The Arcane Workings of Elzhabehl

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[SIZE=18][SIZE=48] Prologue: My Journey From Voltrex[/SIZE]


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[SIZE=18]Seldarine was my home for nigh on two hundred years and it was a peaceful one, if somewhat lacking in activity and those of higher intellectual ability. I was born, the second of four children, into the house Tyr' Neldth granting me as much of a start in this life as I have come to understand I deserved. While we were not overly wealthy, nor influential, my mother, Amaala, held a position within the local magic school as their researcher. Looking back now, I had always been more intelligent than my siblings, I am almost amused now how my father, Theram, wanted me to pick up a blade and swing it wildly just as he did, yet my fate lay in greater things.

During my ninth decade as I entered my adolescence my father’s persistence that I follow the way of a fighter had become unbearable, perhaps I was even ready to forgo my desires to follow my mother and enter the magic school for his wishes. Yet Solon showed me my path, and taught me all I know today.

Solon was a great elf yet not quite. He had amassed such ability before his death as to hold back the ravages of time and decay, becoming what I now know as a Baelnorn. He lived on now to oversee the school and to protect those of my house should we face trouble during the years of the Blood wars, yet it never came.

I studied under him for just over a century, and during that time I became well versed not just in the practical application of manipulation of the weave for minor spell casting but also gained a much deeper understanding of things. I developed my logic, learned to see things as they truly are, as a series of predictable, logical ordered events.

His tutorage was not wasted on me as it had been on others he taught. I had grasped all he had to say early on, and he recognized this. Over these many years I grew further from my family home, spending hours and days at the school, reading endlessly. There is always more to know, even now.

Yet the time came, as Solon said it would, that I would suck the books within the library dry. It was only logical that the knowledge contained in that small school library would eventually be all mine to hold. Solon spoke of life beyond the island of Voltrex. A land where other races mixed more freely, where other ways of living flourished.

Over time I began to understand his latest lesson, I was to leave Voltrex if I ever aimed to achieve the level of power and magical ability he possessed. Yet Solon taught me well of the dangers outside of our sheltered home. He even spoke of the dreaded traitors, the Drow. He told me of small numbers of their kind who had recently left the Underdark claiming to be different, to be good! It defies logic one of the dark skinned could even comprehend the concept let alone proclaim it as truth.

Solon and I spoke at length about how I could protect myself from their underhanded evil should I ever meet one, and it was decided I would learn to speak their twisted tongue. If I could hear them plotting and scheming they would have less chance to surprise me with their attacks and I would regain the upper hand. So it was that Solon gave me access to a book I had not seen before, a book filled with the Drow language. I did not ask where he had received it; the look in his grey eyes told me it would be unwise, but he taught me my final lesson over those last two decades on Voltrex, and over time I picked up much of the traitors tongue, so much so, myself and Solon would speak to each other using the foul words as practice, when we were sure no-one was around to hear.

My mentor and perhaps even friend had always promised he would return to his eternal rest upon the fall of Bloodstone, and that he did, leaving me with all he had taught me. These last ten years I have been making my final preparations to leave, this is not an undertaking I consider trivial and everything must be prepared. My understanding of the traitors tongue is now complete, my magic is practiced to a fine art and my cantrips never fail. Lately my younger brother Tahletril left the lands of Voltrex, no doubt swinging his sword around like a barbarian.

In these past few years I have spent more time with what remains of my family. Perhaps I will miss them and that is why I have allowed myself more time with them. I have come to spend far more time with my mother of late, and even with her familiar, Tvix. I told her I would be leaving, I did not tell my father. He has never understood the call of the arcane, not like mother. Her response was odd, she entrusted me with Tvix, saying he would be a valuable ally when I needed one and would remind me of home in the event that I could not return.

Though I understood her reasons, I am not entirely what to do with this dragonling now, perhaps in time we shall see.

In any case I am ready now to leave this place now.

Against my father’s wishes I bought passage to Saida under the cover of night; from there I journeyed to Mistone, watching my home for two centuries disappear over the dim horizon.[/SIZE]

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*The following is written in a fluid elven hand and contained in a crimson leather bound book. The book appears to have two distinct sections. One is filled with unknown symbols and arcane markings, while the other pages upon pages of elven writing. A glance to the latest page reveals an entry that appears to be new.*

 

I have wandered across a quaint town known as Hlint. It has little archetecture to speak of, merely rows upon rows of small wood and stone huts, filled no doubt with equally dull and uninteresting folk. Its saving grace however is it's reputation as a hub of adventurers from near and far, and with them countless opportunities for further knowledge.


My skills have increased immensely in just this short space of time. My spellbook is filled with magical incantations capable of shielding me from view, setting creatures alight and sending many missiles of pure magical energy at my foes.


Now onto recent events. It seems Tahletril found his way to this very same town many months ago. I would recognise his absent minded expression anywhere. He seemed far more happy to see Tvix than myself, and perhaps this is a good thing. I could not cope with lavish displays of brotherhood, least from that sword swinger. Yet I suppose, if I am truly honest, I was somewhat glad to see him, I was reminded of Voltrex and of my mother. I still haven't forgiven father for his idiocy.


Together with a halfling, and some humans I did not take the time to know, we ventured into the crypts to obtain the knuckles of the undead. It seems a witch in the swamps has need of them. I myself took great interest in the knuckles, they may have a use for spells at a later date. I hear some necromancers use their magic to bring forth undead. While the ethics of this are dubious, I would not let such trivial concerns impede my search for ever greater knowledge and power.


No doubt Tahletril would have very different oppinions on this. It seems he has become potent with his blades, though one day my power will dwarf his sword skills, for the moment he is a valuable ally in combat.


I have obtained several hundred trues from my work, and I know aim to find a seller of magical scrolls, my spellbook yearns for more.

               

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This evening was unlike most others. Amidst the simple minded commoners of Hlint a human lay, apparently ill and asking for help. Had I not seen so many before him walk through this town half dead perhaps I would have helped sooner but in truth it was the cause of his affliction which more concerned me.

Wandering over I could determine no physical injury however he appeared in some great pain as though internal somehow. He mentioned, between his shallow breaths, that a demon had cursed him. Imediately my attention was his, or rather on his curse.

Another human male dressed in blue, who I later found to be known as Celgar came over to cast various healing magics and protections yet to no avail. The cursed human spoke of the forest and of a elven ring between his bouts of delirium. Weak human mind.

In any case Celgar suggested we venture to the Lucindite temple for aid, as I, nor he could do anything to help him. Celgar carried him to the temple, and we were joined by a dwarf named Jal, who spoke elven. Also an annoying human decided this involved him and followed us.

Arriving at the temple the priestess, Rithredia, came over and suggested we attempt to shield him from whatever the cause of his affliction was. Being the sole weaver of the arcane, not to mention, the one most equipped to perform such a task I began to focus my energies. Together with the magic flowing through the walls of the temple I was able to raise a shield, and the cursed man seemed to stabilize.

Yet was he thankful? No! Ignorant human! I should have left him to die, and studied his slow decline. Yet this annoying concience of mine seems to have stoped me short of seeing him harmed. I will not make that mistake again. Now I shall follow them to Spellgard, out of curiousity and a search for answers, rather than any desire to help.

The once cursed man also mentioned a 'Muireann', perhaps I shall meet him or her in Hlint.

Far more importantly though was my success in weaving such a protection, once more I have proven my worth to all others. That worth which I myself have always known I had.

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*Elzhabehl sits on a flat stone somewhere on a vast plain. In the distance a pseudodragon can be seen playing under the encroaching night. The wizard takes out his spellbook and flicks to the rear section, filled with notes and stories more than alchemical formulae and incantations. With a somehwhat solemn face he begins to write*

I have spoken with Tahletril again. I have come to understand that I speak with him harshly and although he did not care to give me his full attention, which annoyed me further, I now realise what it is about him that brings forth my vitriol.

Not only does he look more and more like father in these recent years, he also has some of his mannerisms. His unwavering emotion, the way he is run by it. To me, it is as though he is speaking another language, one I am not fluent in. Solon always taught emotion was not the tool of the wizard, though in that same light, he would often say anger could fuel as well as inhibit ones casting when circumstances were dire, the latter being a result of absolute hatred.

Yet for the most part I have little use for emotions. They serve no purpose, I will not be run by them...

But..I ask myself what is this about then? This that I write? Guilt?

I do think we have reached some sort of truce, and perhaps it is time I get to know my brother more. After all family is still family, and a soft over-ripe apple is still an apple.

                   

*At the bottom of the page, scrawled more than written*

These thoughts will disturb my studies, that is not acceptable.

   

*Elzhabehl waves his hand over the page. As he does so a faint light radiates onto the writing. As he passes it down the page the text becomes illegible, even to himself, as if he is trying to hide the truth. Standing up, he frowns and storms off to find some kobolds to explode*

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Yet again I appear to have upset my younger brother, though not through any malice on my part. I had never been close to the family, I had far too much study to occupy my time with. Tahletril says I am naive, having never had what he had. Apparently i should take more concern over his wife and over events which do not rightly concern me. I judge from his reaction his wife is still suffering from whatever illness plagues her. Had I known I would have been more, careful, in my questioning.

Truly I have little cause to see him upset, yet his outburst today was uncalled for. His insolent tone has angered me. He should not speak to his elder brother in such a manner. Next to me he is but a child! How dare he say I am naive of love. I am that way out of choice, I have no time to follow irratic desires of the heart.

He says he is angry with me for my lack of concern, apparently she was ill for many many years while I shut myself away studying. Perhaps scrying upon his past may help me.

Let it be forever known, should our feud escilate, Tahletril was first to draw arms. Barbarian.

In spite of this I still wish to understand his illogical outburst.  

That is if I do not decide to watch him suffer first...his insolence has left a bitter aftertaste with me.

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I have recently taken an interest in the town of Hempstead, given the observation that so many of the adventurers that once frequented Hlint now reside there. The city is far superior to the backwards town of Hlint, though many of its townsfolk similarly lack any real intellect, as I have come to expect.

Recently I took part in a debate over religion and other such nonsense. Myself and a few others arguing the position that the gods have little concern over, or for, those of us on the prime material, while our opposition regaled us with their 'beliefs’.

One individual among them, a human named Carick, mentioned he was a cleric of Mist, and I had not given him much thought until earlier this afternoon. As I traversed the forests between Hempstead and Vehl the human spoke to me, though his body was unseen, I could sense his invisible presence.

It seems he had fallen at the claws of a Griffon, a fact which did not surprise me given his misplaced beliefs. Having bested such a beast myself alone earlier this week I was eager to test my abilities once more.

Suffice to say the beast was destroyed and we ventured into the Gloom woods together. It was there, that the otherwise unimpressive Carick did something rather remarkable. Summoning a skeletal warrior from the bones he found strewn on the ground, his magic was able to infuse them with sentient life.

Far intellectually superior to the zombified creature a polymorph spell produces, this warrior was able to follow instruction and hold its own in battle. I must refocus my efforts towards learning the correct incantation to produce similar results via arcane means.

Another tale of note, Drow have their deathly grasp around Kinai it seems, as well as others who were holding a book. This book I was told contained the spells of a powerful Drow mage, yet it has now been seized by the tainted.

But from the beginning the tale is as follows:

In Hempstead an individual was sighted atop the monument in the central square by some of those standing near myself. I could not see the figure, though others seemed quite sure of its presence. It was after some time of not seeing anything that Kinai suggested the figure would be Drow given the fact this book I wrote of earlier was near us.

Kinai said the Drow may have fled to the docks, and it was there we sought passage to Leringard. Immediately upon docking we sought about finding information, and logically proceeded to the hub of the port town, the Leringard Arms.

Once inside the sounds of battle were heard and a Drow was found inside, it was quickly dispatched as one would rid themselves of vermin. A note was found upon its body, one which only I was capable of reading. The crooked script spoke of a woman living in Leringard and that something was sought before midnight.

One of our number, Kali, spoke of Krandor and a person there who may have been able to help against the tainted, having done so before. A logical assumption.

Walking to Krandor we came across another Drow, this one a powerful mage. The air fizzed with the sounds of the art but it was us that claimed victory of the vile filth.

However, it was not soon after when another emerged. A highly powerful Drow, his magic tangible in the air around him, appeared before us. He began a potent incantation sending many of us to our feet from the following shock wave, however some stood and fought. Yet it was not to be, the vile sneaky Drow used a portal to escape our judgement, together with the book. It remains to be seen what will become of all this. Yet my interest has been obtained.