Ni'haer Helvivirr - Journal of a Charlatan

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[INDENT]Journal Entry Number Forty-one[/INDENT]
[INDENT]Toryll Solen amuses me so, but her very presence stirs the bile in my body, and now I find myself stuck in a very binding situation with the wretch. It’s mind-raking how such a frail temptress can break even the most powerful of beings with her venomous tongue. She ridicules me with her “lessons,” reducing me to some mongrel whelp of a Dark Elf bereft of any proper breeding. I bide my time and indulge her delusions of superiority while at the same time repay her with just as much venom spat out from my own sharp tongue. I somehow find solace in this rivalry for it brings me such focus and makes my schemes far more creative, one of the many lessons I surmised from such an arrangement. She was correct in her assumption that I need her, but only for so much and a given time frame. I must repay her for her generosity and usefulness in the near future, and perhaps I’ll make her “need” me and switch the tides momentarily. Perhaps I’ll keep her around in the future for a fine Matriarch she will make, and this arrangement will remain intact so long as our interests coincide with one another. [/INDENT]
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[INDENT]Journal Entry Number Forty-two[/INDENT]
[INDENT]Lord Rael the Benevolent has finally made his move, and this time he uses my kindred as his scapegoats, such a feat should be acknowledged for finally the brute has shown some semblance of cunning. Unofficially, he already controls majority of Dregar as well as the nations underneath it through his condescending military might. It seems he isn’t even breaking a sweat when it comes to obtaining dominion of Dregar since he’s only garrisoned 10% of his forces in the Rael Kingdom whereas the other 90% are left to brood down below for whatever scheme Rael has planned for them. Most would laugh at the diminutive 10% but “most” have yet to see that 10%, and that small statistic represents a quite substantial amount of troops. He’s already shown the cunning underneath that brutish exterior and perhaps it’s time for us to play a game.[/INDENT]
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I stomached the presence of Lord Rael the Benevolent for far too long, I believe it’s time to slap the cowering Dark Elves beneath Rael’s sole and remind them of the true order of things. Superior beings should not be seen as fragile and weak, they should be feared above all else and I will remind those fools down below of that daunting reality. I was born a noble and I regressed from that wonderful lifestyle for whatever ignorant pursuit of wanderlust I yearned to satisfy. I imagined myself above the petty doctrines of the society and its faith and I crafted a façade of indifference and delusional superiority, but underneath all that, I burned with the intensity of that which I sought to escape. Thus I realized my true calling: I will herald in a new age of terror on the surface that will educate the lesser creatures of the might of their superiors. They will learn to fear us, even the mighty warriors bound to the magical stones.
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I’ll start with Lord Rael the Benevolent and his slaves.[/INDENT]
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[INDENT]Journal Entry Number Forty-three

It is quieter now, yet I still find myself overwhelmed by a myriad lectures and books that offer a sense of thrill and pleasure as I scour the pages of each ornate tome and unravel certain truths and arcane powers. The City of Mithrildust reveals many of the secrets that surround the race of rulers and it only empowers me so. The webs we weave run deeper than we think and there is a grand scheme behind all the chaos of the surface and the Deep. Arcane knowledge and magic are of minor import now, they are but tools that I use to weave and manipulate the massive web.

Prior to this entry, my stay in the city was a very problematic one and I eagerly sought to bring peace to my already hectic existence. Not only did I contend with two pregnant females, I also shared my station with a batch of five incompetents. They were pompous nobles whose stations were gifted upon them by their houses. Their lack of passion and ambition enraged me so, and I hardly considered them as peers; they reminded me of my long distant past, a shade of my current being long dead and bereft of nobility. They were ingrates that spat upon the Dark Father with their inadequacies. Amidst hushed whispers, they spread lies of my failings in the Deep and in the surface, yet evidently, I reached a higher station than they have through sheer cunning. They swarmed against me and found strength in their union, but it was their undoing. I expected more from the omnipotent intelligence of wizards.

I purposely misled my conspirators regarding any facts about myself and denied them any semblance of my full spellweaving capabilities. Curious enough, I noticed some recurring patterns in magical signatures that surrounded my room from time to time and I discovered that they were left behind from scrying. One cycle, I noticed the same effects on the room which signaled their occurring attempts at discerning anything about me. I immediately summoned and bound a denizen of the pits, an erudite human female touched by the pits named Frei’jas. Having succeeded, I immediately compelled it to share its knowledge on a powerful curse unknown to my colleagues, and it supplied me with what I demanded in the form of a scroll. I summoned her not for the scroll but as part of the ruse and I waited patiently for the fools to spring the trap. The scrying ended just as soon as I held the parchment in my grasp.

A cycle later, one unfortunate fool jumped into my web, and I waited for it to come closer with a genuinely pleased smile. They sent Veszorviir, the weakest of their lot to test the waters and steal my powerful scroll, so sure of their victory they failed to account for what awaited their champion in my quarters. The pitiful male was inadequately warded and was also very much unprepared; they jumped blindly without any knowledge on who they were dealing with. One by one, I destroyed his wards but I did not kill him, instead I kept him safely in check as I wrapped debilitating spells upon his paralyzed form.

I offered him power beyond reckoning in the form of a scroll from the pits. Veszorviir knew in his black heart that he lacked an edge amidst his co-conspirators and he thought that he could change that ever so easily should he get his hands on the scroll I dangled in front of him. He was skeptical regarding my eagerness but the temptation was too great, and I, the ever humble sorcerer that I am, only desired a truce so that I might better spend my time in the web productively. It was assumed that this truce would be between Veszorviir and I, and he jumped on my offer with a murderous gleam in his eyes.

Four cycles passed and my enemies were nowhere to be found, their absence warranted an inquiry. The team charged with the investigation soon found them and a very pleased and bloody Frei’jas in the hidden scrying chamber. Unfortunately, the pit creature was slain in the same gory manner that befell its meal. They cleared all the evidence for me, which made things all the more convenient. The remnants of my peers were easily cowed by this display of power and it felt good. I fed on that fear all throughout the cycles of my sojourn.

The web finally welcomed its prodigal son back home and all was finally good.
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[INDENT]Journal Entry Number Forty-four

I once denied the Dark Father his dues and escaped the confines of my people in order to satisfy my wanderlust, it is ironic for me to grasp the idea of being unleashed upon the surface. The gestation period of the two females is nearing its end, along with my training and soon I will be unleashed upon the surface, renewed and far more powerful than ever. Unleashed, the word seems more like a slight to my civilized and sophisticated demeanor, branding me as some bound creature from the pits. I do not deny it, underneath this exterior is a beast waiting to be unleashed upon the cattle of the surface. How the beast within me hungers for the surface, and soon we will be reunited. Reunited like lovers, such a romantic notion.

One thing that I enjoy so dearly in my relationship with the surface is its unrelenting campaign to always keep me in motion since it is apparent that it does not want me to waste away in the throes of hedonistic luxuries. By the time I set foot on the surface, a Dark Elf by the name of Lirtrisk has already caused more trouble than I. I was skeptical regarding the female’s motives since intelligence reports have continuously poured in regarding Lord Rael’s dealings with the Dark Elves. The female was a hired mercenary and had a veritable reputation of pursuing her directive down to the last letter, thus bringing in the factor of a noble house into the fight against Lord Rael. This female believed she could shake Lord Rael’s foundations by initiating a series of simultaneous attacks on specific points in the Rael Kingdom. She was greatly mistaken.

Lirtrisk rallied thousands to her cause and was bent on sending the thousands of Dark Elves in an all-out strike at Lord Rael’s supply depot in Oakhurst. Various city-states have pledged hundreds of soldiers forming a massive army large enough to overtake a surface enclave. I petitioned for a retinue from the City of Mithrildust and they spared me twenty soldiers, it was evident that their generosity was fueled by their skepticism. The nobles of Mithrildust probably know more than they look.

The battle was fought on two fronts: the northern front led by Lirtrisk and the southern front by me. The armies were let loose at nightfall from a hidden tunnel in the Forest of Fog. I led two thousand Dark Elves into Oakhurst and found it swarming with Deep Dwarves; Lord Rael was apparently well-informed of the attacks. The southern front pushed through easily but things slowly turned grim for the northern front as it faced reinforcements. The folly of females ultimately led to the deaths of thousands of my people and Lirtrisk’s hands are stained with such unnecessary losses.

Witnessing her downfall, I immediately set off to destroying the depots while the rest of the other armies were busy looting the fallen. Rael’s soldiers came in full as they sprung up like mushrooms off the ground and they devoured the fools possessed by greed. I led the remaining survivors back into the Deep through the same tunnel we emerged from. Only half of the original force survived along with the twenty I brought from the City of Mithrildust, needless to say, the twenty proved to be quite formidable regardless of the miniscule number.

Lirtrisk perished along with the rest of the misguided soldiers, I will not let that simply pass. A noble house was in league with Lord Rael and I intend to root them out and torment them. Death would be a merciful reprieve for them, they will live as my retainers and I will use them as I see fit in this game of intrigues. Coddling Lord Rael has its benefits and selling undesirables to fuel his war machine is different from sending thousands of soldiers to their doom. I could have used that army for a much more productive purpose! The fools that hired Lirtrisk will pay dearly for this, the harlots that they are for bending down to Lord Rael. If I find them, I will be their new master, better a Dark Elf than a filthy Deep Dwarf!
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[INDENT]Journal Entry Number Forty-five

Many cycles have passed since the attack on Oakhurst and I’ve been planning my ascension. It all started with Zahto, one of the Eight Eyes, and his request of me, thus opening a window of opportunity. I so graciously complied to the whims of my superior and as an Instar I was charged with simple labor. I was sent away to meet the Archmage, one presumed by most to hold more power over the First Patriarch. It was made clear me to me then and there that I was to eventually choose which side to .

I met the Archmage and found him an arrogant and pompous creature, but still he warranted a morsel of my obeisance as an acknowledgment of his station. I was tasked to gather reagents –a mindflayer head and some beholder eyestalks– as well as gather information regarding a very powerful Darkweaver beholder. Grunt work never appealed to me but I swallowed my pride and I waited patiently for a window opportunity to show itself.

My retinue and I slew many a mindflayer and beholder alike, so much that there were hardly any left to relinquish information. The Prince of Hate smiled upon me as we stumbled upon the very ruler of the beholder den – High Malpheus Elissan. The beholder and her coterie resisted but their efforts were to no avail, we easily subdued the “imperious perfects” of the Deep. We held them as our battle-captives and proceeded with diplomatic negotiations by threatening to kill the High Malpheus’ mindflayer servant who was valued greatly. However, the High Malpheus held a trump card of its own in the form of six beholder carcasses pinned to the ceiling of its den wherein it can quickly melt the pins and allow the ceiling to fall. Negotiations were cut short with the beholder’s newfound leverage and we left lest we face an untimely demise.

High Malpheus Elissan proved to be very cooperative and divulged much that can be used about the powerful beholder named High Malpheus Sulrouzen as well as the highborn within Mithrildust that hover above my head sneering in my obeisance. Ransacking the beholder den incurred the wrath of the First Matriarch which gave me pause for thought; was I trapped within the weave of the Archmage and the First House? If so, I would do well to stir the situation to my benefit. The Archmage also played coy when I delivered my report on the High Malpheus Sulrouzen and it seemed as if he already knew the creature. These creatures amuse me with their games and intrigues but it will be their downfall by including me as a new player. After the report, the Archmage sent me to meet the First Patriarch to deliver a parcel, a foolish decision on his part.

The First Patriarch received me with a bored look on his face and yet he still presented me with an opportunity to serve his noble house. The highborn clarified things for me and the events that transpired were easily connected; the Archmage was plotting against the First Patriarch’s noble house and using me to ransack the beholder den would threaten the First Matriarch’s assets as well as remove me as a threat. With all that information, I was sent to locate one named Zern, a spy of the Archmage under the First Patriarch’s household. I was to extract a confirmation of his guilt and leave no trace of his existence. The pieces were set in place and I need only seal the Archmage’s doom.

I found Zern’s abode in the more commonplace sections of the city and it was poorly warded against spells. Zern had company and offered us minimal resistance, so much so that my retainers slew him; apparently bloodlust doesn’t help as much in these situations. Nonetheless, we raised his pitiful soul back from the realm of the dead and persuaded him to confess his guilt. He was reluctant to cooperate at first but after I presented him with a glimpse of his future as a cripple, he willingly conceded to my demand. With his confession came a startling new player into the game of intrigues and it was one named Zahto, an Eye of Baraeon Ca’Duz and co-conspirator with the Archmage.

The First Patriarch sanctioned their deaths and as a faithful servant of the Prince of Hate and the City of Mithrildust, I willingly obliged. The players were revealed to me and vengeance would be mine at last, perhaps even a sliver of power. We found them in the environs of the city and we engaged them at once, Zahto was among the first to die with the grunts and the Archmage proved to be very resilient but still he died just like the rest. With the Archmage’s staff and the ring of Zahto’s office within my grasp, we re-decorated the battlefield to make it look like it was attacked by vengeful beholders and mindflayers; that should at least keep the First Matriarch off my back for a time.

The ever shifting web of the Prince of Hate has once again realigned and endowed me with much power. When the Father first embraced me, his hatred filled me and gripped my heart like fast-acting venom; it wells inside me until now like a festering wound that brings guidance. Now he bestows upon me a clasp to put on my finger as a sign of power over those below me.

Praise to the Prince of Hate!

Glory to the highborn!
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[INDENT]Journal Entry Number Forty-six

It feels odd to think that I once put much stock in the art of divination, and now I find myself hating the craft with every fiber of my being. What use is discerning hints of the future when they’re too vague to work with? These charlatans parade as would-be seers spreading their lies, I shall have their tongues soon enough!

However, a prevalent theme is inherent in every reading, one of catastrophe, greatness, and death. Liars and thieves they may be, they sure know how to please my sensitive ears with their beautiful yet vague predictions. Useless the predictions may be, one sparks my interest and may stay my wrath. It is unsettling and glorious at the same time, one of epic proportions that bring truth to what the highborn live for.

"The Prince of Hate in mortal guise

Shall descend before his children

And usher in the light’s demise."

It has been a year since that prediction and the possibility still brings shivers down my spine, yet I live for its culmination nonetheless. I’ll bring the Dark Father his fill of sacrifices until I see him descend upon us and perhaps he’ll look favorably upon his faithful servant. However, my campaign against the followers of the Wretch has been put to a halt due to an unprecedented event – the exodus of the Wretch’ followers. Reports claim that the exodus was brought about by matters regarding the inner workings of their damnable faith. It doesn’t strike me as a surprise to see the fools flee before their destruction since it’s what they do best after all, the spineless cowards that they are. What unsettles me is the timing of it all, what with the flight of the Wretch’ followers and the convocation of conclave in Mithrildust, something big is veiled before me and I’m aquiver in anticipation. Both events seem to coincide well with one another and the conclave has yet to convene in over a century.

My lack of knowledge regarding the convocation of conclave is unsettling and places me at a significant disadvantage. Some of the incompetent fools within the council share in my plight and that much is true unless the council means to betray me. I will not –I must not– let myself look weak amidst those ravenous spiders! Yes, I’ll mislead them and make them think that I’m two steps ahead of them and once I catch them off their guard I'll make them think I’m two steps behind.

I am not nervous, the lack of information is simply unsettling me, nothing more. If they try to harm my interests, I’ll tear them apart and offer their putrid sacks of flesh to feed the holy spiders of Baraeon Ca’Duz. If To’ryll Solen dares to even try to lecture me on what I feel, I’ll throw her into that ravenous pile of spiders in my stead and perhaps that should convince her not to assume so much.
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[INDENT]Journal Entry Number Forty-seven

It stirs deep inside its cocoon waiting patiently for the day when it will be released.  With legs outstretched, it bursts forth from its chrysalis eager to feast on the weak. It feasts on one then moves on to the other. While feasting on its victim, something bigger and stronger devours it. The cycle repeats itself.

They feast on one another until only two are left. The two do battle and eventually one is devoured. The victor savors its meal and stops in the middle of its feast. It perishes and its body contorts into a smoldering cocoon.

Thus am I reborn, quiescent of two halves. With my rebirth, the beginning of the end is soon at hand.

Nothing else follows. The journal is bound in a mass of black spider webs and stored some place secure in Ni’haer’s compound. This final entry marks the end of the narrative journal.
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