My father is such an irrelevance now, so why do my thoughts dwell upon him? We could not have been less alike, less so now. He looked backwards, scratching a living from the shadow of my grandfather, until his death. I loathe him so, my father the failure. Why must he invade my thoughts, even in death?
The firm, after hours.. we argue.. I cannot remember what about.. but his eyes, I felt the disappointment, the hate.. burn into me, though as with all our family it is hard to tell.. I knew.. always knew. I remember the blood.. so much of it, as there was.. boiling off the burning flagstones.. the red stain my father used to be.. his husk.. and those baleful, yellow-on-yellow lamp-like eyes.. staring.. boring into me. I had them out.. and away with the rest..
And then there was this cold, and wet. A hostile land, this Barovia. Barovia and its eager-to-please population. Imagine, people who have never heard of Dis.. who live in ignorance of the enormity of existence.. like ants.. worse than ants.. Humans, dwarves, halflings, elves.. that have never learned not to trust the Baatezu.. never learned not to cut a deal with a devil.. I salivate with possibility and anticipation.. this land.. is ripe.. for the plucking. All it needs.. is the right kind of mind.
