned thing.”
Her tail snaps, revealing a spayed shape. Your throat grows a lump as you step two paces back again.
“The kiss was everlasting, it felt, until his soul entered mine. I prayed to the Beautiful One before returning his lifeless corpse to the Queen of Rot.”
She read the line flawlessly like she’d practiced it time and time again. An act.
“Now, before I return on my journey. Do you have any more questions?”
“Who is She?”
Your voice sputters out, the little context you were given in your reading failed to scratch any itch. Not being from Faerun, you seem lost on any connections you could make.
“Doom Head’s daughter. Bitch destroyed the only thing I had.”
“The Nailo Dynasty must be before your time.”
She continued her storytelling.
“I was a court jester for the Family. They had an only daughter and Darling. She was a glimmering pearl.”
“One night, Lord Nailo left, no word even to me. He swept up his wife and daughter and fled. That same night Alabas wreaked havoc upon the Nailo home. It stood so tall in the middle of town. Taverns and shops lined the streets. I mean it was paradise.”
You tilted your head, listening inquisitively as she began pacing and talking with her hands. The fondness poured out of her skull.
“I took this journal, my lute and the clothes on my back and began walking. Searching for any trace of my Lord and Lady. I went all the way to fucking Shadowfell before finding anything!”
Her voice raised in volume as the climax of her story began to concur.
“The fucking Three Knives. They have the worst storefront I swear! Who puts neon lights in the middle of fucking Shadowfell?! Anyways, there was this short fuck outside. His name was Zolag or something. Zolig, I think it was. He said for 20 gold, he’d tell me where the fucking redhead went.”
“TWENTY?!”
She huffed loudly and took a deep breath after exclaiming, seemingly into the void.
Mesmerized you stood, her tone and fluctuation was that of a professional. It felt like you’d never heard a story ever before.
“She is Alabas. To answer your question and to further indulge you, I’m going to wear her skin and make sweet sweet love to my Sydney.”
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