Legends of Thassilon
Vision of Wrath I
The lanterns are dim but the exotic treasures that fill the room are obviously priceless. Seated behind an empty rice wine bottle and a fallen crystal flute, the disgraced black-haired man snarls, slams his fist on a opal-inlaid tabletop, and pulls to his feet. She stumbles though the darkened manse and calls out, “Atsuii” followed by something in a language you don’t understand. He loudly calls the name again and pushes the door open to the howl of the wind and the roar of waves below the seaside grounds.
He paces and sneers until a small, black-haired woman in nightclothes leans through the doorway. She speaks the same unknown language with obvious concern on her face. He growls, “Elf whore woman!” followed by a string of foreign curses. Startled, she recoils, but no quickly enough. He grabs her hair and smallclothes and drags her into the night. Although the words are incomprehensible, she clearly begs for forgiveness. His rain-streaked visage of rage flashes in the lightning. He roars and flings the woman, screaming toward the rocky surf below.