The Living Will of David Black (Dorakhan)
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_When we were children, we were always afraid some demon lurked under our beds or in the closet, or in whatever dark place our mind could imagine them to hide. We'd pull the blankets over our heads so that only our eyes could see - we convinced ourselves that this would shield us from them. We'd awake at some awful hour with nightmares and run to our parents so that they could tell us that we were okay, and there were no demons in those dark places… and that we were safe.
I can only dream that such a story still rings true for some. Sleep... is something I miss dearly. The wards offer little - perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself.
My name is David Black. Not that I have any true surname, but this one fits me best. I am a man of twenty years, give or take. I've not the luxury to keep track of time. I've no recollection of parents. My first memories are of the orphanage in Impiltur.
Bunkmates would disappear each night for reasons that no one knew, or would explain. I've yet to find the exact answer for myself, but it was something dark.
Some ten years after this occured my friend - my brother and I ran away from this place, hoping whatever it was that took the other children while they slept would leave us for good. It was raining that night... and perhaps every night since then. I think I was naive then - to believe that it was someone else that darkness searched for. The darkness followed.
The boy I had escaped with, Aaron... as we grew he became far better with a blade than I. It is ironic that I hold his blade in my hands now. The undead seemed attracted to us... at the time. Now I know it is only me they seek. I know not why. Each night we would fight them off... we slept in the day time, but we had nightmares, the likes of which... I'm not entirely sure that I'm still sane. Perhaps there was no darkness to begin with, but I feel its presence like tiny burrs pricking my neck.
Some years later I found, in passing, a priest of Lathander. I spent much of my time talking with him. Those were splendid times, as his presence somehow kept me safe at night. I tried to learn as much from him as I could, and still ponder his words, but the darkness took him as well. It consumes all in the end.
As a parting gift, however, the priest tattooed me with warding spells - written in Celestial. They allow me moments of peace, both day and night... but I fear this only taunts the darkness, and one day something stronger will come. It is only a matter of time. Damn the undead to the hells they should walk.
As such, I bid whoever find this note, most likely on my rotting corpse, to take my body and burn it. Scatter the ashes to the wind. Bury this blade in my hand. Pray the darkness has not chosen you for pray simply by reading this. I am sorry for the lack of... detail in my writing, but this is all that need be told._
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