Entry 1: A Prayer to Mistress Selune, Our Lady of Silver
In Luskan they called me Blood Tusk. I was an aggressive, but fair warrior there. I was accepted, feared, and dare I say respected. I had bridled my more bestial nature, and I did it by my own will. Hard-headed, and strong-minded, I was able to tame the beast within me, and foster my more human nature to become a man not a monster. All was well until Tash was taken from me. She was so kind, so gentle, so human. Yet the gods ordained her death, and by gods, I include you my Queen! She was the only thing in this plane of existence worth living for, and she was wrenched from my grasp. A pawn of the gods. A trivial life in a sea of lives. I could have died then and there, but you sent me to the area of Tethyr. I did not want to go, and I still resent being here.
In Brost, they call me a monster. Not a man. A monster! At least in Luskan, people were civil! Even those who would show outward kindness here in this backwater county, wish I did not exist. I am a problem to be solved. A "situation" to be diffused. An outsider to even the outsiders. Neutered by your edicts of tolerance, I am not even able to defend myself out of fear of sullying your divine name. You, my Queen, have ordained me to be known as Bloodmoon, for your own reasons. My Blood Tusk side is screaming to be loosed! Yet instead of allowing me justice, you teach me to learn etiquette. Instead of allowing me vengeance, you entreat me to focus on my grammar and my mastery of the common tongue. Instead of allowing me to be the monster I am accused of being, you have ordained me to become a man. A better man than they, but man in an orc's body nonetheless. I often wish you would give me the ability to be a werebear or something, so that under that guise, I could at least steal their pick nick baskets, or run off with a few kegs of ale. Nevertheless, here I sit in this cemetery drinking two day of water collected off of a gravestone. I am trusting you even if I hate it.
It was so easy when Tash was with me. She was gentle. She was smart. Her touch could stay my hand, and her glare would send me back from the tavern, and back into the study. When I would rather be tossing ale and tossing patrons, she was able to convince me that I was more. She is no longer here, and now I am dependent upon you, Mistress. How long before I lose patience with these fragile beings? How long before my tongue fails me, and my base urges take over? They have relegated me to the cemetery! Where the dead and carrion beast roam and haunt the land. How long, my Mistress, until my faith runs dry, and I drop this heavy mace in favor of an axe? Why do I even care?...but I do, Silver Lady, I do!
I did not choose you. You chose me. I did not foreordain that I seek out your glory. You came to me on that dark night, when I was all alone and ready to meet the afterlife. I was ready to end it all. To silence the pain. To be eternally crushed into the Wall of the Faithless. For I indeed abhorred all who paid lip service to the gods. Any gods. They allowed Tash to be taken. You allowed Tash to be taken! The human gods had failed me, and I'll be damned if I had any use for Gruumsh, that one eyed bastard. I had no use for Luthic, and her fetid fertility rites. Still yet, I had no use for the gods worshipped by the fairy folk. No, I was willing to be crushed for eternity before bowing my knee to any of their ilk...any of your ilk...but then you came to me. And, here I sit in the dirt.
Why did you come for me? I did not seek you. Why did you come for me? I thought I had no use for you. Yet, you came for me. You comforted me. You bathed me in your silver light, and you changed my heart and mind about the gods. Perhaps not all of the gods, but certainly you. I was so filled with awe, that I pledged my undying fealty to you. I swore a life oath to you, and promised to follow you anywhere you'd choose...and look at me now, kilt deep in graveyard dirt and zombie brains. Treated like an animal, and expecting slack jawed yokels to come over the horizon with rusty pitchforks, and bearing torches at any minute! Why in the Nine Hells did I every fall in love with you, my Mistress? Why?!
I'm certain you have a plan. I am certain that this debasement of my humanity, and YES! I have humanity, will somehow be turned towards your glory. Your name will be praised, and though my trials and tribulations, Shar will be hindered, and the people of Brost will me helped. In the meanwhile, I shall sulk in this graveyard and practice my letters, and practice my formalities, and learn to love and tolerate these wretched humans, and elves, and halflings, and whatever the hell else you throw at me until I too have learned tolerance. Tolerance! The word alone is like sewage in my mouth after being treated like a beast! *gasp* but...but I...I simply ask for more and more manifestations of your grace, that I may have mercy upon those whom treat me like an animal.
And, consider that werebear thing Mistress. I really could use the ale.