Wax, Wane, Eclipse - Vasryll Xu'vizh

[Leviellus]

Vasryll Xu'vizh

There are multiple entries in the journal.  Written with a straightforward and unembellished hand.

-

It did not take long to learn the humility of pragmatism.  The denizens who live beneath the accursed orb in this forsaken world above have... differing morals.  Their misguided camaraderie is commendable but ultimately worthless to me.  We will see if it can be changed.

-

I've grown anxious with myself, spinning the thread that will be woven into a new form of House Xu'vizh.  Already there are those who I have deemed useful.  Daughters of Her, and traitors alike.  A few I have taken a more personal liking to. 

-

The cursed orb above the day has its sister.  Symbol of the traitor daughter, yet when I gaze upon it I have found it so alluring.  There is a dancer and her half-breed, vicious deceivers and heretics no doubt.  But I have with me an unmatched wit and unwavering will.  They are at the very least, more entertaining than the surfacers around.

[Leviellus]

The journal is signed by Vasryll Xu'vizh, and written in elven. It lists many dates and notes. The following entries stick out as notable.

November 28th. Waning Gibbous.
Partly veiled, the Nuitari glows bright this clear night. In the shadows it cast I see faces of Underdark slaves long expired. Their ceaseless mewling woes unheard in the back of my head. I feel sick with something, guilt? Shame?

December 6th. Waning Crescent.
Tonight I gaze upon the sickle shaped Nuitari. Its pull upon me weakens. Yet the woes around me have grown. Fleshbound lessons of the scourge burn hot once more. How do I temper this feeling?

December 11th. Shrouded.
I grow restless this night. The black moon hangs shrouded in its roiling ink-black visage. How impossible it is to look away. The arcane around me feels to be so much more, how exhilarating to feel this shadow cast down upon me.

[Leviellus]

The entries are written with a more elegant hand than before.
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"When you begin to stare at the Nuitari all too long, thoughts like that, images like that find a way to crawl into your waking thoughts." 
The Magus in the tower spoke, and I did not heed their words. 
Faces, whispers.  I recall their names, their woes in the shadow of the sorrow above.  Haunting my every moment beneath the Nuitari. 

"How much death have you -really- seen in your life?"
He spoke again.

It isn't much.  It wasn't much.  Just the worthless slaves plucked from the surface, but now the memories of their agony, their pain, I cannot suppress it.

When the eye waxes, the veil wanes.
What is cast within is pulled without. 
I am unraveling.

Ironic how the one who is anathema holds the secrets to my salvation.
I must be cunning, and ruthless in weaving this web to claim what is so closely guarded from me.

[Leviellus]

The notes are written in a mixture of Undercommon and an old elvish dialect.
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January 4th, 778.  Waning crescent.
The churning of shape and shade continues onward.  A silver sliver chokes in the anesthetic embrace of an unstoppable cycle.  Only to later resurge in renewed waxing vigor.  With each shrouded cycle I feel ever closer to where ambition lies.  If only I could slow the process and study the veiled mask of a shrouded land longer.

January 7th, 778.  Shrouded.
While beneath the choked glow of Nuitari, the umbra of my reflection hazes and blends with the cast shade of shape around me.  It is now that I must steel myself and define the edges of my knowing.  Twisting and churning movements to manifest the bitter veil so I may part it… Though I hesitate.  Unable to bring myself to commit to the motion of the steps needed.

I require a situation where there is no time to think.  I must make the unconscious choice to prevail at the precipice of loss.  Maybe this Kiy’zuel trial of might won’t be a waste of my time after all.

[Leviellus]

This entry seemed to fill the last of this particular journal.  Like the previous notes, it is written in Undercommon and elvish.
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February 2nd, 778.
Look into the Void Mirror's reflection and shed your ignorance.
I now speak to another as the Magus had spoke to me.  Showing them the first few steps before slinking away to my own.  I dare not watch as I wish to never know if they are to fail, and unravel themselves into despair.  I have no need for more points of leverage that Nuitari may use against me.

Now, as memory takes shape I feel myself grow numb.

[Leviellus]

The following entries seemed to be copies.

The Inconstant Moon and Spectres of Har-Thelen. To those who take interest shall heed these words.  Know thyself, and know well.  As that is the only shield against the cascade of mind-hungry visages throughout the Land of Spectres.  Those who become shaken in the foundation of their being will find themselves moldering in the ever-hungry chasm beneath Nedragaard Keep.

The Spectres of Memory.

The Black orb that hangs above The Land of Spectres is known to be a font of arcane energy and its relationship with what lies below it is esoteric and strange.  I pen this entry as a way to both document my findings and warn those who might follow in my steps.  The allegoric histories of Sithicus are seemingly preserved through the spoken words of its inhabitants and shade-like manifestations that surround their communities.  These apparitions often take shape in the form of tangible yet simple minded marionettes of arcane memory.

Accounts of Spectres.

Along the trails of Har-Thelen one may spot sightings of a being known as The Knight of the Black Rose, to the rotting undead corpse of the Knights father upon a tarnished throne betwixt the bones of his people. 

These visages are corporeal, they exist and may be touched.  Even reacting to basic stimuli and speaking in maddening riddles of their storied existence.  Yet upon further investigation an astute observer will notice these marionettes shift and change ever slightly from repeated accounts.  This brings many questions as to why.  Most notably of my mind is whether or not the thematic drift of the spectral recreations are intentional.  I will speak to an example.

There is a tomb within the Mantle Woods housing a long lost elven lord.  The winding tunnels are littered with ill-fitting decor for practical use.  Such as a banquet hall beside a portal and statue of a dragon.  Further yet, the elven lords guard dutifully defend the tomb.  The shades are so convincing that I would almost believe them to be lucid and living.  Yet they are terrifying reflections of highly capable magi and knights.  The drift of memory becomes more apparent further within, as the shades lose their elven appearance.  Echoes of betrayal can be heard within the grand hall of the elven lords sarcophagus.  Where his shade stands alone.

The connection to the Nuitari, and the Chasm.

A diagram of the Nuitari Cycle.

The Nuitari and the Chasm are assumed to play a significant role in the phenomenon of these apparitions.  The Inconstant ink-black moon above is as stated previously, a waxing and waning tide of arcane.

This font pours over the Land of Spectres.  And it is in the shadows and shapes cast from the Nuitari’s glow that we will see the Spectres.  The deepest of these shadows is the chasm beneath Nedragaard Keep, within where latent and lost moonlight collects.  The salt shadows and shades of less robust memories seem to come from this chasm as I myself have personally witnessed.  So I make the assumption where the corruption, or perhaps evolution of memory may take place is within this lightless expanse.

Ones own self, and memory.

I begrudgingly now write on a more personal note.  As it is now relevant.  I Vasryll of House Xu’vizh was someone who moved and helped trade slaves within the Underdark.  Many cycles came and went, and with that more and more surfacers did as well.

I thought little of them, hardly to learn a name or face.  Yet within the borders of the Land of Spectres my mind is assaulted by their woes and cries.  Actions I caused to bring them pain.  Their names and their faces in noiseless whispers and darkened shadow.  They do not manifest beyond my senses as others do not hear them.

I wonder why I am forced to think of what transpired between Menzoberranzan and Ched Nasad, and what memory of my own will change and twist beneath the Glow of the Nuitari.  Know thyself and know well, for the Land of Spectres will twist what made you.  Churn the lessons of memory against you.

Conclusion.

The observation of these tainted memories makes me confident in stating the following.  Sithicus is in the process of great change.  Its connections to shadow both above in the Nuitari, and below in the great chasm leave many questions unanswered.  But this change will churn the histories of its people and bring forth something I suspect is entirely unexpected.

To who does this benefit?  What history shall become known as what has always been?  I suppose we must simply observe and find out.

Nuitari - The Void Mirror. The Moon, Nuitari hanging above Sithicus is unlike the Moon anywhere else in the core.  Its wax-wane cycle is like a slow heartbeat—the feel of arcane energy is its lifeblood.  If we are to understand why Nuitari shapes the land as it does, we must first learn how it does so.

---------------------------------------------------------------------- A Depiction of Eilistraee Dancing Under a Silver Moon.

Cast Shadow. Tangible things cast a shadow when light is upon them.  This is a simple truth we perceive from our earliest days.  We shall then follow this idea through to the soul and mind and assume that those too shall cast a shadow.  Assuming this as truth, we may begin to understand some practical reasons as to why the recreated memories scattered about Sithicus range from dream-like to utterly impractical mazes of emotional allegory. A tangibly cast shadow is flat, a silhouette.  Following this rule, we assume shadows cast by the mind and soul to similarly be a silhouette.  Lacking in detail of what cast them, but a base shape to be filled.  As stated in my previous entry, the many dead kings on tarnished thrones betwixt the bones of their subjects are hardly believable as a literal truth.  It is however a shape formed from the emotional silhouette of how these kings are remembered.  To again reference my previous entry.  The simple ambitions and emotion of the Ebon Order dutifully defending a tomb may be rendered easily.  Though the nuance of these shaped Ebon Knights is lost. As the moonrise and moonset each night, the invisible ebon glow of Nuitari creates cast shadow.  The constant sense of paranoia, sadness, sorrow, and dread that assail the minds of all things in Sithicus could be described as the emotional equivalent of the harsh sun casting your tangible shadow beneath you.  These shadows similarly stretch long and thin, to more concentrated depending on the position of whichever celestial body is above. Unraveling the Veil. Shadows cast from our intangible souls and minds are especially difficult to perceive.  A veil of ignorance lay across our perception.  I shall detail my own experience in piercing this veil.  There are a group of traitor Drow who worship a traitor Goddess named Eilistraee, the Moon Dancer.  A few of these treacherous worshippers yet walk in this world above.  The notable one for this topic is a drow named T’rissolin. It was through her that I was taught the cyclic motion of their ritual Moon Dance.  The specific one practiced was a mournful song dedicated to those of our past.  The point of the emotional exercise is still mostly lost to me.  However, this dance was the basic starting point for my own creation to perform beneath the Nuitari. The dance itself was based off enlarged arcane runes.  Each motion meant to unravel the veil of ignorance over my perceptions.  It is hard to put in exact words beyond having an unwavering intent and ambition to see what Nuitari sees.  To stare into its glow with not the eyes but the mind and soul.  Yet now having stared too long into the Void Mirror Nuitari I feel as though my intangible self is now scarred.  An unfeeling and apathetic malaise wrought upon my mind. In this dance, I felt the feelings of being small, insignificant, unworthy, and ashamed.

Being witnessed by what once was. As I have noted many times, the Land of Spectres is fraught with the manifestations of its past.  However, in this brief entry I will explain a phenomenon noticed with one spectre in particular.

---------------------------------------------------------------------- A Depiction of a blooming Black Rose.

The Black Rose. It is difficult to traverse Sithicus without hearing of, and then witnessing the armored figure called The Black Rose.  Wherever his blade had shed blood is now the garden to which his namesake's flowers grow.  Which makes the whole of Sithicus a place where ebon roses bloom.  During my first visit within the outskirts of Har-Thelen I witnessed his visage upon a fiery steed.  I then learned of the Black Roses story, his legacy and upon a return visit to the Spectre, something entirely different waited for me.  Not the vigilant armored figure upon a fiery steed, but the man on foot slaughtering countless elves in a gruesome battle. Upon my third visit I saw not spectres, but blooming black roses. The memory of the Black Rose is not confined to one location either, but all across Sithicus where I have traveled.  Each cast shadow might house his fiery gaze.  When filling my canteen in the Musarde river, his spectres gaze bore down upon me from across the bank.  I watch closely for where Black Roses bloom, and tend to avoid these patches. All of this however, brings me to the questions I am unable to answer.  Do the spectres of the Black Rose share their memory and conviction?  Do the spectres see I, Vasryll, or someone else?   Just as I am able to conjure a memory of myself, are these spectres of the Black Rose a purposeful manifestation from whatever is left of him?  Or are they just the  latent remnants of memory brought to form by Nuitari?