She is the queen, mother of evil dragons, a goddess, thought unbeatable; but as of now dry- heaving on the floor. Gasping for precious air, with every breath a dark smoke pouring of its nostrils. Its chest making a wheezing sound while the fire keeps spreading. Soon it will engulf the unconscious bodies of a party. A party who not long ago was known as unconquerable.

The only one standing is a dragonborne sorcerer. With her eyes lit by the blazing inferno that surrounds her , and a will unwavering by the power of revenge.

"You cursed me with this wretched power and it shall be your demise", Morrigan screeches. Her words are received by a hoarse laughter.

"Silly child! You might just defeat me but, there is a much stronger will at play". With her last bit of strength the dragon-borne casts Wish. Her lips move stating her wish ,a piercing dragon cry is heard; but the greater the wish the greater chance for something to go wrong...

6 Months Before

It is a strange evening where it's raining at five on a Monday. Timing is so predictable that even the fall of leaves is foreseeable. On Mondays the town assembles in the shrine of wisdom to read the scrolls of its founding fathers at five; right after waking up from their deep slumber. Today the skies are dyed in white and black on an evening, the wind is blowing furiously with lapses of ethereal silence every thirty minutes. The rain is pouring in slow motion giving the impression that time has stopped.

Any change is cause for pandemonium and today is the first time in a century such a calamity has happened.

The rhythmic stomps accompany by a furious uproar reach her prison; the only tower in the middle of the village. A tower forged with molten steel by their father, Astilabor. Meant to keep Morrigan trapped and forced to watch the skies for any signal of impending adventure.

Three gentle knocks wake the dragonborne from her sleep.

"Maybe", she sighs while covering her face with a pillow.

Several seconds of silence go by until three furious loud bangs on the same object make the door move.

"Most likely" , she murmurs while rolling on the bed sheets.

An exact minute of peace cherishes the room. During these sixty seconds Morrigan stares at the door and hides her face with the bedsheets. She begins to count with her fingers while whispering the numbers "4...3...2...1". Suddenly the thumps against the door continue, this time with an energy full of determination.

"Morrigan! Open the door!"

The door slams open revealing three distinctive figures, a tall one with glasses too big for his face, a medium senior with a hat much too small for his head and a serious older man with a threatening glare. All together they are known as the wise elders of the village.

"Morrigan of the cursed clan, the shadowless dragonborne. There is something terribly wrong. It is highly a highly unusual day ", says the tiny wise elder. Follows the medium sage, "Uncommon indeed". Meanwhile, the large elder just nods and adjust his glasses.

"The skies are dark! There is a furious rain at 5 pm and on a Monday at that. It never rains on Mondays! The town is in chaos and there are rumours about Tiamat. Morrigan it is time for you to get out of this wretched tower".

Me and the party are escorting a wagon full of provisions and supplies from

Neverwinter to Phandalin. The purpose is to find Tiamat and bring her demise.