[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]
*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.
*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*