Mearden Ferier - Payment in blood

[Link092]

“Oh what a tangled web we weave, When first we practice to deceive”

[SIZE=13]Fondly borrowed from Sir Walter Scott[/SIZE]

I have isolated my position on Mistone. A prominent continent on the surface world. I see maps in my mind's eye, of old drawings of the surface. routes and plans replicated from raids of centuries long past... The only route back home is the one that closed. all other entrances are either unidentified from texts or in hostile regions... The road home is unlikely to be found, and the Deep is far to wide an area. For now, it seems I am stranded. I am left in a precarious situation, and my sudden separation from my home has left me at a disadvantage... I must admit that I am not at the peak of my potential power, and I am left weak... it is infuriating and disgusting. For the time, I travel under the guise of an exiled elf from an island right off the coast of the continent Voltrex. Customary "shame" and habits lead our "kind" to cover their "disgraced" faces. so far, I have been left unhindered, save a few here and there.... I travel under several Aliases... Eriis, Sion, and Dennar'is among them...

Sion is scratched from that list though... It seems that my half-brother has made his presence known and paid dearly for his actions. Old posters buried under many others listed him as wanted, and others made note of his "trail". To be related to such an incompetent imbecile is bad enough... to find his face marked for trail is infuriating... I care not what this fool did on the surface, but I remember well what he did in our city. Home. Irony hangs over my head, for while the fool should die for being captured, and for his treason, it is not the place for the inferior races to place that punishment... I would kill him myself... Pah! I should hunt him down and gut him like the swine he is... but I am not in the postion for that, nor do I currently have that capability. Maybe Ca'duz's blessings will allow me the chance at a revenge as such... but fore most in my mind is a woman who sticks her nose where iit does not belong! Filthy darthir!

On the other hand... I have encountered others... ones I assume to share heritage... but I do not risk exposing who or what I am. They think me to be naive... let them underestimate me. I shall observe, adapt, and overcome... My radical views might come across as heresy, but meticulous action and thought out plan should be appreciated... something my kin seem to lack understanding of...

Hmph... that filth is waking up again... I must deal with him... or rather, it....

[Link092]

“Destroying is a necessary function in life. Everything has its season, and all things eventually lose their effectiveness and die.”

Fondly borrowed from Margaret J. Wheatley

I find I am not alone on the surface. It seems that some have made a point of being topside. So far, there is Nidual, a wizardess of sorts. One who calls herself... "Duchess," a rather sadistic, though amusing, entity. One enigma that goes by Solena, a impudent priestess of the Mother. Cra'xis, another whom drips of the Al'noth, seems to be a fervent follower of hers... or a pet. Then there is Naster, one whom I think will be the most accommodating of the group... I still despise him. Finally, there is a priest of the Prince, Magus Del'Mar. It is he I fear, and rightfully so. While there is no better way to serve the Prince than alongside one of his Chosen, I do not doubt that I will be seen as much more than a tool. Regardless, I can use this opportunity to ascertain my own goals, and form what... "alliances" I may.

I am most certain when I say that these particulars would do what they must for personal gain, though that energy could be best spent on efforts to establish our race's dominance over the realms, both topside and under...

I should surely resume some "formal" study of languages... I have used them on many occasions to manipulate lessers, and to divert suspicion. Though they have served me well, I think a far rarer language could prove useful in the future... It willtake some time... Decades perhaps, to acquire what I will need to learn...

Mean while, I distract myself with the magic that animates the dead in Fort Vehl. While I did not devote all of my time to my studies, I understood the animation process. What was curious was the source. There is no definable "puppeteer" to be found. Just animated remains that constantly reanimate themselves, time after time... I keep notes, mostly of autopsies of certain victims. Closer understanding of vital parts and other notable weaknesses or curiosities. All the better for knowing where to guard one's self... and to place an arrow.

[Link092]

“The safest and most suitable form of penance seems to be that which causes pain in the flesh but does not penetrate to the bones, that is, which causes suffering but not sickness.”

Fondly borrowed from Saint Ignatius

It would seem that there are more. There has also been a mercenary, who calls himself Darkblade, and bends to Solena's will, and a mage, Xandiril, who thinks highly of himself... He has the tongue to lash at Solena, and might be on the same track as I. I would suggest he tread carefully. I know my limits... does he know his?

I have established some form of private communication betwixt the others and myself. I have spent some time writing up unique ciphers, one corresponding to a specific individual... Only they should be able to decipher what is sent to them, unless they share... but I would not think them so foolish to disregard the importance of special communications...

Also to be noted, I have established communications with Nidual, in an effort to ascertain research and have a "mutual" shared pool of knowledge. I'm sure she will keep plenty to herself, just as I will. Our recent endeavors have been research on an odd occurrence on Alindor. Perhaps, we will ascertain something to aid us in our own efforts... Mean while, I have spent my own time studying the undead in the Gloom Woods... they are not susceptible to the same thing that live beings are, but are not as sturdy. Not surprising, really. The walking flesh falls apart under any for of stress, and the bones of the deathless shatter with ease... there are some that are far sturdier in Krandor, and perhaps would be better for study.

I also take note of the reactions of human, dwarves, and elves alike, when placing an arrow into certain spots. I inspect the damage as well, making note of key points where the most damage can be done after they are killed. It seems that understanding the anatomy of one humanoid applies to most others, which has been a beneficial insight. perhaps some grafting is in order, and perhaps, we'll have an interesting creation...




// Here's a list of who should have what cipher, according to Mear's knowledge... (for my reference and the other player's reference....)

• A1 -
• A2 - Nidual
• B1 -
• B2 - "Darkblade"
• Basic - "Xandiril"
• Complex -
• Runic - "Naster"
• Symbol - "Duchess"
• Alpha -
• Omega -

[Link092]

“I am safe - I am safe - yes - if I be not fool enough to make open confession!”

Fondly borrowed from the Edgar Allen Poe

Notes on many subjects are tucked in a leather-bound journal that Mearden has in one of the many concealed pockets lining the interior of his woolen coat. Many were recently made with drawings depicting Human, Elven, and Dwarven anatomy, male and female,  in it's entirety. Lines are drawn to different points on the body, with notes regarding nerve bundles, core muscles, bone joints, and the vital organs. Descriptions of how to apply poison quickest to the body are scrawled about the page, arrows drawn to circles where key vessels draw the blood to the heart.

More pages stand out with sketches of bones, and scribblings about the attempts to feel out the Al'noth that holds the animated bones together were met with confusion or no success. There are also notes regarding how to keep the body in good condition, what herbs that Mearden would be aware of to assist the healing process, and notes on how potions of healing take effect mark the corner of one page.

Some where in between the organized confusion are a series of ciphers, some runic in nature, others using a combination of numerals to represent a character. Text written in reverse and combined with symbols in representation of whole words fill another, and one with a reorganized alphabet and added characters to add to the chaos of translations has a small not that reads - "contact Nidual soon..."

I continue research upon the undead and the living, and I am fascinated with the reverse properties of healing regarding the two. The living are weak compared to the undead, concerning the many properties that make them immune to the effects of poison and negative energies. On the other side of the coin, the deathless ones suffer when healed through conventional means, and are easily turned by the likes of Solena. The applications of the undead are endless, and finding a means to ascertain their favorable attributes, while repudiating the less favorable would be quiet an accomplishment. I have capitalized on the shared interest with Nidual, and do plan to further our talks...  Meanwhile, I think there is a library I should scour for more information.

[Link092]

"He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster...when you gaze too long into the abyss, the abyss also gazes back."

Fondly borrowed from Friedrich Nietzsche

Scribbled notes mark more pages, and the change in the style of writing marks it as belonging to someone other than Mearen. More notes in some form of quick-hand annotate the copied notes, making criticisms on some points here and there, some regarding the animation process, and others developing into their own theories of animations flesh-based rather than bone. It is noted that further research is required, and more manipulation of the Al'noth is advised before attempting anything.

Along with that, there are notes regarding poisons and their potency, and their effects on different creatures. Each is noted with some herb or another that would be applied with proper treatment to halt it's withering effects, even remove it. Drawings of traps observed marks up these pages in charcoal, noting how to approach and properly disarm or flag. some are noted for their nasty reputation, others for their mild inconveinence. There are technical descriptions of locks further into the journal, with drawing of the tumblers and the proper pick to be used to open it.





Further study with Nidual is advised. There is much to ascertain from this partnership, and I intend to squeeze every morsel of information from her as I possibly can. An interesting note is that she is a follower of Lucinda, or so it seems. The darthir who calls herself Lily is far easier around her than me, and I think I shall only keep my company present when Nidual is around. She has proven useful in excursions to the crypts, and I intend to keep utilizing this resource...

[Link092]

"The right man is the one who seizes the moment."

Fondly borrowed from Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

*Some coded work is tucked away in a concealed pocket*

I have been continuing my "job" of tracking the Darthir known as Darthirâe. An amusing name. I found her at the Storm Crest Crossroads. The Darthir is foolish... She openly admitted to a "love" of dark elves, and apparently thinks herself clever for keeping spiders in a vial. She offered me one, asking me to crush it. all to prove I was not what I am. The irony of her test would not be obvious to one such as her. For now she has made that revenge all the sweeter. The spider had been sacrificed in the name of revenge, regardless if it's death had been caused by ritual knives or boots. I have made plenty of concoctions from the glands of spider carcasses left by various adventurers in the forests. Little do they know that their actions only lead to further intrigue...

[Link092]

*Two shadows meet in the alley's of Vehl, exchanging words quietly, and making a pact of blood and magic. after much talk, the two persons take their leave together.*

[Link092]

"Revenge is a much more punctual paymaster than gratitude."

Fondly borrowed from Charles Caleb Colton

*Mearden rests deeply in reverie in a small, abandoned hovel deep in the Spirit Dunes. His eyes flit left and right as images sift through his mind and his chest rises and falls in a calm rhythm...*

Deep in Vehl's Crypts... Unexpected specimens of undead constructs found, particularly a resilient flying construct. I stored one away while the group was looking away. I pressed deeper, the others seemed keen on keeping pace with me. found the target, mummified guardian of the crypt. But this time, another presence made itself known. kindred. Dwarf fell in battle, and I yelled for the other to run. I had signaled to him that I was allied. After securing the area, trapping the door, and making sure the other was heading topside, I spoke with him. He planned an "invasion", I imagine. foolish. I suggested Storan's, and provided a map of the surface to lead him to the area. Better stock there. More materials...


*The image rapid shifts and changes form, taking the form of a falling coin, a map embossed onto it's surface. From high above, it hits floor of the windswept deserts of the Spirit Dunes. The birds-eye view quickly zooms towards two figures making their trek across the life forsaken land...*

Five coins, it seems. Secret of five. Duchess has secured one. another is in the hands of what I would assume to be her unsuspecting thrall or lover (I am unaware of which...), inferred from postings I have came across. Yet another was purchased by a wizard... I have been scouring the sands of the Spirit Dunes for clues, and got a lead on the third pirate supposedly hiding out... I am unaware of it's whereabouts... It very well be the one this "Razeriem" posses... I am searching for the final coin now... I do happen to have a copy of the map on the coin of the bidding wizard, and of duchesses coin...

*Images of the maps filter over the current image, and finally fade to black. Slowly, then picking up to a rapid pace, images move in reverse, as if one was flipping backwards through an old tome, searching for a previous entry. Images of an underground dungeon filter across his mind*

*Finally, the image rests upon a writhing creature, screaming and howling in eternal pain. Mearden is watching the ghastly shell of some unknown wizard wail it's pain and sorrow into the open air...*

A failed experiment? An attempt of Pale Mastery gone awry? I found a contingent of my brethren deep in the Serpent Isles, and evidence of sacrifice perhaps? It was the same as the necromancers whom I stole the scroll of instruction from.. perhaps there are more? After all, it seems to be a copy... Perhaps they have the original text? There is a likely possibility that the humans had a false scroll on them. If so, then perhaps it will prove misleading to others seeking the secrets to the magic of five... and it could buy me time. I am at loss as to how I will carry on with this search. too many are involved, too many risks. I will be forced to play my cards from the shadows should I continue, and there is no guarantee that I will get what I seek from this knowledge...

*Again, the images shift, though this time, the forms that come into view are no longer moving in reverse. A event that had occurred between the others comes into mind...*

I continue my search for secrets in Pale Mastery.. I continue my contact with Nidual, though it seems she has gone into seclusion of late... It seems i have as well, traveling the desert sands for weeks now. I have scoured the libraries of both Blackford Castle, and the Great Library. Nothing. Only a few interesting texts about my kindred written from the view of surfacers... It was amusing, at least. I found nothing useful though. Perhaps I will contact Nidual for more leads...

*Through out the myriad of images floating through Mearden's mind, one of Mearden waist deep in the Ziange River comes into focus., and periodically, an image of himself inspecting a lens comes into view, but never for long.*

I have found myself working with Duchess more often. She seems to gather information for coin... If only she would hurry up with Solena's request. I am unable to locate the darthir, and despite the few things I am able to discern, I am a communications specialist, not some filthy backcaves tracker... I have relinquished a lens of magical properties to Duchess. She does seem to make a point of changing in front of me, whether she is aware of not... I simply left it in her clothes that she haphazardly left on the river bank... Of course, she was able to see me eventually... That was when I assisted her in one of her "assignments". I had prepared escape by the river, a sphere of invisibility prepared to be set off as soon as she broke through the brush...

Though her "assignments" go well enough, her inability to deal with Solena's request has fallen upon me. Solena has made it clear now that my... "services" are no longer needed (Thus I find that I will be able to stop wasting my time on some ugly darthir... I may want Revenge, but I will do that solely for my sake. Not to serve the ends of Solena.. I will plan accordingly for future events). I am unaware of when I became some sort of menial servant, but it is predictable of her to assume such... Of course, I no longer find reason to make my presence known to her when I observe the progression of the child that she bears. I care not who the thing's father is... Though I will see to it that it lives...

*The image of Solena's swollen belly slowly sifts backwards into the image of Duchess, her face unhooded, and a suggestive smile clearly on her lips.*

I have found reason to distrust Duchess... For now. I passed her invisibly. She was speaking with who I now know as Razeriem... From what I witnessed, she either had him as a thrall, enspell or otherwise, or he was aware of what she is. If it was the later case, then she poses a problem... I have taken to silence for now, observing when I can, and even playing along with Duchesses seductive foreplay. I assume she thinks all males weak-willed or easily turned at sweet words and suggestive actions. While I have surprised her on more than one occasion, she doesn't seem to think much of it... Perhaps we will find out who is playing who sooner or later. For know, I will play my cards carefully, and start my prying...

*The image of Duchess slowly fades, and eventually only the eyes linger in the pitch-black image. slowly another forms behind the eyes, giving form to another Dark Elven female...*

I have came across some filthy renegade of sorts... I have encountered her several times, and she has thought twice of striking me so far... She has even traveled with a small group with the intent to slay spiders deep in the caves of Silkwood. I was not foolish enough to confront the group directly, and for that, Ca'duz's Blessed have fallen to their blade. But I aided from the cover of invisibility, catching them off-guard more than once. Twice one of them had almost died. A shame they did not. Next time, they will not be so lucky...

I had crossed the girl a second time as well, invisible once again. She apparently she had gotten more friendly with one of the human surfacers. She flaunted her ebony skin to the human female, and I would just as soon see that be used as book binding than the hide of a traitor...Filth!

*The image violently shifts and morphs into a twisted image of his half-brother... Not a memory, but rather a creation of the imagination. His body is mangled upon an alter, with the vengeful Mearden gloating over his body.*

I have not found much of his whereabouts, but his execution has not taken place... The filth had landed himself in a surfacer prison for one reason or another, and from what I gather, he should be dead now, his remains burned at stake, or fed to the marine life of the oceans... But he isn't... There has yet to be any knowledge of an execution...

*The dark and twisted image fades slowly, a cold laughter heard in the depths of his mind, echoing quietly until finally there is nothing...*


*His eyes flutter for a moment, squinting as the harsh sunlight filtering into the small hovel. The silhouette of a large scorpions stinger floats into view through the shattered window, and out of sight. He finally recovers from his reverie, pushing himself to his feet. He dusts his clothes and cloak off, and looks back to the window. A soft skittering filters to his ears. He mutters something, and picks up a chant of arcane words, and mid-step through the window, his form fades from sight. The Scorpions attention shifts to his last position and makes it's move for the window, as Mearden silently resumes his trek through the sands. Only the feint imprints of his boots mark his passing, which are quickly wiped from the face of Layonara by the scorching winds of the desert...*

[Link092]

“Death is a delightful hiding place for weary men”

Fondly borrowed from Herodotus

*A lone elf sits openly near an abandoned abode, the wicked sun beating relentlessly upon his back. The wind plays with his white hair and brings a cool touch to his bare skin. There was nothing to hide from, isolated in the Spirit Dunes. Not where he had taken refuge, at least. He had several reasons for hiding out. Scandal amongst the ranks of his brethren that have taken to the surface... Other things as well. But that was several years ago. Time had left him untouched, save the unkempt mass of hair and the growing beard, both apparently left to their own devices.

His red eyes squint as he peers into the distance at some dark shape breaking the endless horizon of white sands and blue sky. He slowly pushes himself to his feet, dusting off his faded blue britches and wriggling his toes in the hot sand. An uninvited guest, perhaps? Maybe just a mirage, but no need to take chances. He turns quickly into the abandoned shack, letting his eyes adjust to the dark interior. He glances about, eying multiple scrolls pinned to walls with old arrows, notes scattered across a makeshift desk, and the lone jar of ink, tipped over from the previous night. The sun-bleached bones of several victims hang in a corner, one complete skeleton rigged together and strewn across the floor. Hanging above it, whether it be some dark form of humor or otherwise, is another skeleton, though wearing a blue, leather duster and a grayed, ruffled shirt just underneath it. An old chest full of old bandages and several well-kept tools lie in the adjacent corner, just under a shattered window. On the other side lies a broken staircase to a long-gone second floor. A bow and quiver hang on the wall next to it, and the second floor acting as both shelter from the sun and a lookout platform. A pair of boots sit under the staircase, covered with cloth to prevent the shimmering glow from attracting attention at night. A large map of Layonara is pinned to the wall nearby, and under it is a second chest filled with dried rations that had been stolen invisibly from any caravan that was foolish enough to not be accompanied by a spell-weaver. Few ventured far from the usual caravan routes to encounter the lone building. Very few. The closest source of water was more than a day away, where he could help himself to the unguarded rations of some caravans and his canteens could be refilled with water (and purified later). Yes,his little abode far enough out of the way that only the curious (or the occasional bandit) bothered making their way to it. It amused the elf that some of them were still in the building... Perhaps this new stranger would join their stay?

With some haste in his step, he disrobes the hanging skeleton, dusting the shirt off and suiting up. He pulls the shimmering boots over his toughened feet and straps several harnesses over his britches and shirt, all which could hold several knives and other tools, lock picks and the like. One strap even sported several hardened leather pockets to house several fragile vials which he handled with extreme care. Pulling his arms through the stiff duster, and shouldering the quiver full of arrows, a sense of anticipation grows within him. Grabbing hold of the bow stave hung on the wall next to it, he strings it with a practiced hand. It was time to give the guest a welcome.

Stepping back out into the sun blinded him for several moments, a time in which he had vanished from sight with the utterance of a few words. Footprints in the sand fade as quickly as they appear as the desert wind tears across the ground. The vanishing steps make their way to the dark figure, still standing on the edge of the horizon, their shimmering form marring the perfect blue sky. The creaking of old leather would be heard were it not for the whipping winds. The elf swore silently to himself about not keeping the leather conditioned. It seemed a racket to his own ears. He continued moving after taking a moment to adjust the duster, quickening his pace as well. The figure stood still as he got closer and closer, it's form still wavering in the heat. Interesting that one would stand out in the desert for no apparent reason. As he neared, the form of an elf took shape, standing at a similar height and his head turning to watch the invisible elf. It unnerved him that a figure with not traces of magic was watching him. He stopped and closed his eyes, probing further out with his mage's sight. Nothing. His eyes snapped open, and he watched the form nervously, stepping forward with caution.

After a few more minutes, he was finally close enough to notice the skin as black as his own and the white hair... And a hauntingly familiar face. His eyes widen in recognition as the Dark Elf began to speak.*


"Ah, Mearden, dear brother. Good to see you alive and well..." *A cruel grin splits across his face.* "Perhaps we can catch up on the years past."

*Mearden's face becomes one of hatred as their gazes lock. He rapidly materializes as he releases a bolt of lighting at the Dark Elf, the flash of light blinding him momentarily. As his vision comes back, only twisted lengths fulgurite lie where the Dark Elf previously stood. He glances around quickly, only to come face to face with the mysterious figure that was now behind him.*

"I've missed you too, brother." *The same cruel grin was still splayed wickedly across his face.*

*Mearden took a leap back, lifting his hand for another strike. Sparks were already arcing across his fingers.* "How did you find me?" *Mearden's voice seethed with a vile and aged hatred.*

"Find you? It is you who has found me, brother. I have not been looking for you." *Even up close, his form still wavered in the heat.*

"Then -why- are you here?"

"Does it matter? I am here, and that is all there is to it. You have found me; now, say what you've wanted to say."

"No, Sion, traitor of House Ferier! It does! You are dead! Thousands of miles from here and dead!" *Another streak of lighting rips into the air, blinding himself again. As his vision clears, Sion still stands where the bolt had struck, a snide expression on his face. Mearden loosed another bolt of lighting, then bellowed a cone of acid immediately afterwords. He glanced about at the scene, acid soaking into the sand and the shards of fulgurites. He jerks his head to the right to the sound of laughing.*

"Oh, dear brother of mine, you are always quick to kill first and ask questions later! Ask yourself, do you really believe that Patron Uruo had what was 'best' for the House in mind? You know as well as I that Matron Bedelia was protecting the interests of the House... Though, I must congratulate you on your Patron's success. He was the first to mount a strong enough of a resistance. It was... 'clever', the way he handled things." *It was true. Matron Bedelia had held the seat of Matriarch for centuries, slaying the last three Patriarchs of House Ferier (The third being Sion's father). Females had possessed a firm grip of the house, though the bickering between the two factions never escalated to an all out war. Uruo had successfully removed Bedelia only through the help of another, more powerful house (whom Uruo had pledged his services to acquire the assistance, effectively establishing the other house's dominance over House Ferier). It was through the influence House Eririv that Bedelia was labeled a turncoat and lost her base of support, dividing the house into several factions. It was a silent war waged for many cycles before the slaughtering began. The truth was, most of House Ferier stood behind the Matron, not Uruo. Uruo was an outsider, and wasn't trusted by many except those he brought into the House with him... He became the only binding tie between them in the start of the war...*

*Mearden stood, his chest heaving in the heat as he started at this apparition of his past. He gave only a small utterance at first, repeating until it became a scream of rage.* "No!" *He wheezed some arcane words, throwing his arms to his left and making a sideswiping gesture. A large knot of air pounded into the figure, kicking up massive amounts of sand. Putting his effort into the last spell had drained him, dropping him to his knees. His voice is hoarse, dry, and quiet.* "Your dead... your not real..."


*The sand settled, with no trace of Sion to be found. Only winding tubes of fulgurite and patches of acid-soaked sand. He fumbles for his canteen, drinking water greedily... He had let the heat get to him. But perhaps he had been out her for too long. He decided that he would leave the following daybreak. It was time to touch base again...

He sits alone in thought, the wicked sun beating relentlessly upon his back. The wind plays with his white hair and brings a cool touch to his brow, glistening with sweat. There was nothing to hide from, isolated in the Spirit Dunes. Not when he is alone...*





// This encounter was only a mirage, and a hallucination. Maybe a bit of his subconscious making a point... Just a heads up.