The Haunted and the Hurt - Seidahn Xyvorn

[Interia_Discordius]

[A well-made sketch of a tiefling is on the first page. His hair is midnight black with ash-brown horns growing out of his head. Wiry hands are slipped within hidden pockets of his dark robes, and he gazes coolly at the viewer with a frigid gaze of ice blue eyes. He's half-sneering, his mouth slightly open, razor-sharp teeth clearly visible with a forked tongue curled over a canine. The room around him is empty and dark, the silhouette of a rather uncomfortable looking bed in the corner, the only light dim and dusty, peeking in through the close, metal bars of a door. His head is tilted up slightly, giving him a look of arrogance and disdain, yet those eyes can almost be imagined to betray his rather wrathful appearance, as one can believe they glint and glow with a kind of haunted sorrow or guilt. He's not very hideous for a tiefer, his jaw-line strong and his facial features distinct. It's obvious human blood runs in his veins, perhaps moreso than the demonic, for the fearsome appearance the fiendish have is extremely neutralized. Below the sketch, there is a name...Seidahn Xyvorn.]

[Interia_Discordius]

[There is a drawing of a halfling with the brightest of smiles and the rosiest of cheeks. She's standing in front of a lake, presumably the one by Fort Vehl, and holds a lily in her hand that is as large as her face. Beside her, there is a rather not-so-focused drawing of Tadhg, as if the artist merely placed him there for reference or remembrance than any real significant purpose. Below it, extending from the ink of the halfling's shoe says the words, "What do you find beautiful?" The handwriting is slightly scratchy, but moreso like fine calligraphy than an error. Either Seidahn's written Common is intentionally placed there in such a way, or he is mastering the ability to create all his errors into something more useful than a bad ink blotch on the parchment. However, it can be assumed he had not meant to connect the I to her small foot. There are a few lines skipped down the large parchment, and finally, writing.]

The beings who live in this Mistone are not as they seem. They are ever-changing, distrustful creatures who speak but say nothing. From the many, only one holds any importance to me. She speaks the Halfling language, one I intend to master.

I have met my brother in Port Hempstead. Caim Xyvorn. He is unlike me. He finds manipulation and apathy better outlets for his demonic blood, while I find my release in the Weave. He speaks of the useful, both what he hears and who he meets. A slight fear is brought to life in me from his intentions. I do not trust him.

Of trust, only Ariel has my favor. The others are nothing to me, simply an annoyance. The angel-summoner Tegan was the worst of this. She brought the deva near me. I tolerated it for she was helping us back to our graves. Never again. I will never allow myself near that disgusting creature of the skies again.

I am easily disliked. It seems the blood that courses through my veins make me a discomfort to the humans. I am unsure if this is boon or bane. It will keep me from being close to most, but the observance of caring causes an ill at ease sensation. I do not wish for it, yet I want to note what it is like to be cared by most. I will live. Ariel gives me a taste enough of what it is, and the most it brings are questions I cannot answer. I tolerate her. She is the epitome of innocence, something I myself have never been.

I wish to know more, the beings who live in this Mistone are not as they seem.

[Interia_Discordius]

[There is no true drawing on this page, only beginnings of somethings, crossed out hastily. Among them, translated in Common, Elven, and Dwarven, are the words "Kill or Die." He writes this almost like a maniac, over and over and over, obviously attempting to work out the trauma in his brain. There's a hole that rips through at least five pages from where he had stabbed his quill, black ink traveling through the parchment, leaving trails of what a viewer could assume to appear like blood. Below the mess of ink and words of insanity is some written coherency, although the level of intensity is the same for what is above, perhaps worse.]

The nightmares are plagued. Sleep is impossible. All I see is screaming, eyes wide with terror. Screaming. I can't breathe. Lead weight upon my soul...Devour me, Soul Mother. Bring the apocalyptic darkness to my eyes and sprinkle with that mythical sand to close them forever. Give me relief, release, from these dreams, from this guilt. None can compare and none know a thing. Haunted, haunted, I am falling away. Kill or die, kill or die, I need my escape.

KILL OR DIE.

[Interia_Discordius]

[A sketch of a giant spider, fangs dripping with saliva, spread out over the ground beside a ranger man who some know as "Gerion" is on this page. In front of the two stands a man in brown holding a scythe. It's a brief sketch, detail being spent mostly on the spider. Unlike the previous drawing with Ariel and the lily, this one is done in charcoal. Below it, in ink, are observations of his new shapechanging spell. By the way he speaks in it, it seems whatever was bothering him in the previous entry no longer affects him as much now. He makes mention of his brother Caim, although the tone in it could suggest a more negative emotion towards him, but nothing in this entry truly sticks out otherwise. One could almost assume Seidahn had written it up in his boredom between shapechanging spells, as his excitement seems to only be coming from new scrolls that people have handed him and the current magic he has now. At the very end, however, he expresses that his concern for his brother's actions are growing, and that if he wants to keep the few people he care of at least somewhat safe, he'd follow Caim in his endeavors. There is no word of stepping in, however, to correct anything.]

The spider form is my favorite. Elzhabehl seemed upset at my choice towards it, as the spider is the creature of the drow. It is a better form compared to the drooling troll, fluttery fey, staggering zombie, or umber hulk, however. A spider is fitting for me. My brother Caim and I took some amusement from the several forms by scaring an adventurer. He drew a scythe out, Caim taking the chance to calling it a farmer's tool. If it were not for the form, I would have chuckled. The adventurer had plans to kill a giant spider with a tool to cut wheat. He had seemed serious enough on it, however, so I did not press. Humans are unpredictable and barbaric. Assumptions and trust gets one killed... Wheat cutting weapon or pig-sticker.

I walk with no trust for my brother. For her own safety, I have warned Ariel to keep away. She holds enough of a mind to know that for herself. I wonder why others cannot do the same. The Emory man we had met seemed content in attempting to hold a light conversation with both Caim and Elzhabehl. Why he would waste his time doing such a thing is beyond me. It was clear that neither had a desire to return the favor to Emory.

Requesting a scroll for another works out well. They have no use for it, so learning more is far easier than I have expected. As my time in this wretched land grows, I feel power. The drive for it within myself is exhausting, yet the results exhilirating. I will continue my asking for magic. It is what I call my own. That of my own blood, I cannot relax with. The Weave is all.

I will continue following Caim. His intentions keep me suspicious, although I will not take action until he goes too far. For now, I benefit also. I will remain silent until the ones I care of are put in direct danger.

I have myself until then, and I am content with that being all.