The Chronicle of Yajina Ironhand [Gnome Wizard] and Dessarin Tor [Dwarf Lord]
Year: 2748; The Second Age, June 14th:
My name is Yajina Ironhand, tenth daughter of the house of Morgra.
My fox hunt with the mayor came to an abrupt end when a firey meteor streaked overhead.
At my suggestion, two of the henchmen to the mayor,and I went to investigate.
What we found was really quite amazing!
A pit of about eight feet deep and eight feet wide. Its not a pit, but in fact - a furrow, a crater.
In this crater there was a rod. At first, glowing hot from the impact, the rod cooled quickly, becoming tepid to the touch.
As I grasped the rod, a feeling of power so great that it almost stunned me swept through me. The rod was "the Rod of Orcus", and it was evil.
Three Dakkus ruled by a Vrock had seen the fire trail as well. Just when I began to recover from the shock and begin to fight, I was swept off of my feet and engulfed in blackness. I called out to the henchmen and they answered; then there was a noise and I was...elsewhere.
I was floating some ten feet in the air.
"Give me the Rod!" the Vrock commanded menacingly. "Or what?" I replied. "This.." he said smuggly, as he gestured with his arms and I spun around in the air.
"Give me the Rod!" he repeated. As I tried to comply, a force, seemingly from an outside source, stopped me dead in my tracks.
In a moment of fayness, I cast Magic Missile at the fiend!
He appeared unhurt although I dealt him quite a lusty blow.
"Fool!" he shouted, and flung me against a tree, almost knocking me unconscious.
As I sat dazed, a Baku impaled the Vrock from behind and flung it aside, where it disappeared in a puff of smoke.
The Baku spoke to me then, using not its voice, but its mind.
"You have an artifact of extreme evil power. It MUST be destroyed."
A crushing weight...then darkness.
Death is a strange experience.
Much like sleep, the deepest of sleeps, death makes time difficult to measure.
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