Jericho Drezscream's Memoir/Journal

[Hitman Hard]

Jericho looked over at the Maskarran, Judd, who clasped a rogue stone in his hand and spoke in a muffled voice.

Jericho couldn't hear the words coming out of his mouth, they were a blur in themselves, he stared at the magical gemstone whose rainbow colors flowed as if in liquid, slowly swirling iridescently thanks to the open window streaming in a plethora of light.
In his times roaming the land as a Bard, Jericho knew these stones to be rare. In fact, rogue stones repelled their clones.
He rubbed his head, faintly glancing back at the half-elf who droned on.

"You are lucky," He muttered, still hypnotically drawn to the rogue stone.

"No... The Lord of Shadows has announced his pleasure in me, Divine Intervention, Mask's Calling."

"No need to speak so precisely."

Jericho bore vitriol into the priest before continuing, "There is no higher honor to Mask than being a thief."

"Good thing, I'm both." Retorted Judd.

Jericho turned for the door.

"Wait! Why does the rogue stone represent favor?" A third man asked, who had been quiet and laying completely flat on a strangely shaped couch.

Jericho smiled coldly and crisply, "It's simple, there was a shadow over the stone when there shouldn't of been none, considering I was out in broad daylight outside Beregost."

The Maskarran nodded slowly, but registration didn't dawn on his face for several minutes.
Jericho muttered under his breath, "egads and ogres, my people. . ."

The Priest looked up at Jericho vacantly, "I don't detect any magical aura on the stone."

Jericho sighed and left.

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The wandering rogue sat in his room, cloaked in a calming darkness- gazing hard at the holy symbol of Mask in his hands. A black velvet mask, rough along the the edges.
He waited till his breathing became the soft current of yawning tides.
He couldn't even hear the mandatory torture of miners working into the night just below him. Then a darkness cleansed his muddled thoughts.

He saw nothing, only a voice whispering in his ear. It sounded terrible and beautiful at the same time.
Enemy
There was no hand around him, but he felt the wild urge to look left.
In a field of expansive darkness and crooked oak tree, something floated above a small, winding river. A Staring eye with a blue pupil on a upright left war gauntlet.

The symbol of the Great Guard.

Again, the voice seared into his head, bouncing from sinister to sweet.

"Purge this great evil, plunge him forth into the chaos of bleeding shadow. His followers are powerless snakes trying to climb a mountain."

A figure materialized before Jericho in the void. A handsome youth clothed in bright, striking jerkin and breeches, sporting a grey cloak.

He tried to get a better look of the man, but his face blurred out and Jericho found himself gasping and flailing his arms uncontrollably at the foot of his bed.