"And so it was that Phaedrus of the Ril of the Argent Hand found himself on the steps of the Great Library of Palanthas. And, having found himself on those steps, proceeded to knock twice on the massive doors of that great edifice."
It begins with whispering; thin, rasping words just beneath recognition in the back of my head, scratching at my soul. It was always hers, my soul. My life-givers consecrated my egg in her name during fertilization; the one who guarded my egg's growth pledged both my body and soul to her at the time of my birth. At adolescence, when I joined my first hunt, my soul was dedicated to her again; it was the medium through which I gifted her the blood of my first kill.I have always belonged to the lich-queen.
The following is a popular children's story among the githyanki people. For those unfamiliar with the githyanki language, "Growing Out of the Slip" is a euphemism for the maturation process. Githyanki spend the first three decades of their life outside the astral plane, in hidden underground lairs where time passes fast enough to allow them to grow.
This was originally part of a larger piece that gave an overview of Gehenna as a whole, but I'm not sure if that will ever see light, so here's the opening flavor text/fiction for it.“Why can’t I move? I can’t see anything else either…”
Again, this is apocryphal to the continuity of my storyhour. This was also written as the header flavor text/fiction for a piece that was a general overview of Carceri. Since I'm not sure if that will ever be released and see the light of day, here's the fiction by itself. Short, but enjoy.
Warriors' cries, echoing in the wild air."Rakoridrax!" called the first. "Taste my presence, recognize my ancient blood. Rakoridrax, remember the ancient pact between your blood and mine."A second voice chimed in. "In the dawn age the Liberator herself walked into the lair of the queen of dragons. Great Tiamat nodded her head before the breaker of tentacles, and pledged that her children would come to the aid of the children of Gith whenever they ventured into the dragons' realm."
The old gith stared mournfully into his beer glass. It wasn't nearly empty, but still he didn't drink."I had nearly half of my growth when my eyes *knew* their first monk," he said to the air."What in Khalas did you just say?" demanded the purple-furred halfling sitting on the next stool over, sputtering out part of the contents of her sixth tankard. "'My eyes knew...?' By the all the horny screwing devas, say it in Planespeak, you sodding, pretentious ass! Gods, I hate giths."