Word from the Bird

Well, I’ll be. Jus’ look at this lot. One hundred and twenty souls we got here, is it? Bofred above Snooks looks like you damn near emptied out every cell in the Stoneheart Valley. I ain’t sure if I should be showerin’ you in gratitude or curses- I guess I’ll find out soon enough.

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Humans, dwarves, elves, catfolk, orcs, goblins, hobgoblins, bitsers and gargoyle… I welcome you all to the Calaelen Dominion.

I ain’t gonna honeycoat your situation for y’all. Y’all here today because your gaolers jus’ plain don’t want you, and the Dominion is mighty desperate for all the sword arms and future sword arms it can get its hands on. For those o’ you who ain’t aware, who’ve maybe been locked up for longer than the Dominion’s even existed, this land here is sittin’ square on top o’ Rappan Athuk, the infamous Dungeon o’ Graves. There’s a war brewin’ under our feet my friends, and tearin’ up our skies.

I know it must sound like the roughest shittiest deal. From outta whatever dank dirty cell you called home straight into the front lines o’ some cosmic war you can barely comprehend. But just give me one year o’ your time, my good friends, and I will make your service worthwhile.

Obeyin’ the law is all well and functional. Keeps society together. Makes the good kind folk o’ this town pay their taxes and do their work and not shit in the nicer parts o’ town. But what good’s the law if it’s hankerin’ for a gold piece when you only got a silver? What good is the fuckin’ law when it lets the poor and the unfortunate slip between its cracks? What good’s the law when a soul’s forced to steal a chunk o’ bread just to shut their bellyachin’ for one second, and then gets locked away ne’er to see the light o’ day again? What good’s the law when you find yourselves the winner o’ a deadly street scrap that you ain’t even started and it’s your ass they are throwin’ in the cell?! It ain’t good enough, that’s what I say!

Now who’s this fuckin’ bird, you might ask yourself, who the nine hells is this fuckin’ bird? This bird here in his fancy armour, his fancy shiny mace and fancy robes and damn dirty tongue? What the devil would this fuckin’ bird know about bein’ in gaol and starvin’ and havin’ to steal for the slimiest lick o’ a livin’?

My name is Shades, and once upon a damn time I was a scrawny bird back in Aberdeen where we’re all considered criminals by default. Where the law won’t even let a bird hold land, where the only real options for a livin’ are to pick fancy noble pockets or join the local monastery. Believe me, friends, I been where you are. I been where you are and it ain’t good enough for nobody.

Now these days I’m also known fairly well as Pezzack Highroost, Lord o’ the Calaelen Dominion, second only to High Lady Maya D’alariel o’ Tsuen. Some o’ the more spiritual among you might even know me as the Chosen o’ Thyr. Now I ain’t gonna shove the word o’ Thyr down your earholes, but I will just take this moment to have you know that Thyr makes it his mission to deliver the greatest good for the greatest many- and this is what, my friends, the Dominion has brought you here for today.

If there’s one thing here in the Calaelen Dominion that we all most certainly believe in, it’s second chances. Myself? Got myself straight up cooked to death in lava by a powerful priest o’ Orcus. Had a second chance from Thyr the God o’ Kings himself fall right into my claws and now here I am, this fuckin’ bird, in front o’ you today. General Stoneheart here? Why, this man here is the last o’ the Thaurissian Order! Got himself spectacularly murdered by an Orcusite antipaladin! We brought this fucker back from the dead and you know what he did? This hairy fuckin’ bastard’s hammer landed the final blow on the final red dragon this continent will ever see! I swear my friends, your future here is in the most capable hands the Dominion has to offer.

They say second chances only come to those who want them. Sometimes that’s true. But I think what’s more true is that second chances only come when someone else better off than you takes a moment outta their fancy law-abidin’ life to hand you one.

Give me one year o’ your time. One year where instead o’ rottin’ in a stank-ass cell you’ll be swingin’ swords and swiggin’ ales with this magnificent specimen o’ a General we got here. Give me that one year, and I assure you, when this war is done you will have your redemption. Should death befall upon you, you have my word that you will be absolved o’ any crimes to your name. But should you live? Well, you’ll yourselves a life here in the Calaelen Dominion, and maybe one day you’ll be the fancy-ass motherfucker doling out the shiny second chances to someone else in need.