Echo

[Polak76]

Echo’s of a Shadowed Mind – Journal of Alandric Vensk

Here I begin.

After what seems an eternity of rigorous studies I finally leave the confines of the temple and journey abroad.  
Many within the temple muse at my rapid progression.  They believe it to be the bloodline passed from my deceased father.  Apparently he was well known for his deeds for the temple namely his final act of failure and the retribution from the black sun.  Now his reputation mocks my ambitions.
Like him I also have a gift for the dark arts, a lure to mastering the arts of the dead or rather undeath.   I will succeed where he failed.

Overall I feel the presence of the Mad One, ever watchful over my progression.  Whether I please him or not has yet to be conveyed.  I am certain I will be put to the test one day.  I must be ready.  I must be powerful!

There is strength within the place.  I breathe in the cool dark air around me.  The chill invigorates me, the darkness giving me strength.  We are a faction in growth.  Like a wave of darkness we will rise above all and consume the land with our glory.  That day is fast approaching and our numbers grow with every passing day.



Hlint

Unlike other places I’ve been to, Hlint is a place of opportunity.  
The place is stricken with quandary.   Additionally it is a mercenary’s gold mine.  A person can amass a tidy sum of gold by aiding those too weak to remedy their own predicaments.  They lack pride and that leads to profitability.

People here range from all races and religions.  Even though I walk the streets in solitude, discreet yet purposeful, I cannot seem to avoid uneasy eyes or glares from bystanders.  Overall I like the way my presence demands attention, though it often causes discord.  At times I receive contempt from those brazen enough to assume my allegiance.  Their childish assumptions coupled with their feeble minds are bait for my antagonism.  They hide behind gleaming armour, feel confident from their weaponry and temper their egos with mundane lesser god’s and weak ideologies.   I revel in their sheepishness, the way my eloquence can baffle and confuse the most confident of assailants.


An interesting portend occurred today.
I was visiting the Crypts in Hlint, in particular the second crypt, a place where others of the path are rumoured to gather.  As I opened the large wooden gates I was confronted by the sight of conflict as skeletal warriors emerged from the ground to smite a group of adventurers.  
I simply observed the spectacle, watching to see what would evolve from the conflict.  What I did find interesting was that the restless children did not seek me as a target.  Rather they left me at bay and focused on others.  I was impressed by this evaluation and stretched my senses to depict the source of the creation.
To my amazement I could feel the familiar taint of the Dark Lord nearby.  The air was rank with his essence.  I searched further and realized that during my trance the battle had ceased and one of the combatants stood holding a black stone, a pile of bones and debris surrounding her.  Stepping closer I could feel the power radiate from the stone.   Others were also nearby, discussing the nature of the stone.  It then suddenly afflicted her with some sort of magical pain causing her to drop it to the floor.
I briskly walked to retrieve the stone and was halted by the woman, poised to smite me should I reach for the stone.  How dare she!  The pathetic wench was willing to strike me yet showed no contempt to any others.
Again I am confronted by the same wretched individuals who deem their actions above all.
The others also began to mob with her like sheep and with great reluctance I let the stone go.  I will not forget this woman.  We will revisit this confrontation when I am ready.  For now it will stew in my mind, heightening my ambition for power.

The stone ended up being destroyed in the Rangers Vale.  I observed the how they did it, noting everything.  I am certain that there will be other stones like this.  Where they came from, how they were created I am yet to know.  What I will do is search for others like this immediately.



Quest: Beset By Enemies Dezza (DM)

*The following passage is written with poor quality, the usual elegance lost though unmistakable trademarks depict it to be from the same author*

The pain is relentless. It grips my muscles, the very fragments of my bones, contorting and rhythmic yet ever present. My mind is blurred by fever, hallucinations mocking my demise, hindsight abusing my demeanour, my solitude torture for my weaknesses.

That is the way of the Dark Lord

This is my punishment

The black clerics revived me just enough to allow the toxins which pollute my body to work at their upmost potency. Alone in this dark cell, shackled to thwart any attempt of self relief, my agony is my purification. Through clenched teeth I bellowed and howled, much to the glee of the clergy. No doubt my suffering enforcing the way of the church.

Eventually the toxins dissipated from my body. The cold cell now a cesspool of my own wastes. The puncture wounds swollen & festered from lack of hygiene. Upon my release they hand me a cold bucket of water and stiff brush to clean the cell first then myself. This signifies that the punishment never ends. I stand resolute and do not falter in my task.

This is the first time in weeks my hands function enough to grasp a quill. I write this now briefly lest I forget my demise weeks ago. I must not forget! I must not allow this to happen again!
It began from a journey through a jungle, some meandering treasure hunt for lost relics. In truth I longed for adventure after spending long months scouring texts to further my advancements in necromancy.
We were lost in a pigmy infested tropical rain forest, a group of callous adventures lead by a masculine yet striking woman. The island was volatile filled with diminutive natives who laid cunning traps and attacked with barbaric courage. No doubt evolution donated an inherent bestial instinct for sniffing out prey and protecting their dwellings. Their reputation for cannibalism also added to the suspense, however, this concept left me intrigued to learn more of this unevolved race.

After traversing through an array of ambushes and traps I spotted the entrance on a mountainside between to statues. It was at that point in my elation that for the briefest of moment I allowed my concentration to slip. My last words that resonate through my head…”Wait!”
At that point I felt a loosening of brush and a defiant click. In that split second I saw the trap spring into action. Spikes from both sides of the small trail snapped shut around me. The sharpened sticks, green from being doused in poisons piercing my body in four places. After the initial pain I fell to the toxins and into darkness, only to awake here.

Apparently Revone had me dragged back to the temple. In the darkness I heard the faint murmurs of prayer. My mind was plagued with a sense of dread. I could almost feel the Dark Lords cold breath on my soul. A feeling of both vulnerability and fragility. In that moment I knew that I was being judged. I realised the impact of failure, that I must not enter his realm again unless beckoned.

Thus I end this entry with a hard lesson learnt but one of great importance.
Aid no one other than those aligned to his unholy grace. Do not fail for it leads to a path of suffering. Fear the Mad One for through him I will fear nothing else.



Death by Minotaurs

*The elegance of his writing returning to its normal grace as Alandric eagerly notes his days passing*

Surely the Mad One judges me worthy.

There we were ambushed by Minotaurs as we chipped away for adventurine. Chaos echoed through the cave from the clashes of steel against steel. Their large axes were desperately parried by my party as we hastily sought a weakness or point of retreat. *he smirks* My escape was insured from a minor incantation and slight gesture. Invisibility surely is the most useful spell in my repertoire. After some time I tested that the ability of the shamans could not penetrate my spell, then I simply watched the foray unfold. One by one my party fell to their brutal axes. Never did I aid my party. That is the lesson learnt from harsh experience. Better to save what abilities are available then to risk life and limb for others.
Soon my comrades were slaughtered. Their blood soaked the earth with limbs and bodily entrails cast about forming a mosaic of death incarnate.
The battle was over and there I stood alone in the midst of carnage. The Minotaurs bellowed their triumph and began rummaging through the belongings of the deceased. With caution I trod carefully and exited the cave without making a sound. Once outside I trembled from exhilaration but not fear! I will never fear again since that day he touched my soul *shivers slightly*. I will never allow it.

But I survived. I was the only survivor. Surely he has plans for me. No doubt they will be revealed in due time.



Dungeon with no name

Something is happening to me. Something grand!
I can feel my powers increasing yet still I am far from supremacy. I need to grow faster. I require power!
But this affiliation with the dead is peculiar. Many in the temple who pass nod and acknowledge me as the son of Ramanon, yet I am not he. I am Alandric Vensk! They will learn to revere me in time. It is like I am a shadow of his glory. A mere spectre in the mist. I must prove myself.
Yet like my father I have this innate ability or rather kinship with the dead. Again I am perplexed with intrigue.
Today I ventured deep into a dungeon that has no name. It is located around the outskirts of Haven. I was accompanied by a small group of travellers yet one whom was a priest of Corath. Sipher was his name. We spoke briefly and it seemed the man knew something extra of me. This comes as no surprise since most priests of high ability can retrieve some insight of a person much like the High Priestess Chanda did the day I entered the temple. Yet he seemed to want to discuss something but was unable to at this point. I hope to locate him again soon.
Sipher and Revone joined me with some other stragglers and we ventured below.
Time after time we slaughtered a number of Xorn and Hulks. I protected the group from the mind boggling powers of the Hulks and the swordsmen made short work of their towering masses.
Then we reached a new level. The environment changed considerable from a natural tunnel into a crafter dungeon. We stepped within and immediately were confronted by undead. Vampires they were, hunger evident in their eyes with their elongated canines eager to pierce flesh and draw life’s essence.
With haste I cast many spells to defeat the children of the Dark Lord. These were not in command of one from the temple. Renegade undead, feral and frenzied from lack of blood.
They butchered our group in moments. The air buzzed with negative energy and all but a few fell victim to it. Once again I found myself in a familiar predicament. The air was rank with the taint of the Dark One yet who was I to deny them glory. Again I vanished from sight, leaving my comrades to challenge their fate alone.

Only Sipher, Myself and one other exited the halls. Again it seems that coincidence was not a factor. I almost get the feeling Sipher had this planned, as if the outcome was calculated to perfection. He commented a few times and had a twisted smirk as we left. Odd are the mysteries behind the Dark Priests yet intriguing none the less.



It was the early hours of the morning and Alandric was busily scribing some scrolls found during prior adventures. The candle on his desk had just about expired leaving a bulbous mass of viscous wax, crowned with a weak flame, barely illuminating the room sufficiently to comprehend the alien inscriptions of the scrolls. So immersed was he that he hadn’t noticed the stocky form of Gard quietly standing in the doorway, not daring to interrupt a mage while engrossed in matters relating to the arcane. It was his odour that gave away his position. Alandric, startled at first relaxed back into his chair placing both hands together, fingers stretched apart touching the opposing fingers, flexing to and fro to increase the blood flow through the hand after long hours of writing. In the idle and seemingly awkward quiet moments that followed, he soaked in the image of Gard standing at the door. Even though he was mute, Alandric had learnt from the many times spent together to pick up the tell-tale signs that more than made up for his speech impediment. In Alandric's mind, Gard had changed since he first joined the Corathites. When he first met Gard, he learnt of his slavery and volatile journey through life, yet he truly felt that only during recent times did Gard seem at the pinnacle of his expertise. It was as if he had been searching for a missing piece to his own life’s puzzle and found it here in the Corath faith. The well built stocky dwarf was intimidating, that much was certain to Alandric. His silence made him all the more menacing and his eagerness for adventure and appeal to deal punishment adding to the aura. But why was he here now?

Alandric gazed over the dwarf, carefully evaluating his motionless form. Where was it? Where is the sign that portrays Gard’s intention? His brow furrowed with both concentration and frustration. Alandric prided himself in being clever for his age. He liked to be two steps ahead of others, yet Gard’s posture was eluding him. Then as he was just about to ask Gard he saw it…the sign! It grinned back him, a freshly sharpened silver crescent that gleamed wickedly in the eerie candlelight. Gard’s axe! Alandric looked back into Gard’s eyes, and the Dwarf already had an evil smirk, matching that of his blade. Alandric also grinned. Want to play hey?
Gard’s grin broadened.
“Very well”, Alandric commented. He rapidly stood up rolling the scrolls and placing them into their cases and closed his heavy spell-book. Turning he walked past Gard into the gloomy hallways. “Lets go! I really needed break anyway and a chance to test these new spells”

They disappeared into the darkness.




**Alandric hunches over a writing desk, busily scribing notes in the dimness of a single candlelit room. He completes his note, signs it off and folds it thrice. Melting some red wax he takes his fathers ring, a basic silver ring with a flat surface and ornately engraved rams skull and presses it into the rapidly cooling wax, sealing the note. The note reads:**

High Priestess Chanda,

I your humble servant have made contact with an entrepreneur with a unique talent. It seems this man has an art for extracting poisons of various forms with unique and intriguing results. He is a shifty, back-stabbing businessman, selfish and arrogant yet articulate and conniving. In other words he is the perfect candidate to conduct business with. He is known as Arkolio here in Mistone though I’d imagine he’d have many pseudonyms depending which areas he travels.

The weak minded and fragile citizens in the trade hall view his actions as an abhorrent taint against their petty community. I see a means to strengthen our force, providing another form of ammunition for his unholy malevolent grace.

I am quite certain that this business of his is only a minor part of what he is capable of supplying. He is a profiteer, one that can be bough with relatively little complication. I will gain his favour and evaluate what other features this man can offer.

I will keep you well informed on my progress.

Your devout disciple,


Alandric Vensk

**Later the following night he enters the temple and hands the note to the first Acolyte of the White Skull he notices. Then with a quick pirouette and slight gesture he disappears from sight and exits once again to the shrouded chill of the Sword Rust Mountains.**


I have been growing increasingly frustrated with the lack of information regarding science and medicine.  Lately I have supplemented my Arcane studies with natural science, in particular common diseases and various poisons.
I have been researching all the common places of information such as the Great Library and exhausted all information gathered from my travels.

 As fortune would favour I happened to bump into Sipher yesterday.  We spoke at length about my dilemma and he mentioned that I should enter the Temple of Aragen and study there.  He briefed me on the common attire and manner in which I should conduct myself there to avoid detection.  Apparently Sipher studied there many years ago and suggested it would be a haven for the information I seek.  I look forward to journeying there and will set forth in two days time.


Arkolios CDQ

Finally I have found time to write.  The last few days have been interesting.
Arkolio requested my attendance in Hurm regarding matters of logistics among various roguish factions.  Apparently our contact with the Red Bear has attracted Arkolio’s fancy and he has been busily dabbling among the cohorts and members of Red Bear and Saviar’s men.  
From our meeting in Hurm I gathered his intention was to secure Red Bears hold in Hurm by impeding any arrangements between the Salvers and Savier himself.  We did this by intercepting a gathering of Slavers in the Viper Mountains.   The meeting began with conflict as we caught them off guard.  Later Arkolio and his companion climbed the mountain and intercepted the main gathering.  I am uncertain what transpired but he returned rather pleased with himself.

It amuses me this dangerous game he performs.  He will get so tangled up in conspiracies and subterfuge that one day his skulduggery will have him floating upside down and gutted in the harbour.  In the mean time I wonder what his schemes may offer me.  It would be well to have a contact among the pirates and low-life criminals.

[Polak76]

Death by Minotaurs *The elegance of his writing returning to its normal grace as Alandric eagerly notes his days passing* Surely the Mad One judges me worthy.  There we were ambushed by Minotaurs as we chipped away for adventurine. Chaos echoed through the cave from the clashes of steel against steel. Their large axes were desperately parried by my party as we hastily sought a weakness or point of retreat. *he smirks* My escape was insured from a minor incantation and slight gesture. Invisibility surely is the most useful spell in my repertoire. After some time I tested that the ability of the shamans could not penetrate my spell, then I simply watched the foray unfold. One by one my party fell to their brutal axes. Never did I aid my party. That is the lesson learnt from harsh experience. Better to save what abilities are available then to risk life and limb for others. Soon my comrades were slaughtered. Their blood soaked the earth with limbs and bodily entrails cast about forming a mosaic of death incarnate. The battle was over and there I stood alone in the midst of carnage. The Minotaurs bellowed their triumph and began rummaging through the belongings of the deceased. With caution I trod carefully and exited the cave without making a sound. Once outside I trembled from exhilaration…but not fear! I will never fear again since that day he touched my soul *shivers slightly*. I will never allow it.  But I survived. I was the only survivor. Surely he has plans for me. No doubt they will be revealed in due time.  

[Polak76]

Dungeon with no name Something is happening to me. Something grand! I can feel my powers increasing yet still I am far from supremacy. I need to grow faster. I require power! But this affiliation with the dead is peculiar. Many in the temple who pass nod and acknowledge me as the son of Ramanon, yet I am not he. I am Alandric Vensk! They will learn to revere me in time. It is like I am a shadow of his glory. A mere spectre in the mist. I must prove myself. Yet like my father I have this innate ability or rather kinship with the dead. Again I am perplexed with intrigue.  Today I ventured deep into a dungeon that has no name. It is located around the outskirts of Haven. I was accompanied by a small group of travellers yet one whom was a priest of Corath. Sipher was his name. We spoke briefly and it seemed the man knew something extra of me. This comes as no surprise since most priests of high ability can retrieve some insight of a person much like the High Priestess Chanda did the day I entered the temple. Yet he seemed to want to discuss something but was unable to at this point. I hope to locate him again soon. Sipher and Revone joined me with some other stragglers and we ventured below.  Time after time we slaughtered a number of Xorn and Hulks. I protected the group from the mind boggling powers of the Hulks and the swordsmen made short work of their towering masses. Then we reached a new level. The environment changed considerable from a natural tunnel into a crafter dungeon. We stepped within and immediately were confronted by undead. Vampires they were, hunger evident in their eyes with their elongated canines eager to pierce flesh and draw life’s essence.  With haste I cast many spells to defeat the children of the Dark Lord. These were not in command of one from the temple. Renegade undead, feral and frenzied from lack of blood.  They butchered our group in moments. The air buzzed with negative energy and all but a few fell victim to it. Once again I found myself in a familiar predicament. The air was rank with the taint of the Dark One yet who was I to deny them glory. Again I vanished from sight, leaving my comrades to challenge their fate alone.   Only Sipher, Myself and one other exited the halls. Again it seems that coincidence was not a factor. I almost get the feeling Sipher had this planned, as if the outcome was calculated to perfection. He commented a few times and had a twisted smirk as we left. Odd are the mysteries behind the Dark Priests yet intriguing none the less.

[Polak76]

It was the early hours of the morning and Alandric was busily scribing some scrolls found during prior adventures.  The candle on his desk had just about expired leaving a bulbous mass of viscous wax, crowned with a weak flame, barely illuminating the room sufficiently to comprehend the alien inscriptions of the scrolls.  So immersed was he that he hadn’t noticed the stocky form of Gard quietly standing in the doorway, not daring to interrupt a mage while engrossed in matters relating to the arcane.  It was his odour that gave away his position.  Alandric, startled at first relaxed back into his chair placing both hands together, fingers stretched apart touching the opposing fingers, flexing to and fro to increase the blood flow through the hand after long hours of writing.  In the idle and seemingly awkward quiet moments that followed, he soaked in the image of Gard standing at the door.  Even though he was mute, Alandric had learnt from the many times spent together to pick up the tell-tale signs that more than made up for his speech impediment. In Alandric's mind, Gard had changed since he first joined the Corathites.  When he first met Gard, he learnt of his slavery and volatile journey through life, yet he truly felt that only during recent times did Gard seem at the pinnacle of his expertise.  It was as if he had been searching for a missing piece to his own life’s puzzle and found it here in the Corath faith.  The well built stocky dwarf was intimidating, that much was certain to Alandric.  His silence made him all the more menacing and his eagerness for adventure and appeal to deal punishment adding to the aura.  But why was he here now?  

Alandric gazed over the dwarf, carefully evaluating his motionless form.  Where was it?  Where is the sign that portrays Gard’s intention?  His brow furrowed with both concentration and frustration.  Alandric prided himself in being clever for his age.  He liked to be two steps ahead of others, yet Gard’s posture was eluding him.  Then as he was just about to ask Gard he saw it…the sign!  It grinned back him, a freshly sharpened silver crescent that gleamed wickedly in the eerie candlelight.  Gard’s axe! Alandric looked back into Gards eyes, and the Dwarf already had an evil smirk, matching that of his blade.  Alandric also grinned.  “Want to play hey?  
Gard’s grin broadened.
“Very well”, Alandric commented.  He rapidly stood up rolling the scrolls and placing them into their cases and closed his heavy spell-book.  Turning he walked past Gard into the gloomy hallways.  “Lets go!  I really needed break anyway and a chance to test these new spells”.

They disappeared into the darkness.

[Polak76]

**Alandric hunches over a writing desk, busily scribing notes in the dimness of a single candlelit room. He completes his note, signs it off and folds it thrice. Melting some red wax he takes his fathers ring, a basic silver ring with a flat surface and ornately engraved rams skull and presses it into the rapidly cooling wax, sealing the note. The note reads:**

High Priestess Chanda,

I your humble servant have made contact with an entrepreneur with a unique talent. It seems this man has an art for extracting poisons of various forms with unique and intriguing results. He is a shifty, back-stabbing businessman, selfish and arrogant yet articulate and conniving. In other words he is the perfect candidate to conduct business with. He is known as Arkolio here in Mistone though I would imagine he would have many pseudonyms depending which areas he travels.

The weak minded and fragile citizens in the trade hall view his actions as an abhorrent taint against their petty community. I see a means to strengthen our force, providing another form of ammunition for his unholy malevolent grace.

I am quite certain that this business of his is only a minor part of what he is capable of supplying. He is a profiteer, one that can be bough with relatively little complication. I will gain his favour and evaluate what other features this man can offer.

I will keep you well informed on my progress.

Your devout disciple,


Alandric Vensk

**Later the following night he enters the temple and hands the note to the first Acolyte of the White Skull he notices. Then with a quick pirouette and slight gesture he disappears from sight and exits once again to the shrouded chill of the Sword Rust Mountains.**

[Polak76]

Echos of a Shadowed Mind, Journal of Alandric Vensk

Here I begin.

After what seems an eternity of rigorous studies I finally leave the confines of the temple and journey abroad.  
Many within the temple muse at my rapid progression.  They believe it to be the bloodline passed from my deceased father.  Apparently he was well known for his deeds for the temple namely his final act of failure and the retribution from the black sun.  Now his reputation mocks my ambitions.
Like him I also have a gift for the dark arts, a lure to mastering the arts of the dead or rather undeath.   I will succeed where he failed.

Overall I feel the presence of the Mad One, ever watchful over my progression.  Whether I please him or not has yet to be conveyed.  I am certain I will be put to the test one day.  I must be ready.  I must be powerful!

There is strength within the place.  I breathe in the cool dark air around me.  The chill invigorates me, the darkness giving me strength.  We are a faction in growth.  Like a wave of darkness we will rise above all and consume the land with our glory.  That day is fast approaching and our numbers grow with every passing day.



Hlint

Unlike other places I

[Polak76]

This day has been most fortuitous.  I have learnt much about my father.

I happened to cross paths with an old friend of his in Leringard.  Odd that he would keep company with such a woman.  Blond, beautiful and radiant with positive aura, it baffles me this twisted juxtaposition.  Her wisdom granted her the ability to depict me as his son as easily as she would pluck a rotten apple from a box of ripe ones.  Am I the rotten apple though?  Sometimes I feel that way.  In all my studies and perceptions I though I knew my father.  How wrong I was.

The temple was riddled with stories of his escapades and his failures.  I would have thought him an egocentric servant of Corath, dedicated to absolute power and extension of life through undeath.  Then this woman comes into the picture.  It feels completely wrong.  

She approaches me and greets me by my last name...his name.  With a smile she casually hands me a key sealed in a small envelope and directs me to the house in which it opens.  She then simply leaves and bids me a farewell with a blessing from Dorand.  How I hate those departures.

Anyway with hesitance I find the key fits the lock and I enter a rather lavish house, its decadence second to none.  Sifting through the rooms I quickly note that this house is owned by her High Priestess Chanda.  Immediately I feel cold and half expect her to materialise from the shadows.  Moments pass and nothing happens.  My eagerness presses me on.

I take time to open examine the rooms, noting many crafted items with my fathers insignia.  His workmanship was brilliant.  It seems I have adopted his same attraction to the crafts.  I have much to learn before my skills surpass his.

As I pass from room to room I eventually find what I was looking for.  A library!  Within moments I'm devouring all the titles on the texts when suddenly my eyes catch an old tattered leather-bound book labelled- "The Dahl Ma'Here - Journal of Ramanon Vensk".  I carefully pry the book from the shelf, my hands shaking with uncontrollable delight and anxiety.  Carefully I open the first page and begin reading about his life.  Finally I get to learn the truth about my father.

What a magnificent read!  It is now the early hours of the morning and I realise I have been reading for almost twelve hours straight.  How pale a comparison I am to his glory.  I almost feel embarrassed that I conceive myself to be worthy mage.  Odd that the High Priestess Chanda deems me more worthy of grandeur.  I have much work to do.  I immediately feel the need to put my studies of science and medicine on hold and delve deeper into the arcane, testing myself at every corner and pushing myself to become a powerful mage.  It is time I adventure wide and conquer new territories and foes.  I am certain Gard will be up for the challenge.  I will leave at once!

[Polak76]

I have looked forward to this opportunity to finally sit down and write.  
My hands still tremble with a mixture of anxiety and exultation.  Tonight I have met with her once again, the Dark Priestess herself.  She has returned!

The first time I met her was my initiation to the temple.  She had forseen my fathers legacy and depicted the day I would arrive.  Her wisdom unfathomable, no doubt a boon from the dark one himself.

Tonight I meet her again, wandering the wilderness eager to shed blood from the birdmen and gather their treasures for future investments.  Then from the darkness she materialises just as she did the first time i met her.  Garbed in black on top of a steed the colour of moonless night.  Her gaze immediately froze me and i bearly chanted her name..'C.c.Chanda?'
"Idiot!' I think to myself.  I half expected to be scourged on the spot for such insolence. I immediately compose myself and address her appropriately, genuflecting accordingly denoting a sign of sincere respect and servitude...'I mean my High Priestess Chanda!'

Her silence bore on, the only sound was from her steed snorting and plouging the ground with its front hoof.  The tension kept building and the air began to chill around me fast.  Even though vapour billowed from the nostrils of the horse my hands were sweaty and my mind numb with confusion.  I was certain that I would be punished.

Then she broke the silence with a chuckle, mocking my impudence.  She no doubt revelled in my demureness.  "Young Vensk", she almost spat the words. Words afflicted wth venom long distasteful from my fathers failings. "I have been expecting thee".
At that point I realise that this meeting more than just coincidence.  She was going to test me.  In that moment I feel both fear and anticipation.  Finally I am addressed by she, the Dread Priestess herself.  To be aknowledged by High Priestess Chanda means one of two things.  You're about to die or you're worthy of her time.  Tonight she has given me the opportunity to prove myself and show her that I have more to offer than my father did.

So the night went well.  We spilt enough blood from Hill Hounds and Kenku to wet the appetite of the Mad One.  Priestess CHanda summoned demons of power that have left me overwhelmed and jealous.  Her powerful Gelugon made short work of most of our adversaries while the mighty Glabrezu carved through anything that stood in our way.  I assisted with my own spells, strengthening the potency of her summons while my own Doom Knight fought by her side.
Even my old friend Virtue happened to find his way by our side.  I wont even ponder if this was also acoincidence.  Her presence seemed to attract us servants like black moths to an unholy flame.
Virute had yet to meet the high Priestess and she seemed to enjoy the portend his name reflected with our beliefs.  His gleaming armor mocked by our ambitions and his smile and confidence a paraody to the righteous and do-gooders of society.  I had wondered where he was of late.  When we were younger he showed interest in the arcane and I aided his education somewhat.  He was also a strong person and experienced as a warrior.  I often wondered back then whether i should learn to wield a blade such as he.  Would it benefit me?  My studies never allowed much freedom to practice with a blade.  I always felt that melee was for lesser beings.  That true leaders practiced strategy and politics.  I myself leave it to my servants to perform melee and opt for the power of the arcane to smite my foes before they are aware.  These days I'm exploring new horizons of magic.  My studies in medicine are intriguing but what potential lies between combining science with necromancy?  This could be vast and valuable.
 
Overall I felt the Priestess was pleased with my potential.  I am still obscured in my fathers shadow but in time my own darkness will shroud all who stand in my wake.

[Polak76]

*Sipping a sweet red wine by the fireplace Alandric casually adds notes to his tattered journal*

I wonder what games Virtue plays these days?
Tonight I had a woman by the name of Leisa visit this house.  Virtue forewarned of her attendance and intentions yet does he realise her plans for him?  

She was a most interesting woman.  Firstly it was a confident knock at the door.  I approached with the usual caution yet found nothing.  Then suddenly she materialises behind me.  It was not the shroud of illusion as I would have sensed the weave about her.  This woman used the natural skill of deception and subterfuge.  The mere shadows and narrow opening were more than enough to slip past my defences.  I should almost be worried yet it intrigues me more.  She has talent, more than most that is sure.  She also addresses me with frankness  that should anger me yet again i find it interesting.  To come to this house is no mere feat for the faint-hearted.  To address one of the church like she did could be foolhardy yet i see confidence.  This woman is dangerous, COULD be dangerous.  I wonder if she can be a tool for me one day?

Now for the most entertaining part of our encounter.  She asked me whether I would care if she killed Virtue.  It took much to compose my amusment.  How bold and forthright this woman is.  I definately like this woman.  As to Virtue, well he is skilled enough to learn from his own actions.  I always told him to discipline himself but his charm and playfulness always bring trouble to him.  I'm sure he enjoys it.

I doubt she'll end up killing him, yet i hope her and I meet again.  She is one to watch.