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Hello, my name is Tiberius. I am an intellectual of little renown from the College of Waterdeep. This transcript is the only thing I leave behind, as my party is dead, and I may soon follow. I do not know for sure, as my captor is not the traditional sort, if he can still be given a gender; he has now held me for some time, and I have lost track of time here deep in the UnderDark. By my best reckoning, my party set forth from Waterdeep six months ago on this fool's quest. I suppose I should explain, nine months ago, while speaking to a traveling wizard, I heard a tale of a great library. This library was supposed to be the secret repository of the great King and later Lich Acererak. The knowledge contained in such a library would be priceless, and any transcripts or tombs on magic even more so. As a Draconic Sorcerer, Black if you must ask, my thirst for knowledge is great, and this treasure trove ate at me until finally I contracted an adventuring party of roughly level five. I, myself, am level four, and to venture into the Underdark alone would be foolhardy indeed. The party's leader, a dwarf fighter named Sigard Blacktooth, had ventured into the area. I was told the library was in several times, and though it was dangerous, he assured me that we could get in and out relatively unharmed as long as we were well prepared. The fee for the adventure was not a small thing: 5,000 gold upfront and whatever treasure or weapons they found along the journey. The library and whatever is inside, of course, would go to me. I will not bore you with the details, but we set forth from Waterdeep and traveled to Baldur's Gate, restocked our supplies, and heard tales of mindflayers and some absolute, but our journey took precedence, and the locals are always telling wild tales there. From there, we proceeded to the Cloudpeaks, where the entrance was reportedly hidden and our real journey began.
The first few days were the worst, without sun or stars; the journey was one of stopping when we tired and making camp. For the entire trip here, the party had been one of mirth and drinking. The bard would joke and sing and tease the cleric, the fighter would spar and wrestle the druid, and the rogue would take bets with the Wizard. I, for my part, remained apart from them, watching from my tent. Now, though, they were quiet and sober, all of them attentive to our surroundings, a watch placed every rest. We traveled this way for what must have been a week until we found it. If I didn't know better, I would swear it was a Church dedicated to the goddess Mystra. In retrospect, a library could very well be a church to the goddess of magic. It was in grave shape, but upon entering, we found what was very much a library. Most of the books were falling apart due to neglect and age, but I was not discouraged; the important tombs and books would surely be hidden, possibly behind magical wards in the basement. Much to the party's boredom and frustration, we looked top to bottom for four days before we found the lever hidden on the second floor, which activated a secret stair that led down into the basement. The mage's light orb lit our path as we traveled down down down into the basement, which was far deeper than it had any right being. At the bottom, we found a room containing several urns filled with dust, but upon the back wall, we found it. A portal the size of an Owlbear, sickly green it was, but the wizard and I both agreed it was safe for passage, and we proceeded through. This would be our grave mistake.
Upon reaching the other side, we found ourselves in a gnome city, desolate and ruined. This was not a library of history and magic, and Sigard demanded to know what I knew and where we were, but I did not know; there was nothing said about gnome cities by the wizard. We began searching the area together, and for a time, it looked like we were, in fact, alone. That was when we found a carving of a name I did not recognize, Dolblunde, the wizard did, though, and he began to panic, muttering about doom and death. He was the first to fall as a Green flame engulfed him from head to toe; there wasn't even a scream. Next was the Cleric, before we could even react to the wizard, an arrow sprouted from her head straight out of her eye. Before we knew it, they were everywhere, Undead of every kind surrounded us, and above us we heard a laugh that chilled me to my bones. We found him standing upon two buildings, looking down upon us from above, where the wizard had been standing. He was a thing of nightmares, and I knew him. Every black draconic knew him; it was the wound upon his flank, a mortal wound for anything alive, but for him, it was just dead flesh. Panic beset me as he leaned down quick as can be and bit Sigurd in half. It was but moments before the druid and I were the only ones left. I don't know why, but we were taken prisoner and led to a large building. Hollowed out and missing its roof, it was a cage for us, but I alone was left inside, and the druid was taken somewhere else. It was in searching this makeshift cage that I found the materials to write this log, as all my belongings were taken. I tell you now that the Dracolitch could only be one Dragon, Daurgothoth, A dragon Archmagos turned lich. I know now that I will die here; it's just a matter of time.
(next section is not a log, but the final moments of Tiberius)
A laugh is heard above as Tiberius places a rolled-up scroll inside a jar and seals it with magic to prevent age and deterioration. "Why do you bother? None shall ever read that bit of paper, and besides, don't you wish to know why I have spared you and the green man? Oh, how cute, you're so scared you can't speak. laughs more Well, the green man...druid, whatever they call themselves in this age, is to be my entertainment later. You, on the other hand, you smell of kin. My Kin and I can smell the magic upon you. I watched you as you roamed my city, and I know you're intelligent for a mortal. You know who I am, don't you? Tiberius nods frantically GOOD. You will aid my experiments and help me give birth to my children, or you will be part of them. Probably the latter, but we will see, won't we?"
Tiberius Proudfist was never seen in Waterdeep again. Years later, a Druid named Mossfoot would stumble out of the forest near Waterdeep, carrying a glass jar he would die upon the gates, muttering about undead and a creature of nightmare. Written on the jar in magical script would be the words -FOR THOSE WHO COME AFTER-
The first few days were the worst, without sun or stars; the journey was one of stopping when we tired and making camp. For the entire trip here, the party had been one of mirth and drinking. The bard would joke and sing and tease the cleric, the fighter would spar and wrestle the druid, and the rogue would take bets with the Wizard. I, for my part, remained apart from them, watching from my tent. Now, though, they were quiet and sober, all of them attentive to our surroundings, a watch placed every rest. We traveled this way for what must have been a week until we found it. If I didn't know better, I would swear it was a Church dedicated to the goddess Mystra. In retrospect, a library could very well be a church to the goddess of magic. It was in grave shape, but upon entering, we found what was very much a library. Most of the books were falling apart due to neglect and age, but I was not discouraged; the important tombs and books would surely be hidden, possibly behind magical wards in the basement. Much to the party's boredom and frustration, we looked top to bottom for four days before we found the lever hidden on the second floor, which activated a secret stair that led down into the basement. The mage's light orb lit our path as we traveled down down down into the basement, which was far deeper than it had any right being. At the bottom, we found a room containing several urns filled with dust, but upon the back wall, we found it. A portal the size of an Owlbear, sickly green it was, but the wizard and I both agreed it was safe for passage, and we proceeded through. This would be our grave mistake.
Upon reaching the other side, we found ourselves in a gnome city, desolate and ruined. This was not a library of history and magic, and Sigard demanded to know what I knew and where we were, but I did not know; there was nothing said about gnome cities by the wizard. We began searching the area together, and for a time, it looked like we were, in fact, alone. That was when we found a carving of a name I did not recognize, Dolblunde, the wizard did, though, and he began to panic, muttering about doom and death. He was the first to fall as a Green flame engulfed him from head to toe; there wasn't even a scream. Next was the Cleric, before we could even react to the wizard, an arrow sprouted from her head straight out of her eye. Before we knew it, they were everywhere, Undead of every kind surrounded us, and above us we heard a laugh that chilled me to my bones. We found him standing upon two buildings, looking down upon us from above, where the wizard had been standing. He was a thing of nightmares, and I knew him. Every black draconic knew him; it was the wound upon his flank, a mortal wound for anything alive, but for him, it was just dead flesh. Panic beset me as he leaned down quick as can be and bit Sigurd in half. It was but moments before the druid and I were the only ones left. I don't know why, but we were taken prisoner and led to a large building. Hollowed out and missing its roof, it was a cage for us, but I alone was left inside, and the druid was taken somewhere else. It was in searching this makeshift cage that I found the materials to write this log, as all my belongings were taken. I tell you now that the Dracolitch could only be one Dragon, Daurgothoth, A dragon Archmagos turned lich. I know now that I will die here; it's just a matter of time.
(next section is not a log, but the final moments of Tiberius)
A laugh is heard above as Tiberius places a rolled-up scroll inside a jar and seals it with magic to prevent age and deterioration. "Why do you bother? None shall ever read that bit of paper, and besides, don't you wish to know why I have spared you and the green man? Oh, how cute, you're so scared you can't speak. laughs more Well, the green man...druid, whatever they call themselves in this age, is to be my entertainment later. You, on the other hand, you smell of kin. My Kin and I can smell the magic upon you. I watched you as you roamed my city, and I know you're intelligent for a mortal. You know who I am, don't you? Tiberius nods frantically GOOD. You will aid my experiments and help me give birth to my children, or you will be part of them. Probably the latter, but we will see, won't we?"
Tiberius Proudfist was never seen in Waterdeep again. Years later, a Druid named Mossfoot would stumble out of the forest near Waterdeep, carrying a glass jar he would die upon the gates, muttering about undead and a creature of nightmare. Written on the jar in magical script would be the words -FOR THOSE WHO COME AFTER-