*as you observe this small stone, with a faint red hue glowing about it, a gruff sounding, yet intelligent, voice speaks silently*

I am Feklahr. I stole this stone before I left the Drow house I was captured at. It makes record of the teller, and I use it to chronicle my life...for what it is worth.

Above all, let me say that I hate the Drow and their "civilization". It was their arrogance and evil ways that ensnared me and held me captive for 5 years.

I was used in the House, whose name I couldn't pretend to pronounce, as a sparring partner for the weapon master and his students. Many of the students were fools, and I could have killed them easily. However, I knew I had to wait for the right moment if I was ever to escape alive.

My chance came the night we were all armed, Drow and slave alike, to raid another house. I was intoxicated at the thought of killing Drow. It was chaos and violence supreme. Blood flowed as a great river, and fire and lightning lit the air. Many Drow (not necessarily of the house we raided) fell to my axe.

It was during this magical upheaval part of the battle that the weapon master I had been "training" with fell to a massive lightning bolt that was so bright, all of the elves in the vicinity were blinded. I grabbed the belt pouch off the dead weapon master and bolted with all speed to the exit.

I wandered aimlessly for days. If not for my ability to see heat patterns and such in the dark, I would have been hopelessly lost or killed. The raid had afforded me time to get far enough ahead of the patrols, but there is still danger aplenty in the Underdark.

Now, I find myself in a town called Sanctuary. Escaped slaves, nearly all of them. What does this mean to me and my future?

*the story continues*

I am starting to feel more secure in this strange place, not that everywhere in the Underdark isn't strange, but to have a bastion of civilization in the looming chaos is at least idiosynchratic.

There has been plenty of jobs for me to earn my way respectfully. I at least have a decent breatplate and a sharp axe now, and can afford to stay at the inn.

I am going to need something bigger, though. I might see if I can get hired on as a guard or mercenary.

*continues*

I have had limited success...and many failures...in the past few days. It is difficult to blend in with the populace. I have often run afoul of defeat in battle as well...my honor tarnished.

*a new entry*

I have proven victorious in battle, my honor regained! It has been fortunate that I have met some freinds when I needed to. A long time has passed since i have had a friend...a good friend.

I told the story to my gnomish companion, and I recount it now. I did have a friend once, and elf named Morph. He was a Psionic and preferred to shapeshift into a werewolf during combat. We were mighty warriors together, and many enemies laid dead at our feet.

Most of our time was spent in the Greenfields near the Troll Mountains and Snakewood. At one point we had cleared the area of danger and had a small civilization styaing in safety there. They called me King, but I wouldn't hear of it.

My most telling victory was that of the day a portal from the hells opened, and a demon and his minions attacked. Morph and I fought them off, and as the devil laid dead before me, I puleed his skull out of his giant head and wore it as a crown.

My most telling defeat was the Drow catching me unawares and enslaving me. I will kill them all one day.

I hope Morph is alive and well on the surface, and maintains the peace in the lands.