Doppelgangers. What loathsome creatures. It has been years since last I dealt with their kind, and I could have lived for many more without encountering them again and been a happy man. Yet here they are, within the walls of my city, disguising themselves as the leaders of my chosen homeland, and attempting to infiltrate what was supposed to be one of the most closely guarded secrets. What’s worse? They almost succeeded.
If it hadn’t been for the mysterious murder of an unlicensed adventuring band we would never have uncovered their treachery. Not Donnathan; not Cliff; not Marren; not even Hadarai saw through their disguise, so perfect, so close to being true was their counterfeit. For what reason did we have to suspect treachery? No one was supposed to know of our discovery. Yet, here I stand, the grisly proof of their knowledge and my deficiency surrounding me. Were it not for the blessing of fickle Tymora, our failure would be complete.
Looking back across the long years of my life, I see more than a few false steps, misadventures and defeats. The loss of my beloved. My ouster from my homeland. The defeat at Eveningstar. The loss of my companions. The list goes onward. Each one I remember like a red hot cider lodged under my flesh, burning inexorably to nowhere; burning simply to burn. Long have a bared these burdens, and heavy is the weight that I carry. How can any man hold up under this? How long before I fall? How long before the madness that Donnathan straddles like a man atop a wild stallion claims me, dragging me down into its depths from which there may never be an escape? I need release.
And now I think I see one, lying there upon the floor, Marren informing her of the trial that she will soon face. Would soon face. I believe that I have found the release that I need in the form of this faux regent. Marren wishes to question her, and rightly so, but that is not where this will end. I will lay the afflictions of my soul upon her. I will engrave them into her flesh. With the help of Donnathan and his healing balms-and if not him a discreet and well compensated spellbegger will release all of my pain into this dross, this dreg of society. We will have our answers, and I will have my… Catharsis. It is just a shame that she will not live, cannot live, to spread the word to others of the pain that comes to those who cross me.
I will enjoy this.
Behold the silent fear of mortal men
A man both tall and thin, with hands of bone
Whose touch results in sweet oblivion
The black robed reaper grim, his name be known.
I tell you truth. He is a fearsome sight.
His wicked scythe a sign of what's to come.
All men the same, it matters not their plight,
His justice, equal, be ye king or scum.
There are those fools who seek to hide their face,
who hope grim death won't see, and pass them by.
It is in vain; all men must take their place.
Upon the slab, their lives now spent, they lie.
Yet I fear not the spectral hand of he,
for full life's end, a great reward, for me.