I heard Isabella is back in Neverwinter. I heard about it in Ravenloft. Talk between two vampires who failed to see me, a spidery drow, behind the wall they were dining behind.
When Isabella last walked these realms, I was a child. But no more. Now I’m recognized in the remaining shreds of Drow culture as a dependable scourge, a Warlock to be exact. Green, chaotic energy is the poison that I deal, and in the sporting runs through old dungeon structures, I claim at least second place, a second grab at the treasure main.
My aim is joining Isabella, for even my closest relatives have respect for the magus of storm and fire. To think of combing our powers is to think of coming close to having all the treasure in any skirmish, run, or challenge. Who could hope to stand when green chaos and red fire strive to bring them down?
I will bide my time until that raven-haired manx crosses my path. I will challenge her to a run, and when I come close to winning, she will see, she will my worth or my name isn’t Lillian the Scourge Warlock.