Harmattan

A dragonborn fighter/infernal-pact warlock. He attempted the rites needed to become a paladin, and failed utterly.

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Laid down by his tongue and seal, this day of 8 Vrun, 382, the last will and Testament of the dragonborn ‘Harmattan’.

If you’re reading this, it means you probably beat me in a fight good and proper. Good for you, I guess. The cooling corpse you’re staring at is, uh, was the soldier named ‘Harmattan’. Once upon a time he had a thing for the lady Galeon. She’s still around if I’ve any guess, so I’d suggest you steer clear. She’s a mite vengeful that one, and she’s got the righteous anger of the Great Dragon Bahamut behind her, so she’ll chase you to the Nine Hells given half the chance. Anyway, she and I were from families sworn to the High King long ago, and back then we both set off to make our vows and swear eternal vigilance against the darkness. She came back with the Great Dragon’s graces, and I came back with…something else. I’m not going to be spiteful and lay any fell runes or nothing in this here will, other than this: kids, drink your milk, and sit up straight. That’s the best advice I got.

Oh, right! I leave all my stuff, including any weregild won on my behalf, to Galeon Kaltersdotter. Failing that, give it to a worthy charity. That is all.

‘Harmattan’

Harmattan

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