From Oblivion's Journal

Making my way to Cormyr by way of the Dales, I pick up the scent of a hanger-on that will do nicely to help me in my quest for the One. He calls himself Priest, a simple name for a simpleton cleric of nothing. He knows not whom he serves and thus, will ultimately worship Nod, Oblivion, the nameless One...me.

We quickly recruit others to serve my cause; twin Tieflings, one a trickster type named Flax, the other a shield for me named Phelix. These siblings know of others they met recently who aspire for greatness in Cormyr...Gordon, a supposed wielder of the arcane, time will tell if he shall prove worthy of serving under me, and a dragonborn reziatch named Rhogar.

It is quite apparent that these subjects are wise enough to know that their only chance at achieving greatness it by aligning with me.

Highmoon, DeepenDale, the capital city is fine enough for a stayover. We are enjoying a drink at the Guilded Lady on the North end when a group of ruffians strike up a nasty convo with another patron. Had they kept it quiet, I may not have noticed and not gotten involved...unfortunate for them.

Uncharacteristicly, I give them fair warning. They reply with much bravado but little skill and I dispatch them easily. The rotting meat known as Rhogar stands in place, stunned. No surprise to me as I've seen his kind hesitate in battle time and time again...I'm not quite sure from where his races' reputation surfaced.

The threatened patron, Gevarn, a priest of Chanti, submits his thanks and begs that I rid his town (Winterhaven) of a cult that has set up shop there. I agree to the mission and set out along the Eastway when a group of dragonshits attack. Using dark, Eldritch power, I vanquish the lowly squad of beasts easily. Rhogar serves his purpose well...drawing their fire and steel. This may be a good arrangement.

Through the Thunderpeaks, Winterhaven appears and I need to rest.