Malice Nurtured...

[Nuzatch]

It has been two weeks since Volrath returned from his adventure into the Underdark.  Well, returned isn't quite the word.  Mercilessly slaughtered then being ripped back into existence by an unseen force would best sum it up.

"I don't understand...I harbor no ill toward anyone based on their race, yet, I can't shake my newfound hatred for the Drow.  They are a pitiful race, and consist of soul-less individuals bent on their own personal gain and power.  They care nothing for life, and care nothing for anything that doesn't concern them."

As I lay in the Inn, staring at the ceiling of my rented room, I wonder what to make of the situation.  I am starting to feel better, and my wounds are healing, though I fear I shall bear many scars for the rest of my days from it.  I have lost much of the adventuring spirit I once had, though I also cannot shake the feeling that I must have my revenge, and wipe this scourge from the world.

I feel so conflicted, as I bear no hatred for the Drow companions I had that day, but I hate every other Drow I have seen or even thought of.  

My thoughts now turn to a method with which to inflict said vengeance.  

A few nights ago, I talked to the very wise Ozymandias, who told me of a legendary axe, by the name of Kin-Killer.  It had the ablility to strike down nearly any foe, especially those of humanoid or demonic descent.  Now all I can think about is this weapon, and my righteous vengeance I shall have with it!  I will avenge the needless deaths and restore my lost honor...

Ruins of Madness in Deregar...last seen being carried by an evil Paladin...

[Nuzatch]

"Blasted Journal!  Where did I put that thing...hmm..."

As Volrath tears his home apart, he wonders where he could have put his journal.  It has been so long since he had written in it that he had forgotten where it was.

Losing his calm for a moment Volrath pounded his first against a wall, and what should fall from the ceiling, but his journal.

"How in Layonara did that...I mean... it fell from..."  He paused and grinned to himself, "You work in mysterious ways My Lady"

Volrath thumbed through the pages reminiscing over old names and faces, and reading about his exploits.  He came to the first blank page rather quickly, to his dissapointment, something written down about his acceptance as a Paladin of Lucinda.

"Well now this won't do..."

He went upstairs and sat down in his chair and readied his pen.  He thought about all he had done travelling from town to town converting others to Lucindism.  Ah yes, I'll write about those journies.  As he began to write, he yawned deeply, and slowly he nodded to sleep, book still in hand.  Falling deeper into sleep, the book slipped from his hand to the floor, and there found it's way into a small crack through which the bottom floor was visible, comfortably nestling itself in, ready to be knocked out by Volrath's next impatient wall pounding.