This is the beginning of the second book, the much-longer Tilkin's Fulfillment. I have not altered any of these chapters from the original version. Enjoy!
"It just stops right there," Tilkin exclaimed. "I wonder, what ever happened to him?"
"Nobody knows," Pa explained. "After he left the battle near the lake, his name dropped off the face of Norrath."
Tilkin stood up, stretched and yawned. Digging in a mining party was hard work for anybody, much less a gnome. He reached into his back pocket and retrieved a small toy. It was broken and rusted from years of handling and use. He could still remember the beautiful music it would play after winding up the knob. He began to weep. "I wish Ma were here. I tear up every time I pull this out."
Pa placed his arm on Tilkin's back. "Its O.K., son. She's here in spirit."
Tilkin looked at Pa with his big blue eyes. He sniffled and wiped his eyes dry. "Pa, how long have you been trackin' this...Faerune?"
"Only about a year now," Pa replied. "I became interested in his story when I found this journal on the coast."
"Have you asked any of the residence of Fironia 'bout 'im?" Tilkin questioned.
"They don't care much for ol' adventurers like me." Pa took the journal from his son's hands and placed it in his backpack. He fumbled in his pocket and retrieved a pair of glasses. He put them on and scanned the wall.
"You see these markings over 'ere, son? I believe they are Dark Speech, except they have their own unique style to them. The only words I can decipher are, 'Doom, prophecy, fire,' and what seems to be a riddle. Tilkin, see if you can read it. My old eyes are failing me."
Tilkin reached into his pocket and got out a book of matches. He struck one of them against the wall and soon the area lit up. He placed his hands against the words and began to read it. "It seems to say, 'It kills at night, it kills at day. It can't be seen until it's too late. It doesn't care if its victim is man, woman, or child.'...are you writing this down, Pa?"
"Yes, yes I am, son. Very interesting," Pa answered. He quickly took out a notebook and his quill pen and recorded the words on the pages.
"Pa! You know it's not good to lie." Tilkin said. "Now, where's my cane?"
"Right here, son." Pa replied. He reached toward the ground and picked up a small cane. It was made from a maple tree that used to stand in their home's front yard. After Ma died, Pa cut down the little tree and fashioned the cane for Tilkin. It had a few knots on the handle. He handed it to his blind son and placed his hand on his back.
"I love you, Pa." Tilkin exclaimed. He finally had grip of the cane and began to hobble forward.
"Watch your head." Pa said. "I'll ready our steeds. We will head for the ruins of the Combine tomorrow."
"I can't trust you!" Faerune yelled.
"Your anger is clouding your judgment. You will not defeat your enemy without help!" his captor replied. They were in the lands of Dread, waiting for the Nexus Scion to allow them passage. They had been waiting there for almost three hours, and they had been arguing like this the entire time.
"Teleportation ready," the Scion stated.
"I've had enough of this and enough of you! Scion, get me out of here," Faerune demanded. He sheathed his sword and retrieved the stone from the Scion. Closing his eyes, he crushed the shard in his hand. Suddenly, a cloud of mana covered his body. Then, a powerful wind blew from the south, pushing the mana away. Faerune was gone.
His captor was furious. If only Faerune had listened instead of let past deeds overcome his senses..."Damnation! Scion, give me one of those shards!" he pronounced.
"I'm sorry, sir," the Nexus Scion replied in what sounded like a collective chant, "but I am afraid the next teleportation is not for another fifteen minutes."
"Argh!" Faerune's captor yelled. He reached for the ground, grabbed a rock and hurled it at the Scion. "Do you realize who I am?" He cleared his throat. "I am Abraham Marrlan, lord of the Paladins of Marr. If you do not let me through, the fate of Norrath itself will be in peril!"
"Force is not a way to Luclin and Luclin does not care who you are. I can make the next teleport come in as little as fifteen minutes, but if you make another outburst like that again, I have the right to refuse passage to whom I choose," the Scion stated.
"Fine."
Galena had overheard all the commotion. She was politely waiting for the next teleport while this Abraham kept aggravating the Scion. She wiggled out of her butterfly stance and walked towards him. "Do you mind?" she asked in a vary cocky manner. "I am trying to enhance my senses for the tournament. I cannot do that with you yelling all the time."
"You have no right to tell me what should do!" Abraham declared. He unsheathed his scimitar, nicknamed the Yelltar for its yellow tint. "Do not make me hurt you, woman!"
"Hurt me! Ha, I doubt you could lay a finger on me!" she said. She began to stretch out her legs against the massive spires.
"Choke on your lies!" Abraham shouted. He lifted his sword to his brow and charged at the monk.
A loud thunderclap hammered then to them. Abraham tripped over himself. His scimitar buried itself in the red earth.
Galena looked over towards the area where the sound came from. She saw that the Scion was charred and not moving. His body disintegrated in front of her eyes, revealing a cloaked figure. His eyes were glowing red and a evil grin shined from under his black veil. The wizard opened his palm and created a ball of living flame. His grin widened as he hurled in at the pair.
