Dragon: The Embers Core Book - MrGone's Character Sheets

(Prologue Artwork needed… at least 3 half-page entries)
Prologue: Prologue: Ominous Ominous Drums
Drums
She could hear it beating. Sitting there in his hands, well… if you could call them hands.
It shouldn’t have worked. How could it be beating? It wasn’t attached to anything!
Thump.
The sound maddened her every thought. Even if she could rationalize his story, his
history, there was no reasoning with this. The nine-chambered heart, alive in the hands of the
monster before her. And he wanted her to have it.
Thump
Last week. It was definitely some time last week, though the particular day had escaped
her. Before that she had lived a perfectly normal life… at least by her standards anyway.
Cameron was a therapist. She had a doctorate in psychology from the state university, and her
credentials would have been sufficient for a glamorous research position. But she settled for
therapy, mostly because it was easy. A usual day involved inviting people to open up their
chests and expose weakness, which she would then quickly chew and regurgitate for seventy
dollars an hour. She wasn’t the most ethical of mental health professionals, but her clients
seemed to enjoy her company. Work was easy, pay was easy, and that was pretty much all there
was.
Thump
It was Tuesday. Yes, Tuesday, that’s when it happened. Cameron received an unmarked
envelope in her mailbox. No postage; it had been hand-delivered. The letter was written in
script, but it looked old. The paper had been artificially aged. It must have been; no one would
write something so silly on something so valuable. It was addressed “To resident,” and its
contents…
“After a long and lonely existence I have come to the realization that quantity and quality
are not interchangeable equivalents. You’d think I’d have discovered this sooner in life, but
power makes a man foolish. And I have a lot of it. God, the things I’m capable of could drive a
man to tears. Or to shreds, if I wanted it. Why, the whole of this city would have bowed to me
at the fall of one word, if I had had the narcissism necessary to will it.”
“I’ve lost focus. The point is a long life of status and power has left me with no
connection to the common world, and with no heir to take over for me on my inevitable death.
As such, I have decided to end my life and present my fortune to you, the residing party of this
address. I will arrive tomorrow at precisely ten. Serendipity has dictated you will carry on my
legacy. I look forward to our immanent meeting. Ivan McGregor.”
The letter was barely legible—in green ink. Yes, green ink, and the pen had torn the
paper in several places. Cameron felt the writer was clearly disturbed and in need of counsel, so
she decided to cancel her ten o’clock to meet with him. This Ivan. She sent her assistant home
for the day and settled into her office, a hot cup of coffee in hand and a spare waiting for her
guest.