Crideas' Adventure Journal

OOC: This thread chronicles many, but nowhere near all, of Crideas' memorable experiences from his early time in Aenea all the way to the present where he has nearly achieved the pinnacle of his power. If you want to know more about the man, or if you want a mildly enjoyable distraction, kick back and read on. Though some content referenced may be "out of date", there are still numerous clues and hints to be found in these posts about actual enemies and puzzles of Aenea. I hope you enjoy - Dave

Crideas's Adventure notes:

Day 1:

Ventured onto Northwest road. Encountered Goblins. Scorch dispatched most with ease. The shaman was more cunning... and tougher. Apparently I felled him before he could use the wand he was carrying to fry me. I shall save it for a dire situation. Fireballs are nothing to toss about casually.

Day 2:

Exploring woods. Blasted familiar and Ox were too spooked to follow me thru the gap in the trees. Even my summoned dire boar did not obey. Found myself surrounded by more goblins, and was beaten within an inch of my very life. Escaped by using invisibility ring. Situation became worse when I realized I only had an onion to eat... it didnt taste bad... but I dont feel very well...

Day 4:

Returned to woods. Prepared spells that did not rely on my allies to be useful. Was quite satisfied by the look on the goblin shamans face when I appeared behind him from invisibility just as I finished casting my burning hands spell. Burnt Goblin flesh smells AWFUL. Salvaged another useful wand. Lightning bolts for narrow corridors. I dont know how he could walk with the wand crammed where he had hidden it... but at least it saved the wand from my fire spell... ugh, revolting imagery. Was not fun washing the thing off.

Day 5:

Dispatched more goblins, and found a patch of blackberries. Must remember to cast ghostly visage next time before I try to pick them. My clothes are shredded and I am bleeding from several scores of small cuts. They are quite tasty though!

to be continued...

Crideas's Adventure Notes - Part 2

Day 30 something -

Im getting so... hungry...

How in the WORLD do those little devourer beetles get in my pack so fast?! Aside from the bug bites from them swarming on me, and the near irresistable urge to vomit from them crawling all over my skin, they move so fast I cant even fend them off with bursts of magical fire... I keep missing... and I end up with an empty food pack for my troubles.

One would think they are merely insects fit only to be stepped upon should they deign to attack a much larger creature... I even tried a stoneskin spell to protect from the bites... and their pincers ignored it!!! That spell can turn aside a greataxe... but these little buggers somehow wounded me through it...

I am not given to hate easily.... but I hate them... they are little insectoid cheaters... they CHEAT i tell you! It isn't fair!!!... I hate them so much I cant THINK straight... or maybe thats because I havent had anything to eat in two days...

Im losing weight... my britches are falling down whenever I walk... try casting a spell with your linens around your ankles... its a wonder the bandits dont fall over laughing at me... a few hours ago, it felt like *I* was the bandit because I was stalking a group of them just to take their food... but I wasnt thinking clearly... and I used a fire spell... sigh... burnt bread cheese and apples are not very appetizing...

I swear... clerics have it MADE with that create food spell... I need to dominate one of those goblin shamans and tell him to conjure me some eggs... and a steak... yes! If I werent so tired, I would go find a shaman right now...

I need a nap...

Very funny!

Month 2, Day 4 -

So this is what the Great Hall of Zolaras looks like...

Mental Note: When crossing the border into K'nort Scrar, be prepared with a disguise, or invisibility. The orcs soldiers guarding the border were able to defeat the armies of the elves and humans... they made quick work of an unprepared lone wizard like me....

All the same... I'm a glutton... and I have a score to settle. Those orcs will burn for attacking and killing me. I saw a handful of them were wielding obviously magical weaponry. Those weapons will likely fetch a decent price in tradeholdm. That will help pay for the Gift of Zolaras token Im about to use.

Months 2, Day 5 -

Well... now I know EXACTLY why I died so quickly the first time... I prepared well enough for the melee threat from the soldiers... but still, here I stand in the Great Hall again.

I barely had time to notice, let alone react to, the Archers in the watchtowers peppering me with acidic arrows.

Another token gone... this is getting expensive... I can feel the drain on my life force already... but setbacks are part of the path I have chosen. I will triumph.

Month 2, Day 6 -

Here I stand amidst a charred and bloody battlefield.... The burnt, smoking remains of orcs litter my surroundings.

Victorious at last, I take satisfaction in knowing that I weathered thier onslaught without taking a scratch.

While it was chaotic and violent, there was a certain beauty in our battle... and I take pride in artful tactics and precise, powerful spellcasting that resulted in such a clear and unquestionable outcome.

I shall not see the great hall this day, or have need of a seamstress to repair my robes. Indeed, my bags of holding will be filled to the brim with saleable goods.

The orcs will no longer bar my pasage to Old Tesh, and soon, they will realize the folly of attacking me. No doubt, they have not yet heard word of my success against the bandits plagueing the trade routes between Mountainholm and Tradeholm... but they will.

I shall seek out their general, and offer him the chance to surrender peacefully. Should he refuse, I will put a stop to his warmongering. The goodly folk of this region deserve no less than freedom from such barbarism.

Methinks the wizard mayhaps has a level or so of bard in his past, based upon the storied tellings of his deeds and doings.

Month 2, Day 8 -

Located Orcish training Camp. Preliminary scouting reveals HEAVY opposition. Headquarters seems well placed, but poorly defended. Likely the orcs are afraid of their leader, and stay away from that building as much as they are able. Infiltration should be smooth and simple.

Month 2, Day 9 -

Confirmed location of Orc General in Headquarters. He is accompanied/guarded by a Cleric bearing the Holy Symbol of Ragnor. Must be prepared with defenses against necromancy and evocation. General carries heavily enchanted greataxe, possibly vorpal, vampiric, or imbued with negative energy. Likely, melee threat from General should be first priority should combat become unavoidable. Have attuned glove of teleportation for instant return travel should it become necessary to use Potion of Escape to leave quickly. I will need to finish the conflict before they can rouse their troops or go into hiding.

Month 2, Day 10 -

Infiltration went perfectly. The look of surprise when the general and cleric realized I was not an orc was quite hilarious... though I restrained myself from actually laughing. What was less hilarious was that they did not even allow me to finish my first sentence. They attacked immediately, without provocation, despite my attempt to show I was not there to fight.

Encountered small (read: very large) tactical snafu. General was disabled first, but this allowed cleric to complete a casting of "spell resistance". I attempted to dispel this with a greater spell breach, but was unsuccessful, and hence was unable to penetrate his resistance with most of my spells. My arcane reserves were nearly exhausted, and I was preparing to disengage with a Potion of Escape when the cleric revealed his true power level. He must certainly have the favor of Ragnor to have channelled the divine power of the Implosion spell... I was woefully unprepared for this... and my constitution did not stand up to the force of his magic. Tactical assessment has been revised. Devastator Cleric of Ragnor is first priority.

I will return tomorrow. Likely the fools will believe I am no threat because the cleric felled me so "easily". Now it is their turn to underestimate their enemy.

Month 2, Day 11 -

Victory is mine. I was able to get the drop on the both of them. With a haste spell active, I disabled the cleric immediately (preventing him from erecting spell defenses), and managed to disable the general seconds later before he could muster any real sort of melee threat. They still refused to parley, even faced with a superior foe and their imminent demise. I had little choice but to slay them both.

It seems they know nothing of peace, nor do they wish to.

So be it.

I shall strike fear into their ranks so deeply that their greatest soldiers will dread becoming a leader, as such a rise in rank will draw my wrath upon them. Would that they had simply talked with me... I would not need to spill so much blood...

Well... I find the Great Hall is a wonderfully tranquil place to collect one's thoughts, and put them down on paper.

I am a scholar of much Lore... many mysterious and rare things are known to me... my libraries are vast, as is my experience...

... and yet... who would have thought that Balors, demons from the Realm of Darkness, could somehow channel the divine energies of Ragnor to create the effect of an "implosion" spell. I doubt the source of the Balor's ability is actually divine... but the result cannot be denied... this is now the second time I have suffered the experience of my body collapsing in on itself with world crushing force... the mere memory of it causes me a certain amount of agony.

How did I manage to get myself imploded by a Balor, you ask? The Gate spell of course... I thought it would be an ideal weapon to use in the frozen Icereach Castle, considering the cold based nature of the inhabitants and the fire based nature of the Balor.

Standing before the great Ice Wyrm of the Castle... I hurriedly performed the incantation and gestures of the spell that would provide me a potent ally, and "meat shield" against the Dragon's onslaught.

Herein, I made an embarassing and fatal beginner's mistake. In my haste, I forgot that I lacked the proper abjurations, namely "Protection from Evil", to protect myself from the Balor's hostility. Hence, I completed the spell, the balor manifested in a fiery blast, and instantly turned on me, immediately hurling the afore-mentioned Imlplosion spell at me.

I would have been more than prepared for most magics he might have employed... fire based or necromantic.... but the implosion effect is neither necromantic, nor infused with death magic. Hence, much like my favorite slaying spell, Disintegrate, it is VERY difficult to resist or avoid... and my presence in the Great Hall would certainly be indicative of this truth.

The foe I had sought out didnt even kill me... my own summoned minion did.... if this story were to become public knowledge, I would be mortified...

On the brighter side of things, I have finally.... FINALLY found a solution to the devourer beetle problem...

Obviously a ring of sustenance or dark crystal ioun stone will alleviate the need to have food on hand, and thus the beetles become uninterested in me... but avoidance is not sufficient to settle the score... oh no.... I was hunger stricken for over a week because of those cheating little insects... there is going to be consequence for them...

And I have found it. Two items. A minor ring of invisibility and a Rod of Missiles. When I spot the little buggers, whether or not they begin to persue me, I make myself invisible with the ring. Then I am able to choose a good spot from range and magic missile one of them. As they attempt to close in, I ativate the rod's Greater Missle Storm power, and the beetles are slain en masse. Pure Serendipity

East of the center of the murky swamp of mists, I discovered a sealed temple.

Surrounded by myriad undead, it had quite the foreboding feel to it.

Naturally, this became the focus of my adventure. Apparently the Gods themselves (at least four of them) had sealed this place... whether to keep fools like myself out, or keep something else in I could not say... although I feel it is likely the latter, as there seems to be some etchings in the Draconic tongue that indicate a way to pass beyond the sealed doors. One must neutralize the elements of the four braziers outside the temple in order to break the seal on its entrance.

I have located four towers around the ruined temple. Unlike the temple itself, they are unsealed. I feel there is no coincidence here... as there are four braziers I need to neutralize, and four towers that I am able to enter. Something this elaborate indicates a profound purpose. I pray that I am not meddling where no mortal was meant to meddle... but I trust that the Gods would not allow me to gain entrance to that which might cause imbalance.

Oddly enough, despite the divine seal on the temple, somehow there exists sufficient ambient negative energy to sustain all these undead... indeed, they seem to propagate, not just subsist here. Either all is not that it seems, or whatever is in that temple is very powerful.

It was a busy few days.

Between scouting the interiors of the four towers, battling the elementals inside each, and procuring the essences needed to neutralize the braziers, then failing to solve the puzzle once, thus wasting each of the essences... and having the repeat the process all over again... I finally gained entry into the temple.

Skeletons galore. I bypassed most of them, though I intended to return and clear them out... If I lived...

I have found a portal bearing the symbol of Gort. It leads to a barren desert valley. Aside from the portal, no teleportation magic functions there... and there were HORDES of skeletons. Some bearing magical weaponry. It would have taken me the better part of a full day to scout and obtain a full, detailed headcount. The aura of malevolence in this place is simply unnerving... and worse... it is terribly quiet. The bustle and murmur of life is all but completely absent...

I battled all the way to the back of the valley... a thousand piles of skeletal remains in my wake, sacrfiiced to Lady Lysis in hopes she would smile upon me with the good fortune I would surely need to return from this place alive.

Atop the peak of the mountain at the back of the Valley, I entered the Citadel of Devoured Souls. Elementals, Vampires, Skeletons, Spiders, Giant Fire Beetles, Shadows, and even a Bebilith Demon Spider barred my passage. Traps aplenty. The evil of that place chilled my soul... despite the lava and flames all about... its was as if the air itself was draining away my life energy...

The lord of the vile Citadel... I found him. Bearing a blade composed of what seemed to be the manfiestation of thirst itself... encased in black plate... his gaze filled with malice.

Necronius Venger.

I cannot help but wonder what a being must do... what they must sacrifice... what corruption and taint they must accept and submit to in order to become a creature of such darkness.

Surely, the power gained could not be denied. But at what cost, such power? To be trapped in a cycle of evil, unable to create anything of value? To spend eternity amassing more power and minions to protect oneself and one's "empire"?

To what end, such an existence?

I suppose it matters no longer, for I have released his soul from the prison he himself had trapped it in.

His might was potent... and his blade was nearly my doom. The Soul Reaver. A blade whose power and magnificence are matched only by its corruption. It possesses a neverending thirst for souls.

I wish to find a way to redeem or purify this blade... and I shall undertake a quest to find a method to do so... but in my heart, I fear I shall have no choice but to destroy the thing...

Discovered hidden, underground temple dedicated to Sorgath.

Veritably overflowing with Drow devotees to the lord of corruption....

Located keys to inner sanctum on three wizards spread out around the fringes of
the temple.

Engaged and defeated High Murderer Cleric of Sorgath, along with his pet wizard, orc bodyguard, and nest of vipers...

Why in the world, after I singlehandedly accomplished the above feats... without taking a single scratch... would a handful of the remaining drow warriors rush to engage me as I attempted to make my exit? If I defeated their leader, in the middle of his temple, while he had the advantage of numbers surrounded by his elite guards and pets, without even being wounded... what made them think they had any chance of defeating me? What possessed them? I cannot fathom it... faced with a similar situation, the only logical course of action I could arrive at would be to run...

I even asked them whilst they flailed at me... I told them to run... I gave them time... they did not deign to respond. What else could I do but slay them...

I must say that I was concerned how the battle would go when Lord Geron Millows told me where I could locate a pair of Demiliches. Of course, I would battle them, but my Lore told me that my spells would be nearly useless.

Blessings and boons to Phyllick Delucian, that noble Dwarf. He did not hesitate to eagerly accompany me when I asked his aid. My plan was quite simple. Layer so many augmentation magics on Phyllick and his weapon that it was possible just the ambient light and energy would be sufficient to destroy the vile undead abominations.... let alone the horrendous effect from the weapon striking them.

Success was both quickly attained and somewhat surprisingly unsatisfying.

I now fear, justifiably, Phyllick and his prowess should he ever be magically coerced into attacking me (thank Lady Lysis that his helmet protects him from such). The Demiliches were obliterated by Phyllick's furious strikes so quickly, I did not have time to cast any spells.... I just stood there in shock and awe. So this is why some wizards refuse to travel alone, and hire on sell-swords to protect them... it makes sense to me now, even if my fierce independent streak would not allow me to do so regularly.

I imagine Lord Millows had similarly eradicated these undead himself, and having witnessed his prowess, I would have to say that he and Phyllick have instilled in me (if not the myriad melee focused enemies I have engaged) a very healthy respect for Martial Prowess coupled with Magical Augmentation. While certainly some of my spells might be more flashy and aesthetically pleasing to watch, my ability to use them is limited to a small number... whilst Phyllick and Lord Millows may continue to strike down their enemies until they become physically exhausted somehow.

Add to this that my spells are sometimes uncooperative and temperamental should I not be perfectly focused during their casting and hence might lose some or all of their effectiveness, the flail of Delucian and the spear of Millows are steady and reliable.

I value such lessons highly, because I feel it is a great strength to understand one's weaknesses, as well as the strength of one's companions.

In the course of my magical studies, I have often found that the only servicable method to discovering what techniques and tactics are effective is exhaustive trial-and-error.

Of course, occaisionaly, rarely, one manages through pure good fortune to immediately stumble upon the optimal solution to a magical dilemma.

A few evenings ago, I had the distinct satisfaction and profound pleasure of such a moment of clarity. Lord Geron Millows and I had taken upon ourselves to delve into the illithid undercity and bring justice and vengeance to them for their slaving and sadism, among other vile practices which cointribute to their being wholly and irredeemably evil. Upon entering, I was nearly killed immediately for my foolishness in neglecting the proper magical defenses, as the psionic blast attack that the Mind Flayers are known for, even by little children, failed somehow to make it onto my list of threats I should be prepared for. Lord Millows saved my life for the hundreth time it seems.

Shortly thereafter, duly chastised by my near death experience, and humbled by my brush with my own mortality, I was feverishly preparing myself for the coming battles, and decided that it would be a potent tactic to hide myself from the Illithids with invisibility, while summoning an indestructible sword-shaped planar rift to strike at them.

Much to both my own and Lord Millows shock and amusement, the first time I employed this tactic, he and I were blessed with the experience of watching safely from invisibility as the planar blade dispatched no less than six Illithid in the span of a few seconds, all the while steadfastly ignoring their attempts to harm it. It was a very fortunate thing that they were all dead, too, as he and I began laughing so hard that my invisibility spell would likely have failed to conceal us from their attacks, we were so loud!

My deepset thanks and gratitude to both Lysis and Mystara for the the gifts of good furtune and potent magic which made this experience possible.

I have had more than my fair share of humbling moments...

For all my magical power and knowledge, for all my combat and tactical expertise... I am still human, and make mistakes.

Yet again, the adage is proven that "Your Focus determines your Reality".

After having battled frost giants, a white dragon, vampires and spectres in a single day... I was wandering thru some caves near the Vale... and happened upon some large rats. I was invisible, and had no fear of them. Then I stumbled (ie. misclicked), and kicked one of them accidentally. My invisibility broken, they immediately swarmed me. They may be only rats, but they are quite large, about the size of a small dog, and their teeth are sharp enough to puncture arteries. If it had been only one or two rats, perhaps a trio, it would have been nothing.

Unfortunately I had neglected to rest earlier, and was without further invisibility spells... and there were nine of them... at least, I think thats how many there were... it was hard to count while having my legs and lower abdomen chewed off. I barely managed to drink a potion to escape, and was badly wounded when I appeared near the Wanderer's altar.

Had I simply remained focused and wary, I would never have found myself in that position.

And we dont even need to discuss why I now ALWAYS carry some method of fire based attack with me to destroy trolls...

Bloody regenerating buggers.... they LOOKED dead... and the shaman had a wand I was interested in...

That was one of my favorite robes, too....

Beholders.


Hate them. Truly, I absolutely HATE them. Hate is a strong word to me, and it applies fully here.

I do not Hate many things. Beholders I hate.

They are just as evil as Illithid, and even more alien, powerful, and deadly.

I could live with all of that. The real reason I hate them is simple. Their large central eye.

Few things can make me feel totally impotent. Even an enemy mage in an anti-magic field can be harmed if I use the environment intelligently... but beholders.... they put ME in the antimagic field... and it leaves me so diminished without my spells that I may as well be nothing more than a fledgling warrior...

I would like to shapeshift into an eye tyrant, just so I could turn my central eye on THEM and see how THEY like losing all their magic!

Beholders. Bah!!!

The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

I wanted to help Sta'stillen Thriceblind and Phyllick Delucian. I wanted to aid their quest for the mystical hooded statues.

I knew there would be danger in bringing them to the underdark Illithid infested caves. I thought I was prepared to protect them.

Sta'stillen would likely disagree. I was able to resurrect the lovely young lady, but she should never have fallen in the first place. I was not cautious enough, I did not use my magic effectively to ensure her safety. Though I cleared the illithids in the immediate vicinity, I did not use an invisibility spell to hide her presence should more arrive. She paid a price for my lack of circumspection.

Not a mistake I will allow to repeat. To her credit, she is possessed of a strong fighting spirit. She bounced back very quickly. Shortly after that mishap, she and Phyllick charged into battle and completely devastated a large troop of ogres in the foothils of the Northern Wall Mountains.

It is always a pleasure to see good triumph in such a glorious way.

The summer is upon us.... and my robes, wondrous as they are with powerful utility magics... are roasting me alive.

Mental note: Must design illusion spell to simulate appearance of robes to facilitate going out in public in my britches to avoid heat exhaustion.

Mental Note 2: Locate and approach owner of icereach castle, hopefully it isnt that blasted Dragon, and attempt to negotiate for a summer home there.

Mental Note 3: Investigate possibility of enchanting robes with an activateable "cool breeze" for summer climate control.

Mental Note 4: Buy more stylish linens and britches incase afore mentioned illusion effect is dispelled unexpectedly. Perhaps a contingency to teleport me home, too... prefer to avoid the "walk of shame" that would ensue without it...

There simply are not words to truly capture the feeling I have now, at this moment.

I must try to capture it, however... I know that such moments, such feelings, are a miracle in themselves, and only happen once in a lifetime.

As I sit penning these words, comfortably in my sanctum, I am possessed with a sense of calm and security I have not felt since I can ever remember. And yet, questions plague my mind...

Always, there was some underlying sense in the back of my mind that Time was running out, and that the cost of delay would be unimaginably high. The prophecy would not fulfill itself... it would require initiative and action on the part of those who would take up the struggle to defeat the Great Evil.

Inaction of goodly folk is what allows evil to prevail. The courage to face fear, and fight thru it.... is a rare quality... and this, in my mind, is why Evil can spread so quickly.

If we, those invdividuals who had accepted this quest to preserve the good of this realm, did not focus our efforts and push ourselves to achieve each small success that we have had, the Great Evil and his terrible armies would have fallen upon us, while we were unprepared, sooner or later. This would have been the doom of nearly all that remains of Good in the land.

The elves, dwarves, humans, gnomes, halflings... all would have been slaughtered and enslaved. It simply could not be allowed... death was an acceptable price to prevent it.

I stood there, gazing down upon His broken form, as the light faded from His unholy gaze... I saw it with my own eyes. I laid Him low with my own magic. And yet, some part of me cannot bring itself to believe that the cause of the pervasive, ever-present sense of danger and impending destruction has been defeated.

I am sure the clerics of Ragnor will return Him to life... and I shall have to quest again to lay Him low, and repeat this until I am able to find a way to banish or destroy Him permanently. Much as I have been fortunate to have Lady Lysis parley with Lady Zolaras for my continued existence despite my many defeats, Ragnor will not allow His chosen to be eradicated so "easily".

Just the idea of calling the feat "easy" offends me on many levels, as I would never have survived let alone won through if Lady Lysis and Lady Mystara had not seen fit to guide and bolster my spells to strike powerfully and true... or the help of so many wise and powerful allies.

Holy Magus, Lord Geron Millows.

Guardian Phyllick Delucian.

Loremaster and Virtuoso Mel O' Dus.

Master Marksman Amilmar Te'fenocen.

May these names be remembered and hallowed to the End of Days, for it is their courage, strength, and support that made this victory possible.

However, the fact remains we have not seen the last of Him.

And still, I know that with each defeat, His threat will be diminished.  His soul will suffer a price for each one, reducing His power... and as I myself have discovered, the more power one gains, the higher that price becomes. Add to this, that with each battle, we shall learn more of a foe we had previously known nothing of, and hence we will be more able to properly prepare to defeat Him.

It is the knowledge of these things that somehow seems to have allayed the lurking paranoia I have become accustomed to. It leads me to thoughts that feel strange now... yet these thoughts were what I once considered to be part of a "normal" existence.

Planting vegetables in my garden, sewing up the holes in my linens, restocking my pantry to cook a feast for some friends, writing some short fictional stories, adopting a cat for me to care for and to keep me company, perhaps even finding a Lady to share my life with...

These seem out of place now... surreal. Once upon a time, they were all I dreamt of.

Now, adventuring and struggling, exploring and battling seems to have supplanted these basic desires somehow... and I am left with a self-examination that does not please me.

What have I allowed this quest to take from me? What have I become?

Am I less a man now, for all my power, than I was before I chose this path? Or have I simply strayed from my true self, out of necessity, and must now work my way back to normalcy?

I can only hope the latter rings true in time. I know the Balance cannot be denied for long, if ever.

Another Evil will rise in time. I pray that fortune and magic smile upon me with the power to meet the threat, my allies beside me.

Oh, how Pride goeth before the fall...

How smugly I stood there, casting the spell that I knew would obliterate the essence of the undead Dracolich who dared to attack me and bar my passage.

I knew the spell would weaken me greatly, but it would surely slay the beast... and I would then simply access my healing items to restore myself.

Just when we become so comfortable and overconfident in our power, Fate, that Lady whom protects me and guides me, will teach us a singularly valuable lesson in humility.

My spell completed, and the brilliant flash of my own life force being nearly totally drawn out of my body obliterated the Dracolich as I had planned. I slumped to my knees, barely able to stand, and touched my gloves to restore my health...

Too late, I realised two VERY important things that I had heretofore neglected to notice...

First, I was not wearing the proper set of gloves to heal myself. I was still foolishly wearing the gloves that I use for teleportation... so my fingers fumbled and no magic came forth to restore me.

Secondly, I was still standing in an area of extreme cold energy that my resistance was mostly, but not totally, able to counter.... and while at my fullest of health, the harm it caused would be minor.... however, with my strength all but spent and my body barely clinging to the threads of life, it was a lethal danger should I fail to heal myself quickly....

And so I did indeed fail to heal myself, due to the first of these realizations...

As the numbness of my frozen death set in, and my consciousness began to fade, I cursed myself a fool for my hubris... Only moments later, I recieved the blessing of Lysis and was returned to life where I had fallen.

She teaches harsh lessons, but her generosity is more than I deserve.

It would appear that my supposition regarding the Great Evil of the prohecy of Anga Nol was quite correct.

Gron Bloodsplatterer was returned to life.

And now, after my latest engagement with him, where Lord Geron Millows and that red-winged weaver of tunes and tales Mel O D'us won thru after a lengthy planning session and a dangerously long fight in which we saw some portions of our plan fall apart... I have a new research project.

Gron's melee abilities are that of a demigod, and his is also able to channel the power of Ragnor with some degree of mastery. It is those channeling abilities that most deeply concern me...

I had prepared many castings of Mordenkainen's Disjunction and Greater Dispelling so that I might stand back and negate Gron's attempts to spellcast (a gambit that relied on my assumption that I, as a focused arcane spellcaster, would trump the spellpower of a being who split their focus) whilst my comrades undertook the task of wounding him badly enough to subdue or kill him.

While I stood, readied, to counterspell Gron's magic into nothingness... I was shocked when he did finally begin casting, as I am uncertain whether I simply failed to identify his spell, or somehow my arcane energies would not attune themselves to the divine ones he was manifesting... but in either event, I was totally unable to stop his magic... and were it not for some layered protective spells that the three of us had wisely chosen to prepare, it might have been the death of us.

I am still uncertain how this could have happened. Surely, I have seen even focused clerics cast those same spells... and I have been able to introduce sufficient and precisely tuned and timed arcane disruptions into their spells to have them dissipate harmlessly... I have done it many times before.... but this time, when it mattered so greatly... I was unable.

It shows me that I still have much to learn of magic... and I will learn of it... in time.

Finally managed to bump into Alastair Synge. He is the up and coming bard I have been hearing about.

I must say it was a pleasure. I rounded up Al and Phyllick, and did a tour of some important sites to show the aging ale-lover some of the wider world than he may have seen. It had been a while since I had enjoyed myself on a trip that much. Synge is an impressively quick study, and has an equally impressive wit. I must arrange for him to meet my other companions.

I see much potential in him. Now to make sure it does not go to waste.

I already gave him one potion of addiction breaking... and made a lighthearted comment about my concern that he was enslaved by his favored vice. His reponse was lighthearted as well, and indicated the willing cannot be enslaved. It may be quite some time before anything or anyone can open his eyes... I pray that Lysis does not fate him to pass beyond before he can free his mind from such a burden.

I have more potions... and I will save them. I fear a point in the future where he will possibly suffer in such a way as to lay bare the price of his chosen diversion... and it may well be too high for his liking.... or mine. That will be when he needs me, and I will be there... and have the potion waiting.

Until then, I can continue to enjoy his company, and the process of sharing with him opportunities to experience and learn about Aenea. I foresee that he will be a great teacher and guide to many others, and it is this vision that I feel must be rendered into the present.

There I stood... next in line to purchase some groceries from the local vegetable merchant for the porridge I had planned for the day.

I was disguised by an illusion from my hat of disguise... but foolishly I had chosen to appear similar in features to my actual face. Upon seeing me, the grocer did a double-take and then squinted for a closer inspection as I shied away, uncomfortable.

Must have been something in my eyes or demeanor... for he noted the deception... and somehow must have recognized me. He called to a young boy nearby and when the boy came closer, whispered something I did not catch into the boy's ear. I thought nothing of it. A short while later the shouting began and soon the whole town threw up a hue and cry, gathering and surrounding me like some spectacle in a carnival... pushing, prodding, pointing, yelling...

When the press of the crowd became so forceful that I could not spellcast and the noise so loud I could barely hear myself think, I had no choice...

What was I supposed to do? Stand there and try to calm them down with a speech?

Nay... I am no politician. I dropped my groceries, dispelled my illusion, and called on the powers of my cloak to take me home.

I am nearly ready to give up with trying to reclaim my former "mundane" existence.

I will never regret slaying the Great Evil.... not even for a moment.

However, there are times when I wish nobody knew I had done so...

I do believe I shall have to swear off the consumption of alcohol henceforth.

I have a headache no cleric could cure... and can barely read these blurred lines as I write them.

How could I have gotten myself into such a state? Why... the excitement of meeting new people and getting carried away in celebration, of course. That, and my general malaise over being "trapped" into some sort of celebrity status with the folk of the region...

I know, I know.... "Poor Bane, everybody is happy to see him and offers kind words and admiration wherever he goes... I can't imagine how hard that must be for him... poor sod..."

Bugger that. Just try and go through a day getting errand's done and see how well it goes...

I believe I shall need to hire an assistant. Perhaps an apprentice. I do value my privacy and peace and quiet highly, but things are simply untenable right now.

Can you believe that I actually teleport to K'nort Scr'ar to battle the Orcish Border guard as a means of *diversion* from these dilemmas? Even as I draw my blade and prepare to fight, I know how unhealthy and ridiculous such a thing is... perhaps part of me is just hoping some orc gets lucky and lands a strike that will fell me quickly... I fear Lady Lysis has no such release planned for me...

Where was I? Oh, yes... the drinking... where has my time gone? I can certainly say that it is not better than having a disagreeable woman in my life... but perhaps at least the woman might help my situation by caring for me.

Suffice to say, I had a drunken and bawdy debacle of a time at the Sleeping Dragon in after I bumped into a barbarian, one Barius Bloodclaw. Likeable fellow, and very enthusiactic about drinking. He, Grog, and Alastair will likely meet soon... and then I fear the Nectarian Army may be called in to quell the riot that ensues... at least if *my* couple of hours in his company could be used as any indication.

It started when I offered the newcomer a drink. It went down hill rapidly from there. I think I somehow actually felt some adolescent urge to *impress* this man... I cannot fathom how such a thing came upon me... but it seems the only explanation for such foolish and immature behavior on my part.

Ale, Dwarven Ambergold, Mead, and then of course... three sheets to the wind, and twice that in the bag... we turned to the Rotgut.

In retrospect, I realize that my inexperience as a "drinker" was what lead me to choose orcish rotgut over a more reasonable hard drink, such as the ever popular Fishhead's oil.

General Laziness mayhaps played a factor as well, for I vaguely remember considering the trek to Macedone, (I was still *just* sober enough to be consciously aware that teleportation while drunk was a recipe for the highest order of embarassment and social disasters... having once previously teleported myself into someone's chamberpot...) and my initial reaction to such consideration was a summary "Naaahhhh...."

And so it began to spiral out of control. I pride myself on having a good memory... at least for an old fool of my age... and yet I cannot accurately describe the events that followed with any confidence because I simply cannot remember specifics through the blurred, drunken, haze in my mind.

I think I ended up teleporting us both... and I think I was trying for my sanctum... but I dont think it worked right. I also think we both expelled the contents of our bellies onto the landscape somewhere along the way... and that might explain the foul smell and discolored bricks outside the front door to my sanctum...

I only remember waking up on the floor, next to my chair by the fireplace... alone. And if I didn't know better, I would swear that my cheeks had the remains of dried tears on them... Imagine that... the Archmage bawling like a child infront of a drunken barbarian he just met...

There is a play to be written in there somewhere, but I am no bard... and I think I am embarassed enough to pay Barius for his silence regarding the matter if he is willing to understand my shame and keep the story to himself... such would be a vlauable thing to me... as I already get enough unwanted attention in public... at least the kind of attention I get now is supportive and positive in nature.

Should Barius tell his tale to others, I can only hope the townsfolk debunk it as pure lunacy... but I am not confident my luck would hold out in that regard. So... I am left with only one option...

I must bribe him. *sigh*

I believe I may have stumbled upon the solution to my dilemma regarding the well-meaning but overzealous acts of praise the local townsfolk sometimes offer to me.

A harmless, but impressive spell. The Great Thunderclap.

The idea came to me when I was observing a magical experiment in the silverleaf forest. A group of orcs was milling about as I watched, invisibly. I wanted to investigate their tent, but did not wish to fight them... so I needed to drive them from the area. I waited until one of them put a pot on the fire to cook, and then unleashed a great thunderclap to scare them away.

When the shockwaves had passed and the orcs had mostly come to their senses, they stood dumbfounded for a few moments, not realizing what had happened.

My spell had cancelled the invisibility that hid me, so they stared for a moment. I drew my forceblade, casting a flame spell upon it, and brandished it menacingly. To my amazement, the Orcs did not run at my show of magical might... they drew weapons and tried to slay me. They failed. The incident did, however, demonstrate to me how effective Great Thunderclap can be at getting an audience's *full* attention.

It will not permanently harm anyone, but it will certainly quell an over-excited crowd.

I do not wish these good folk to fear me, I am a person just like they are... but perhaps I need them to realize that the reason I was successful, my knowledge of Mystara's gift, also empowers me to control most interactions as I wish, and they would do well to respect my personal boundaries.

This life sometimes takes a circuitous route.

After all my trials and struggles to battle the eye tyrants and learn the best tactics and strategy, I think I have finally become what one might consider an expert on the topic. Which is good, because I also fancy myself a Sage, and thus it is more of less my vocation to be an expert in most things.

It seems all the trial and error.... and many many failures, the worst of which being turned into a statue for extended periods of time (thats MY trick, dammit!)... and some of my comments about the topic have gained me a bit of reputation. I have now had two fellow adventurers approach me for answers regarding these and other combat situations.

Perhaps I may yet find a calling as an instructor in the myriad forms of combat and tactics? The idea certainly does not repulse me.

Hell would be... an apt name... for the Dark realm.

It suits the place. It is quite... Hellish.

Mind-twisting, soul-warping evil... fear, hatred, sorrow, hopelessness, apathy... and pain... these things are boundless within that place.

So much pain...

I have been to bad places before.... I have felt bad things.

Those memories are like far off.... fading echoes... leagues distant... barely registering... overshadowed by the newer... more visceral, more powerful horrors.

I have answers to questions that I would never have asked... for sanity's sake if not for the sake of what good still lives in my heart.

Memories of sensations and situations that have no benefit... only bringing agony or ... sadness.

All one's hopes twisted to broken promises, drowned in a tidal wave of failures and denials. Truth revealed as lies. Virtues tainted and wretched. Dreams and wishes brought to perverse fruition bearing only rotten and sour revelations.

The wieght of a burden so foul that one copes by yearning for oblivion.

Escape was akin to the release from a tortured life.... a small death.... to prepare me for the one I have not met.

I know now.... what Liches fear. And they are right to do so.

Recently finished work on my new teleportation gateway.

Works nicely. I am now able to safely tuck away all my magical items and research/labrotary/workshop equipment in my private sanctum area. It is inaccessible to anyone who is not attuned, and thankfully I am the only one who is...

Still, I am curious how some folks might react when they realize where I have set up that area of my sanctum. I am sure Jay Braysin would have a significant reaction... though it might actually upset him...

He loves the moons, and might not be pleased that I have partially taken up residence on one of them...

Still, I don't think he could fault me for using the safest most secluded place I could think of. After all, where else would be more secure?

wait... you built a wanderer's portal to the moon from within your sanctum?

a familiar line from my favorite hobbit comes to mind...

"It comes in pints??? I'm getting one!"

-- Side note for Crideas... Whilst during one of his many break-in attempts to the sanctum of the mad mage, Jay Braysin came across your portal and did indeed feel curious when peering through one of your windows to look upon the landscape outside.. Sharlo has been tarnished.. you can see your little sanctum on a good clear night from Aenea too... ... and yes you really really really need to remember how to lock your front door... .... with no key's granting access Jay still finds himself able, at times, to just wander straight into your innner sanctum... .... Although he did feel blessed to be so close to Sharlo... --

//ooc ... I thought it was an ace touch of class for Crideas who is suppose to be one of the most powerful wielders of arcane-physics-defying-world-breaking-magic users... ace new house and layout, rather liked the Duel area and the notice ruleboard.. very "Fight Club"-esque.. ....

Note to self - I have observed odd residue in the shape of footprints in the entryway... it seems I need to remember to lock that blasted door... or better yet, weave a spell to do it for me.

Teleportation gateway?!? Scotty, beam me up!

It seems whilst I have been exploring the planes and the near infinite amount of knowledge to be collected from them... things have not been peaceful in Aenea.

I returned to the Sleeping Dragon a few days ago to discover there had been not only an attack by a conquesting Red Dragon named Talon (who was thankfully defeated), but also now an undead uprising led by a mysterious Lich.... and his pet dracolich.

It seems, for the time being I will need to remain on this plane to gather information and lend my magic to the Vale's defense.

But....why would anyone want to attack the Vale directly? What does the vale have that is of such unique value? Who is this Lich, and how can be be stopped?

These questions require answers. My divinations will begin this very day.

It seems the Elves of the Crystalsong Forest have some skeletons in their closet. Almost literally.

A wayward Elven son, on the verge of imprisonment as punishment for magical crimes of a necromantic nature..... he disappeared on the eve of his 182nd birthday.... leaving behind a mother who grieves to this day for her lost son....

...only to later resurface in the service of Demilches in the silverleaf forest.... to once again mysteriously disappear...

Investigation into this elven family yielded significant revelations.

The Family line can be traced down through the years, several generations to the elven mother of none other than the Vale's own Valorian Blackwood.

Still.... I fail to see how they might be connected otherwise.... perhaps some investigation into Valorian's past in in order...

It has been many decades since my journey into the Arcane began.

After so long, I finally grant myself, my vanity, the conceit of recording these thoughts.

Several lifetimes or more it seems judging by the ache in my bones, and the dreams that still come to me. And yet, I still feel pangs that my knowledge of the Art is akin to that of a child learning to speak properly. For all that I have accomplished, when I look to my future, I still feel lost... and part of me now welcomes the death I have always feared... the end to my journey.

I lost my mentor over 50 years ago. Rather, I betrayed and slew her... but she was lost to me before that. Not a day goes by that I do not regret my action. Not a single day that I do not miss talking and training under her watchful gaze. She made the Art "safe" for me, even in all its mystery... my failures and mistakes could only cause so much harm while she protected me. Her guidance gave me stability, and security in my explorations.

In reality, there was no other choice... but the pain of it... the betrayal... hers of me, and mine in reciprocation... it stings the conscience always. Such things fade only slightly over time, like the edge of a knife grows dull through constant use. I have learned that even doing the "right" thing can have a terrible price, just as does apathy or corruption. Part of me will never be able to trust fully again. I will always be guarding against similar betrayal.

The dreams still play over and over. Not haunting, not comforting. More... unsettling.... than anything. I saw what Jerriduth was doing, what she had become... even before the dreams. The dreams brought it all sharply into focus, prevented me from trusting blindly, from turning away from the darkness that grew right in front of me. I saw in my dreams the symbols that made clear her plan in its entirety, and how my death would play a part in it.

I still wonder if I might have found my escape without the dreams... if I could have finally faced my inner fears, overcome my emotional attachment and weakness for her, and acted to stop her on my own merit. I may never truly know. The question remains a chink in the armor of my confidence... the question that causes my will to falter.

Even in the Dark Realm, they tormented me with it and a multitude of other regrets and failings.

I do not dream them constantly, but often enough. The runes and sigils of the arcane... the symbols of power.... their patterns and meaning practically dance in my sleeping mind... they impart secret hints at their meanings... and how those meanings are mutable with differing combinations. I wonder if the source of the images is some sort of spirit guiding me... or some part of my subconscious with a latent talent for deciphering them. I have even arrogantly wondered if Mystara herself had somehow forgiven my mortal love for her, and shown pity on me with such a gift.

Would that I could have more time... to find my center... to find my essence.... and to find how it fits into the unlocking of Arcane potential. My brush with the Dark Realm has shown me all too clearly what awaits should I choose undeath. I will accept oblivion over eternal torment... it is that simple for me. Some things are not worth the price.

This yearning for greater understanding, it has always driven me. It is what Jerriduth saw in me... why she tutored me. Why she feigned to love me... it was that passion she sought to harness. It is what the demons used to assault my psyche. It is both gift... and curse.

When my death comes, what will become of it?

Do I have a duty to protect and preserve this special thing I have been given?

Perhaps there is yet new life to be found... more time to be had. If there exists a chance without undeath, I must pursue it. I am not yet done... I still have much to learn... of Magic... and myself.

A dream realized at last!

To explore the bounds of life and Magic without the constant press of time and the limit of Human lifespan....

I have no memory of a time when I have felt better. The color has returned to my beard and even some of the hair has returned to my once balding pate. I feel young and spry again... it is.... simply miraculous. Praise and thanks be to the Great Lady Lysis who has seen that I am fated to continue on....

I will struggle to regain my former glory, but I will do so knowing that time shall hound me no longer. My form is nearly ageless, and stronger than ever before.... even moreso than when I once foolishly severed the greater part of its connection to my soul.

I am fully alive... and I am granted the time of an Elf, perhaps more, in order to grow and learn beyond the shallow confines of my mortal consciousness. The excitement, the eagerness, and the thrill of it bring joy even just upon the simple moment of waking. I can afford to be patient now, I can afford to be farsighted.... to be forward thinking and to try and shape a greater future for this realm.

It was like there were a set of shackles.... those of impending mortality.... which I have been freed from at long last.... and without the horrific and eternal cost of the alternatives.

I may yet discover my full potential now.... but more importantly.... I can afford not to rush.... and can *enjoy* the journey along the way.

And so.... it would seem... I have a Brother.

I use the word "seems" because I am not sure. Until recently, I would have been certain I did not have a brother. Or any suviving family for that matter.

With my parents long passed, as well as my sister Elsbeth... to my knowledge, the only "family" I have is my familiar Scorch, and some of the allies who I have been fortunate enough to meet and fight alongside to defend the lands.

It its literally a lifetime ago that I left home to study... a lifetime of memories. And none of them include a Brother.

And yet, rumors and messages reach me of a man claiming to be a blood relative. My initial reaction was one of disbelief, thinking it to be some sort of sham... a trick... perhaps to gain my confidence and betray me. To further increase my concern was the reports that this man held no love, but rather a decided anger towards me. For what I cannot fathom.

Would that it were not so. I would be delighted to know and learn of a younger sibling. Being the recluse that I have become, having a true blood family would be welcome, indeed. To foster a relationship, and aid one another, perhaps even adventure together. It seems in this, Lady Fortune has seen fit not to bless me, however.

I do not wish a conflict with this man. I fear his anger will not be appeased easily... and until I know more of him, and his past, I can do little but wait and watch. It would be foolish to confront him.

Perhaps I will learn the truth of him, and avert a conflict. I can only hope he does not cause harm to others in order to draw me out. If he is actually my brother, I am not certain that I could bring myself to battle him.... let alone kill him. There must be another way...

Times have become dark.

Darker even than during the Orcish Reign of Terror. 3 years ago, I would have thought such a thing impossible.

I believe the source... the cause.... of this darkening is traceable to one entity. Defeated, but lurking in the shadows, plotting.... he has unleashed the evil in his soul and somehow breached the planar barriers that separate our world from the place I once nearly damned myself to.

Veleron has somehow opened a path to the hellish Dark Realm, though I know not how... I aim to find out.

With a heavy heart, I accept what is coming. That little fiend's revenge. There will be blood, and fire, and death. Many, many innocents will suffer and perish in agony.

I do not fear the battle, nor my own death in it should such be necessary. I loathe the consequences... the casualties... the loss... the pain. Even should the defenders of the lands unite and be victorious... those we stand to protect will not escape unscathed.

I truly fear that the pathway cannot be closed.... that it cannot be sealed shut to permanently prevent demonic aggression into the realm of mortals. I do not even know how much time we have before they strike.... and they will strike.

Worse still... I believe that Veleron will merely use this as a distraction. He will not lead the demons or even incite them to attack. He will bide his time and await the fallout, seeking an opportunity to reassert his rule. He will force us to defend against enemies on two or more fronts.

What I believe may be our best course, will be to garrison the contact points with the dark realm... but not with mere soldiers. We need mighty automatons, magic-users and soldiers. Enough to keep a strong and steady rotating watch on anything that might attempt to pass thru. As well, we will need early warning and expedited response procedures should the garrison(s) be overrun.

Perhaps I get ahead of myself. These are plans for a later time.

What will absolutely be needful is a plan and method of capturing and imprisoning Veleron. If he cannot be destroyed, that is. I do believe he is still "mortal"... at least as mortal as a Vampire can be. What confounds me is the lack of lore regarding his origins, and exactly what he is. A half-fiend vampire, yes. But more than that? Possibly... we need more information. We need to learn of his defenses... I suspect they are more than mere spells.

Until he decides to reveal himself, however, there is little to be done but focus on the more immediate threat.

I suppose I shall need to investigate the Dark Realm further, as it does not yet seem that the demons have organized a full assault... and the only portal I know of that they use is one-way to our side. There must be a way to cross to theirs, and gather more information.

Perhaps, we might even stop them before they can invade....

That thought gives me pause... as it may be one of the most insane things I have ever penned.

Insane or not, I will not have them here. I endured their torments once, and I escaped... though the experience has marked me. I will not see others suffer the same or worse.

I will not have it.

For long months after my escape from the realm of Demons... my mind was filled with sickening turmoil in the day, and fevered nightmares in the dark.

Sorting out the memories was all but impossible... how much was real, how much was fabricated by the fiends, how much was imagined by the darkness in my own psyche?

I was forced to compromise, and make my own judgements. In the end, did it really matter how much of it was not 'real'? For me, it all seemed to be quite real. Loathsome, wretched, and awful.

There are still some of the memories that I deny as unreal, but I suspect that is more for the sake of my own sanity than any clues or evidence to suggest they were so.

To admit that I was witness to, or had part in such depraved events... I know that I was not truly in control of my thoughts or actions... I feel the truth in that... but even so, the memories contain sensations of enjoyment and lust... carnal desire to inflict suffering, to savor it... along with darker desires to join with the unholy in blasphemous acts of uncontrolled passion.

What I suppose still haunts me most was the heedlessness of it all... there was absolutely no fear left in me... no concern for consequence... what did it matter? For all I cared, I was already dead... and this was my eternal reward.

I look back and see myself there... reveling in those moments... and as much as I know myself, my nature, would give the lie to it... a small fraction of me had tasted the truest freedom in abandoning myself.

At the time, I had no choice, really... I was losing my mind and could only choose which type of insanity to embrace... cling to myself, my own personal 'reality', thus isolating my mind in its own prison of denial and suffering, refusing to accept the 'reality' being forced upon me... or forget myself... become what I despised and feared... embrace the suffering and enslave myself to it no matter whether it be my own or that of another.

I think the former choice was what they wanted.... for me to cripple my own psyche... by my own choice. Had I taken that path, I might never have recovered... the cycle of punishment, suffering, and reward would have lost all meaning... and I would never have tried to escape. I would have completed the walls of denial around myself that they had begun to construct. I would have been totally helpless... nothing more than a harmless plaything. I would have been rendered unable to act against anything which existed outside the bounds of my psyche's self-made prison (that would mean I was accepting the existence of such a thing), let alone escape it.

My choice, if you can call it that, was to empower myself. I knew the corruption would become intoxicating. I knew I would lose all sense of right. I also knew if I could make myself love the torment, enjoy it, that the fiends would delight in twisting me further. To make me a mockery of my old self.

Defiance seemed a useless thing in that place. I was so thoroughly defeated, there was nothing left to do but cope. And the only way to cope was to take it all in... every last bit of it. Ride atop the waves of sadism and self-loathing, rather than be dragged underneath and swept away.

Time had lost meaning, of course. The cycle of torment was endless, and sleep no longer existed as anything but a faint memory. Hours and days blurred together with no daylight cycle to distinguish them, as the mind began losing its tenuous grasp of the difference between dream and reality.

There came a point where my 'acclimation' to enslavement... my lack of fear and compassion and self-preservation... brought back something I had forgotten.

I felt it well up strongly... during a time that I was made to inflict and then endure. I began to resent losing my 'turn' to inflict. It was primal. There was little thought behind it. The feeling surged up, and I lashed out. It was feeble and futile, of course. I was physically broken for it.... but during the punishment, I remember... smiling through my bleeding teeth, blood running from my nose and all the gashes... I felt it, so warm... so comforting...

Outrage.

Anger at their supremacy, anger at my weakness, anger at the never-ending, stagnant cycle.

The power to fight... to pursue change.

For a time, I clung to that feeling. I embraced it and collected it within me, let it gather and condense itself. Twisted and broken as my mind was, I knew the outrage was my salvation. I began to awaken from the fabricated demonic nightmare.

Silently, I began to defy the demon's control.... I began to believe I was not powerless, and escape was possible. In my anger I knew there was so much, so terribly wrong that I could not order it all in my thoughts, much less express it... but I could use my anger to do something about it.

That was what I needed - a goal to channel the outrage towards. As I compacted and intensified it, I lashed out more often. Each time beaten and broken for my effort, but quietly smiling inwardly. Eventually, my mind tapped into that focused outrage, and took hold of that primal flame, absorbing it. Lysis had granted me these fortunes of Outrage and Hope, and I would not squander them.

I had known great magics, and the anger would help me fight off the twisted mental haze of my captivity, to focus my thoughts and remember... but only if I could control myself.

They say revenge is a dish best served cold.

I have always believed the most dangerous anger is one that has matured past the heat of passion and whim, lasted long enough and gathered enough strength to become cold, calm and calculated.

An anger grown rooted so deep into one's core that it becomes a singular, defining purpose of their existence.

A fire as intense as the plasma at the heart of a star, but controlled.

An inner rage so focused, that it lacks the dangerous chaos inherent to strong emotion.

Held in check by sheer force of will, like a supernova blast contained and packed so densely that it now draws its own fire inward.

Feeding off of its own boundless fury, gripped mentally with the inescapable, crushing force of a black hole - like a frozen, furious void punched through the very fabric of creation.

Such was my anger when I finally awoke to remembering my old self.

There was only a short battle. I had recovered only enough to strike down the fiends entrusted with overseeing my captivity. It felt wholly unreal and yet satisfying to render their physical forms down into dust and vapors. I tried to incite the other prisoners, to wake them, and save them... but they could not cast off the shackles the Demons had locked onto their psyches, and had lost all hope. They scurried from me, swatted and cursed at me, or simply ignored me as if I were just another torture mechanism. I was able to reach one of the summoning circles, and enact quite possibly the hastiest and most ramshackle planeshifting ritual I have ever cast.

I appeared inside a cave. I slumped instantly... chest heaving, mind racing. I struggled to get a grasp of the situation that had so rapidly changed... I was terrified, and I had forgotten what that sensation felt like.

I heard a drip of water somewhere nearby...

Any moment, I expected the illusionary cave to fade, as it and so many other safe places had during my initial captivity, only to be replaced with the sneering fiendish faces, horns, fangs, claws, hooves.... and the smell... that brimstone odor of inevitability... of defeat.

Minutes passed. Still the dripping... I had caught my breath.... but my mind was spinning faster than ever. Was I free? Had I just willfully trapped myself back into a world where I would never know that sweet, intoxicating, true freedom? What if they followed me? How much time had I lost? What about the others?

In the end... head still overflowing with questions and newly remembered fears... I succumbed to sleep.

It took a few days to realize that only a month had passed. So far I had fallen... so much I had experienced... in only a single cycle of the moons. I was still twisted, as well... but was on my way to recovery. The outrage made me strong enough to fight the urges, the lust, the desires. I slayed the demons of my mind surprisingly quickly after my return home. I categorized, compartmentalized, organized, and codified each bit that I could remember. I neither recorded nor spoke a single word of the details. I forced it all to make as much sense as I was able, and then slowly learned to thrust it out of my waking mind.

I had never intended to go back. I had never hoped that I might bring Justice to the fiends, free their captives, or even explore the bounds of their realm.

Now, as I fastened that most uncomfortable of rings onto my hand, with it's fiendish inscription giving off heat and cold both, and prepared to step on the stone dais only a few strides from an Altar to She who Empowers my Heart and Mind... as I wondered what awaited me beyond... I thought back to the waking nightmare, and swallowed my fears.

I tried to summon that frozen fire within me, the controlled explosion, so white-hot, so focused, that it provided no heat, but fueled itself and sharpened my psyche like a razor's edge. I felt the cold rage and deadly calm sink into my chest and flow out to my limbs. I felt that righteous Outrage... such power. As my foot touched down on the stone dais, I simply murmured:

"Despair fiends, for I have returned."

Where once, I sought release and 'diversion' amidst battle with the Orc legions of K'nort S'crar, I now find I have graduated to a more cathartic and dangerous hobby - harrying and skirmishing the Fiends in their home.

Culling their numbers and preventing any sort of formal organization that might lead to an effective invasion force, I cannot deny the enjoyment I derive from destroying them... though I continually question whether it is justified or not.

After 'studying' the Demons of the Dark Realm for some time, I feel it is prudent to record what I have learned.

For all their arrogance and condescension towards we 'lowly mortals', how satisfyingly 'mortal' these demons truly are. In our realm, yes, we cannot hope to permanently destroy them.

That limitation does not apply to slaying them within their own realm, as my forays and subsequent battles with them have shown... at least in most cases.

Powerful? Yes, indeed they are most powerful. Deadly and sadistic? Surely. Cunning? Without doubt.

By no means do these beings fall easily... but they CAN fall.

I do not advocate underestimating them, nor attempting to engage demonic hordes alone, or without sufficient skill and power to effectively fight them.

I simply rejoice that there does seem to truly be hope for the survival of our realm. The demons tend towards overconfidence, especially where mortals are concerned. They make up for much of this in ferocity and numbers, but they do show a decided lack of coordination and tactics.

Properly prepared, I believe a force of sufficient strength could hold them to a stalemate. Furthermore, with proper planning and timing, an invasion force could possibly succeed in establishing a foothold and control over critical sites in the Dark Realm. I believe it is this threat, should the demons grow bold enough to attempt a full-scale invasion, that will allow us to stem the tide after any initial assault.

All that said, I deeply hope that such an assault never happens. The loss of life would be incalculably high.

Now, I shall endeadvor to record more salient details on the denizens I have encountered.

Soulbourne Demons - the tragic result of demonic sacrifices (in most cases), and also I believe, the form that some greater fiends may be relegated to temporarily when destroyed outside the Dark Realm. Misshapen, grotesque humanoid meatbags, very durable, noteworthy melee abilities. No ranged threats. Usually encountered in packs. come in two forms - lesser and greater - differeniated by size, greater version is larger and tougher/stronger.

Balor Hunters - somewhat diminished spellcasting compared to common balors, improved durability, significantly improved melee abilities.

Balor Shamans - more tactically sound approach to spellcasting than common Balors. Tend to favor spell defenses, melee defenses, disabling area spells, and summoning. Seem to be able to automatically quicken spells, or are natively Hasted. Negligible melee threat, though summons may constitute such. Recommend melee combat.

Dark Realm Ooze - on the surface one might surmise this to be an even more pathetic form of Demonic life than even the soulbourne. About as durable as the soulbourne, but posessed of a deceptively nasty petrification touch, as well as an extremely potent dissolving attack on petrified victims. They move slowly, so keeping distance is feasible in theory.... but these creatures to tend to reside in areas lacking open space.

Barbed Demon - Nasty claw attacks, extremely evasive. Also capable of generating a field of magical "barbs" that do minor damage to opponents who strike them in melee. Barbs are dispellable. No ranged threats.

Marilleth Dervish - total lack of spellcasting ability compared to common Marilleth. As the name "dervish" would imply... incredibly dangerous in melee. Six arms equipped with various deadly and potent magical weapons, wielded with blinding speed and masterful skill. Extremely durable, as well.

Darkfire Reaver - One of the toughest creatures I have ever encountered. Definitely top 5. Makes a common Balor seem like a cuddly teddy bear. A furious, whirling dreadnaught of flaming, negative-energy-imbued claws. Capable of slaughtering Marilleth Dervishes in melee, mainly due to greatly improved durability. Their incredibly thick and hardened hides will drastically reduce the effectiveness of any physical attack.

It has been months now, and I have heard not a peep from Veleron.

The Demons have stayed in their realm.

The "revolt" of the gnomes (ie. their mental enslavement) has subsided and most who survived have returned to a semblance of normalcy in daily life.

Gron's Armies have learned that they cannot expand their borders further without leaving themselves vulnerable to counter-attack, and have as a result, been content to hold their current borders.

With the exception of Torgat and his followers' Gladiatorial Tournaments, even the Gods have been quiet.

With so many known sources of trouble all respecting the peace... most would be pleased to accept it and make the most of it.

And yet, here I am.... in the Great Library, researching like a man posessed.... trying to prepare.

There is so much here that my research indicates is beyond my reach... so much potential and power. The very thought of being able to use such power to defend the realm in time of crisis draws me inexorably from tome to tome.

And yet... even as I glean knowledge, master passages here and there, I find tenfold more secrets that I cannot seem to gain command of.

I have made extensive efforts to bolster my skills with such research, attuned my mind to mystical eddies and currents, utilized many, many divinations... but still the greatest secrets of the arcane elude me.

Perhaps this hunger I feel for more knowledge, this inner-passion to reveal these secrets.... it the source of my inability to digest what lays before me. Or am I simply not meant to know such things?

All indications point to this knowledge being collected and organized in this ancient place for a reason. What other reason than to be learned by those who seek dilligently? Surely Lady Mystara allows this place to exist, perhaps she and Lord Kalas collaborated in its creation... and if so... then what am I missing? What more can I bring to bear?

I hope time will clear my vision before calamity once again rears its head.

If ever there was doubt... any question... as to my sanity... I must now privately confess to myself the honest truth. I am... a madman.

Perhaps a gifted lunatic, certainly a functional one. Personable, even.

I might even fairly be said to possess the logic and reasoning skills of a sane man. After all, it would require such to realize one is not sane.... would it not?

Should anyone ever find and read these words, know that some part of me felt compelled to pen this admission, though publicly I would never conscience such a thing. I have my pride, after all.

I believe the root of my self-diagnosis is found in my relationship to the afore mentioned logical and reasoning faculties. I know I have them, I have used them often, to good effect.

The problem is, no sane man would choose not to use them...

...and yet, I find I have just done so on a scale so grand as to defy all rationalization (despite my feeble and futile attempts at such).

By any rational standard, I should not even be writing this, now. I should be deceased... gone from this world, to whatever fate awaits me beyond... or worse, trapped once again in that place so foul that I yearned for oblivion in preference to its torments.

And here I am, still writing... despite having no right to the life that inhabits my body.

What is all this drivel about? I suppose I should get to the point.

I found within myself an insane desire to prove that I could survive my skirmishes and battles in the Dark Realm without relying on my many powerful magical items. After a night frought with arcane dreams, I awoke with an irrational, yet nigh irresistible drive to prove my skill... to myself.

I stowed my equipment, and purchased new mundane wizardly robes... then I donned my travelling pack and attire. I headed off to the portal that leads into the Dark Realm. I travelled the now familliar paths... I battled the fiends.... I fought harder than ever before, if only to make up for the lack of advantage my equipment provides.

As I neared the areas more heavily guarded, where I usually turn back... the urge pushed me onward. I battled through a demonic fortress, complete with a barracks... and many demons. I slew the twisted master of a demonic research laboratory.... and the army of golems he had crafted.

I travelled through phase conduits covering great distances, as the life-sapping energies of the environment subtly shifted. Here in this deeper pit of evil, I could sense the presence of the greater fiends in this, their home. Only a scant few times before, with my equipment, had I ever encountered their elite.... and now I was about to confront them in the seat of their power, with none of my protective gear to aid me. As this realization set in, I hesitated.

The horrid collection of memories of my confinement and torture flooded back. I felt naked without my equipment, as if the fiends would easily slash through my meager defenses and beat me into submission. I smelt the tang of brimstone, and remembered the feeling of futility it had come to signify.

I felt my will to fight slipping... and I shivered involuntarily. I could not bear to go through the torments again.... not after I had all but regained sanity and normal life. Why was I here? What possessed me to risk my life and my gifts on such a fool's errand? Then, through the memory-inspired chill in my bones, it struck home.

After all I had survived and escaped from, I was still afraid. That fear offended me. It fought to paralyze me, and that angered me. I realized, I was not here to defeat the fiends or die trying... that would be suicidal... I was here to defeat my fear of them. I must have subconsciously decided that if I could confront the elite of demonkind without the "crutch" offered by my magical items, and survive... no matter how the battle turned out... then I could finally know deep in the core of my being that I was not a coward.

Did I mention that I have confessed my insanity to myself?

I believe this subconscious lunacy may have evolved from my past. The fact that I will never truly know if I could have overcome my fear of admitting the truth to myself. The truth was that Jerriduth, my mentor whom I had fallen in love with and whom had come to more or less personify Mystara in my eyes, was going to betray and sacrifice me in order to gain personal power.

Without the strange arcane dreams I was granted on a nightly basis that made clear her intentions, would I have opened my eyes? If it hadn't been for the dreams, would I have been too afraid of the painful truth to admit it to myself? Would I have died a coward in love, rather than be brave enough to admit I was holding onto a lie? I want to believe I was strong enough on my own... but the damnable dreams didn't give me the chance to deny the truth... or to make my own decision to be strong and accept it.

So to this day, the too-honest part of me cannot adequately answer that question.... and invents ridiculous "tests" for my psyche to pass. I passed this one, merely by surviving... but my rational mind now finds fault within itself as a result. As I remember them all too well, now the demonic elite will remember my face. Of that, I have no doubt.

OOC: for anybody who cares.... the last passage was inspired by in-game events. I had posited out of character that I was bored and considering taking off all my magical gear and trying something challenging.... to which Manny, smart-alek that he is, replied "I vote you take on the Dark Realm nekkid."

So, of course, at that point, the gauntlet had been thrown down. Like it or not, I had to try it. When he realized I was serious about attempting it, he said "brb, logging off to go spawn extra baddies... i mean, take care of DM stuff."

He didnt, which I am glad for.... because it was hard enough as it was..... but yes. Crideas survived clearing the Dark Realm without his custom upgraded-out-the-wazoo gear, wearing just mundane non-magical robes, and other utility gear like gloves of climbing, a ring of feather fall, boots of striding and springing, a ring of jumping, his wanderer's amulet (never used the haste on it, though). He did allow himself a cloak of heat resistance to mitigate the environmental damage in certain areas (he still ended up taking LOTS of damage from burning as the cloak only gives 5/- resist)... and he wore a belt of strength to avoid encumberance penalties from his heavy custom gear because he could not put it in bags or in his ethereal chest.

Other than that, he used 12 potions of magical renewal, 2 potions of asis full heal, a scroll of greater restoration, and 12 scrolls of contingency.

At one point he did get pertrified by the oozes for almost 20 minutes.... because after the first one got him (rolled a 1 on the very first saving throw) and he waited for it to wear off... he rolled another one immediately on being freed (and so didnt get a chance to erect any defense)... and then rolled an immediate 1 a
third time in a row after being released for the second time... very frustrating, but funny.... funnier if it had happened to somebody else, lol.

All in all the run took somewhere between 2-3 hours, because I was taking my time on certain enemies to avoid having to drink more renewals than necessary.

Time passes. I have made little progress in my studies. Gains made in some areas of research balanced by setbacks in others. Still, one cannot put a price on the reprieve we have been granted from turmoil and strife.

I am sure it will not last.... best to make the most of it, then. Researching greater magical mysteries, and mastering the underlying seeds of epic magic aside, I have been toying with plans to design, build, outfit, and fund an adventurers academy. I know a few old friends who might be willing to invest, as well.

The dwarven Firehair Clan would almost assuredly give the best bid for construction, and I could co-opt several merchants around the lands for preferred pricing on supplies both magical and mundane.

More to the point, myself and other experienced spellcasters could offer somewhat formal tutelage to apprentices in exchange for their servicing the needs of the fledgeling adventuring community with the spells we teach them (for a heavily discounted fee, of course).

I daresay, Valorian himself might approve.

I am very good at what I do.

I know the arrogance and ego inherent in that statement, and yet I refuse to retract it. I feel based on my substantial experience that it is true, and I will not apologize for it.

As good as I might be, however, there are limitations.

Veleron is active again. He has seized on one such limitation. There are only so many hostiles I can defeat at once, and I can only be in one place at a time.

To make matters worse, he is now capable of crafting simulacrums of himself. So he can be in more than one place at a time.

This combined with the capability to rend the dimensional barriers somehow, to bring demons to our world means that when he makes his move, it will be on multiple fronts, led by copies of himself, backed by not only hordes of undead, but also demonic forces.

Any one of those threats, I might counter by itself. All three would overwhelm me on my best day... And the cunning little runt knows it.

It is time... Past time.... To engage my plans to leverage the legions of adventurers who have come to this world.

If Veleron thinks to overwhelm this world with an army of conquest, he will find it defended by an even greater force.

The last time we met, I tasted the edge of his soulfire blade, albeit briefly. I looked into his haunted, hollow red eyes. I saw malice, but also fear. He knows the threat we pose, and seeks to crush us before we can stop him.

I was not able to breach his defenses that time.

As many have discovered before him, that situation does not repeat itself.

You know, I've come a long way.

From fumbling through the woods hiding behind my familiar, Scorch, to protect me from the savage goblins of the northeast road....

.... To scrying the happenings of Aenea from the safety of a Moon Sanctum, pondering strategy to thwart demonic invasion.

My once greatest accomplishment and proudest moment, defeating Gron Bloodsplatterer, now seems more like the beginning of a new chapter of my life rather than the final one.

I like to think it was that moment when I first began to realize my purpose for existing... My calling if you will.

I feared life would never be the same. I was correct.

I was wrong to fear it, however.

Much as I bemoaned it at times, the esteem has been wonderful. The new adventurers I have met - the awkward moments after I introduce myself and am greeted with a broad range of responses, but almost never apathy or disdain.

It's never apparent in the singular living space of the moment, but reflection reveals them to be nothing short of fulfilling. Truly, a scant few heartbeats, yet enough to confirm the sense of self, of identity, of purpose.

It's not that I was meant to be a hero. Clearly, I was not. I have spent too much time in the Great Hall for that to even bear consideration.

I was granted a gift, a passion and a talent... For learning. I know it for what it is now. I was meant to fail, learn, grow, and then, finally... To teach. To spare others the painful process where I can, to support and foster greater understanding and prowess.

And I find the act keeps me from drawing too far back, from becoming too detached. I learn and re-learn as I share what I know... I share in the stories of those who will inherit what I may leave behind.

I am humbled to realize the solemn responsibility of it, and moved to weep at the bittersweet honor and privilege that I have somehow stumbled upon. Never by design... But derived from esteem and generous trust granted me by the ones who take the time to listen to the ramblings of a slightly-crazed old man.

Deserved? Not likely. To have such opportunities to contribute to the future by direct means... I wonder if any mortal deserves such a thing. I will strive with all my being to infuse that future with the immaculate beauty and ultimate potential of the people I have met, and been privileged to know.

Everything I have achieved, all I have learned... All of it by the grace of Lysis and the favor of Mystara.

I cannot hold back the joy. Why should I anyways?

There is nothing to rival the elation when, after imparting some of my long-refined lessons on adventuring and magic, I am treated to the sight of one of my comrades immediately putting the information to use to achieve a feat they thought was beyond them.

To know they have grown in ability and confidence merely due to some ideas I shared.

To see the reluctance and aversion to unknown risks suddenly replaced with the thrill of triumph and self-assurance when they realize they already possessed the skills and the tools, and merely needed to apply them in a specific manner to unlock their potential.

I wonder how many times I will be fortunate enough to feel this...
I pray there are many such moments ahead of me. They make it all worth it, more than worth it.

An odd predicament.

The multitudinous wonders, marvels, and mysteries of the multiverse to be explored. The organization, funding, supply and support of planar defenses and the adventurer's academy.

Somehow, I find myself cataloging various methods of magically preparing food for feasts of the nobility. It's actually quite fascinating, and the results, when a technique is successful are serendipitous not only for convenience but also the wonderful flavors and satisfied appetite.

I don't truly need the money, but political currency allows me to retain my autonomy and freedoms without concerning myself with legal pressures and agendas of those who do not appreciate my presence or worse, wish to see me shackled.

Minor favors for the few reasonable nobles I have been lucky enough to meet and gain the good graces of have conveniently alleviated such concerns via the political support of said nobles.

The realm should keep, for the nonce, and my associates will enjoy excellent feast-fare as thanks for protecting my sanity.

From a certain perspective one might also say that they are protecting my detractors from themselves, for while it may not be easy for individuals to draw my wrath, let alone my attention, it is surely a hazard for those who accomplish it.

I can see the point of view where it might be difficult to trust me as a powerful individual whose power is not derived from the populace, and who is not officially mandated to serve public interest. On the other hand, when my deeds identify me as an ally rather than a threat, mistrust seems counterproductive, methinks. I am sure more than one of my detractors is merely envious, but perhaps I could put more effort into my public image....

It turns out, being able to magically prepare large amounts of fine food pays dividends in more ways than one.

My draconic companion, Cornelious, can be effectively bribed/rewarded by such means.

I have to admit, it put a smile on my face to see him curled in the corner napping on a very full tummy, and it made disposing of excess food much simpler. The unseen servants will take care of the mess, and when he awakes, I am sure to have gained some appreciation.

It still amazes me how he has grown. I once fed him with fish, when he could not hunt for himself. Now he hunts orcs for both sport and nourishment. His spellcasting is even progressing, though I haven't yet managed to help him conjure a fireball or haste himself. He practically laughed his scales off when I suggested trying a flight spell, as if it was useless to him because of his wings.

He reconsidered when I pointed out that he may at some point have need to cast such a spell on his allies who cannot fly, or even on himself if his wings should ever be seriously injured.

He is smart as a whip, but he still has much to learn. Thankfully, he is a good sport, despite his mischievous nature. I can deal with occaisionally waking up webbed into my bedroll, as long as he takes my lessons to heart.

It seems the cosmos is still full of mysteries.

A free-spirited elven lass who has been touring the lands and doing daring deeds, searching for companions lost and the means to get back to them, Ramana, is apparently afflicted with a rather unique condition.

I do not have all the details on how exactly she came to have an old(?) headwound that became laced with, of all unlikely things, the dust/residue of a planar rift. This, in itself, is an extraordinary circumstance. Whats more is that is has become the catalyst for an even more extraordinary circumstance...

Part of her psyche seems to have escaped the confines of her brain. It has become physically manifest on another plane - the plane of Shadows.

Further complicating the issue, it seems that these two parts of her psyche are still connected via the astral realm via her dreams. So strongly connected, in fact, that they seem to "swap places" sometimes when she dreams, resulting in confusing wakenings in places she did not go to sleep, sometimes with items or articles displaced.

I have met her "shadow double" who calls herself Ranara, which apparently means "lost one" or "wandering traveller" in the elven tongue. A severe case of near-total amnesia is combined with an understandably skittish and suspicious manner.

Interestingly enough the Ranara seems possessed of a talent and interest in the Arcane which Ramana confesses to be totally lacking, as her skills are more in the physical, social, and technical realms.

I feel a bit of guilt that I have only the barest theories on the planar mechanics that brought this all about. I suspect the rift which brought Ramana to Aenea sans her companions must have somehow interacted or conflicted with the rift residue still present in her old wound... Proximity to the brain must have caused this psychic phenomenon..... But to have it take physical form?!

Amazing.

Still, I must do what I can to help. I feel a bit obligated considering that I have had direct contact with both individuals, and observed Ramana go through no small amount of distress when I shared my observations...

I do not currently see any cause for alarm considering neither individual seems to wish harm on the other, and both seem interested in learning more. This will definitely be a new kind of adventure, no matter the outcome.

Progress on delving the more general mysteries of the arcane, even the overarching understanding of the base elements and seeds of magic has been forestalled in light of recent priority shift.

Rather than unlocking fundamental understanding of mechanics, I have opted temporarily for a more focused goal. The means to finally solve the mysteries of one singular threat. One specific entity.

In sacrificing broader learning, I may reduce the time required to discover the means to victory. In so doing, if successful, I may glean new perspective to apply to my fundamental studies.

I am filled with renewed purpose as this priority shift has already begun to bear fruit. I have not felt this close to a breakthrough on such a scale since I mastered the spells to defeat the Great Evil.

Soon. My fevered pace. It will pay off. It must pay off.

I must be ready, too much is at stake.

I will know him. I will find him.

And this time, I will be ready.