The Journal of Frulam Mondath

Recovered by Leviticus Tchadensis from the cave in which Frulam Mondath was slain. The journal is quite badly burnt, but some of its contents can still be made out.

Eleventh of Undecim, 33 AGC

I hate Kobolds. They stink, and their intellect matches that of a rock. They won't even call me by my proper title! I command the stinking vermin, and they nod with "Yes Purple Lady" or "Yes Frooly", despicable! The sooner we can finish setting up camp and leave, the better. Mistress Rezmir has said we will be attacking a small town today, to show another successful conquest for the queen Tiamat – praise Her glory. So long as it's over swiftly, and Cyanwrath doesn't try another of his "honorable" antics, I shall endure. What I would give to be half dragon – like him – so that I may ascend to equal or even greater status than Wyrmspeaker Rezmir herself. Yet he squanders every opportunity, being a soldier of "honor" and "duty".
Thankfully, he has proven his skill repeatedly, and it's truly a blessing of the Queen herself – praise Her glory – that we ended up with him. After all, he stepped forth and volunteered his service, in exchange for the cult not recruiting his son. It is truly a sad tale, though, that he still believes in the fantasy that his family is under the protection of the cult. They were extinguished long ago, and I've had to fabricate these ridiculous letters from his wife to cover up for it. I'd have told him what happened so I did not have to keep up this charade, but Rezmir demanded I keep up this farce.


The dragon wings beat
up in the air, like a bird
that can devour you.


A dragon is covered in scales
It can make any wizard go pale
It will burn you to death
With its mighty deep breath
You better be up to date on your veils

Epitaph of a Dragon Slayer

He looked into a cave to see if the dragon was home; it was.

45th of Undecim, 33 AGC

Finally, some time to write. After the attack of Landmoor and the shenanigans in the camp, I've hardly had time to actually put anything down here. Cyanwrath, of course, decided towards the end of the siege he would "challenge" one of the defenders in exchange for a few hostages to be released. This was NOT discussed beforehand, as we were intending to keep as many hostages as possible! I spoke to Rezmir about it, and that pompous bitch actually told me that Cyanwrath had every right to do as he pleased and would not need to answer to the likes of a human such as myself while on the battlefield. The nerve! Of course, the stupid blue drake releases the hostages even though he beat the living shit out of that "hero" they sent forth. Absolutely ridiculous! On top of that, when that same person snuck into the camp with a band of misfits and freed the Harper, Cyanwrath didn't kill him! No no, instead he engaged in some sort of disgusting thug boxing match, and then let the misfit band and more prisoners go. I asked Rezmir her opinion, and she laughed at me! Now, the only prisoner we had before the siege of Landmoor was that silver-haired wench, but slave labor is still available labor! But Rezmir couldn't be bothered talking about slaves, she was too frazzled ordering everyone to pack up post–haste because she thought that Harper fool was onto us. Now I have to wait here, until those ridiculous things hatch. Then it's off to smelly Grimmsport, until I'm further contacted.

Ballad of the Blue Dragon

Deepest deserts where suns forever fly
burn to dust nearly every thing,
but their eternal heat cannot hope to dry
the malicious, insidious azure king.

Another Blue Dragon Poem

The dragon was here
At last I felt fear
It looked upon me
It said to flee
I look for where it was clear
But I stood much like a deer
Awaiting for that engulfing blaze
Surprised my lightning rays
In the dark I had no clue
This dragon was blue

Red Dragon

The wings, they fire
But they are not fire. They are....wings...
Wings aren't fire

They're coming. My guards stormed into the room all of a sudden, alerting me of intruders. I can hear them, pounding upon the door. Sweet Tiamat – Praise your glory – save me! I've sent for Cyanwrath, but his goons are no doubt having trouble understanding. A spear has been thrown at them, but who are these intruders? Wait, no...they're with her. My Queen, please send Cyanwrath here, and demonstrate a sign of your power that will drive these foes back. Though I may perish, the flames shall consume this journal, for the Queen!

Frulam Mondath
Journal, Personal
Note:I recited the haiku and limerick to Cyanwrath, and he just looked at me like I was insane! He told me about the "Epitaph of a Dragonslayer", but it's not poetic at all. I'm going to look into some blue dragon poetry, maybe he'll appreciate that.
Note: He thought the poetry was nice, but then he told me it was very "unoriginal". He had read it in a book one of the kobolds pilfered from a village some time ago. He said I need to write the poetry myself and make it up entirely to call it my own. I'll show him. I'll write the best poem he's ever heard, and this one will be about red dragons!
Note: He laughed at me, told he's heard Kobolds write better, and suggested I never try to become a bard.

The silver-haired woman – Where did she come from? All I know is she can casts spells, and she's got a bad attitude. If it weren't for Rezmir ordering very specific watch over those prisoners, I'd have beaten the little twit myself. It was all I could do not to kill her when we first found her, and she did not go down without a fight, that's for sure. Maybe she'll learn some manners about how to act under the guidance of the Queen – Praise Tiamat's Glory.


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