Thoughts Tenebrous - Azravael Haz'eraxx

[Hallows Elf]

[Penned in sharp flowing script, written in the Drow dialect of elven, the tome hidden away...]

I had always assumed the collection of one's thoughts in the physical was a dangerous notion. Should one's rival discover such a plethora of insights they would have a foothold into your mind. But I push this aside, the many thoughts that now churn in my mind have become too great a burden to contemplate and perhaps placing them upon parchment may ease this feeling.

I find myself with much time to contemplate as of late, perhaps this is the result of the "relaxation" those I've come to trust have recommended to myself as regularly as the bell rolls.
I may recollect how I've come to this point in my life, reflect on these revelations.

Lately a feeling stirs in my gut, perhaps brought about by the dark moon over Sithicus as Vasryll had claimed. I've over-exposed myself to that baleful place and it has left its mark by dredging up what may be sensations I'd long since buried. Perhaps this is not so, perhaps by coming to know those I'd once disregarded as mere bodies meant for toil has returned older notions born of the innocence of youth.

I have felt something akin to pity or guilt? It laid about me like a soreness for a time until the pang shuddered throughout when I saw the mangled body of Evenin' trundle toward me. I had no hand in his demise, I hardly knew them beyond a passing familiarity in life and yet when I saw what had become of them I could only imagine if this had occurred to those I had known. I felt unwell, I had seen those other warriors I fought beside fall and rise to serve and felt nothing at one time. A common enough occurence for more deadly services below.

But this was so very different, I could do nothing but ponder at what became of this Caliban and desire to inflict vengeance upon the perpetrator. I told only one other of this and they have become scarce. For the better, I have more important things to focus upon than the passing soreness of the soul.

More Ilythiiri arrive in these lands and I feel compelled to ensure they are given every means of survival I can bestow without compromising their struggle. One I've some confidence in, they have suffered long here and know well what this place entails, the other I sense a strange naivete. I should allow this one to learn through pain but with the intensity of the local patrols I can not count on such being a survivable experience.

One has cast off the gods as I, the other I am uncertain, it is clear they were beholden to the Yathrin, to Lolth, at one point. Now? Such devotion is not easily discarded. Those I serve would more than likely be displeased at my attempts to shake these jaluk free of the illusion of devotion- but it is for the better.

Perhaps a bout of drink and blood shall put this all at ease soon enough.

[Hallows Elf]

[The usual sharp flowing text is far more jagged as if written with great speed]

I no longer have the conviction to do what must be done. There was a time where the last gasp of another soul would be no more troubling than slitting the neck of a rothé- yet now trepidation fills me, replacing the well earned eagerness for a properly executed death.

It would not have been difficult, perhaps not even permanent but now more than ever before others watch my actions and consider myself something beyond the warrior at attention. The Jaluk, ever servile, compliant, the trustworthy tool in the arsenal of my so called betters, jabbress, yathrin, ilharess, elg'caress! Though I scarcely know why I consider their thoughts worthy of merit.

At once I yearn for the simplicity of following orders and bask in a liberation from the drudgery and misery of my life below in the bowels of Menzoberranzan. Two drives push and pull against one another, the base tenets of her, the all consuming all devouring Spider Queen whose web I have only now broken free of. Lolth's silence was the first ringing bell that tolled the ascension the abduction of myself to these lands where my kind is but a curiosity and pariah all the same.

The superiority long since called into question, the lies, the deceit the hedonistic revelry I indulge in to forget the gnawing of that terrible moon- the black orb above that I like an opium addict to his chosen inebriate venture to in secret dalliances to feel the addictive and yet reviled misery. The intoxicating self loathing of guilt.
 
Weakness, she was always right. I carried it in my gut since those early errors of corrupting mercy, a gesture to the captive who was already dead even as I gave in my ignorance that simple gift. Yet I question whether it was weakness at all, I detest Lolth, I detested the wastefulness and cruelty all along deep in my gut and yet it was the only way. Now I am the ilharn of a chamber in a river of waste, comrades with the rejected, thieves, those who are naturally beneath me always and forever and yet I so cherish their presence. Why? I think I know.
[The last line smears across the page]

[Hallows Elf]

[The script is sharp and flowing, written in the Drow dialect of elven]

I’ve taken leave of the drain after taking leave of my senses, repugnant as the fool is my raising a blade to them is nothing short of the onset of buried instinct bubbling to the surface and overtaking any rational thought. It is time to take stock of my mind and resolve this inner turmoil, a feat not easily achieved least of all alone and yet the chaos below only brought it to a head.
I have exchanged words with others, seen fit to absorb advice and think on possibilities beyond this mounting turmoil and it is decided that my desires and those of the Dark Maiden and her followers no matter how riddled with sentiment and naivete are one and the same.

I tire of the instinct to shed blood, to achieve restitution for slights real or perceived through the cutting of flesh. The lingering gossamer of Lolth’s web yet cling to myself and I seek to cast them off even if such drives myself into the light of another moon. I’ve sought out the faern Ross- who knows of the gods of the surface kept hidden from myself, to elucidate myself on her doctrine. Beyond this Triss’olin should be given further correspondence and when and if the current conflict settles perhaps L’Olath Zer’tath could achieve its original purpose rather than simply the gilded cage I have crafted for myself. This assumes the consequences of my own actions do not result in a flight from that filthaddled asylum. I cannot allow such to occur given the frequency with which those from beyond the mists find themselves cast nearabout Vallaki. My greatest opportunity to render aid to others of our kind is there if anywhere and so I must endeavor to remain. Ultimately it is perhaps a better endeavor to fixate upon the comforting tenets of Eilistraee and the hope, false or true, that her message might bring even to one such as myself.

I have thus learned she is the cast-off daughter to Lolth, a renegade intent to free others from her web. Her faith is fond of the arts, dancing and music which seem frivolous activities at least to myself though perhaps there is merit in enjoying one's freedom with such. I cannot deny that the brief moments of comradery with those of the surface I once called friend were a strange though not unpleasant experience that I would gladly return to if only I could.

Her desires as described by both Ross and Triss’olin, the former in a more historical context the latter more in a sort of creed is diplomacy with those of the surface- even our bitter cousins. Allegedly Eilistraee has created ties with the gods Mystra and Selune, perhaps followers of these deities might be found with more information? Though regardless these facets matter little, it is a rekindling of ties with darthiir that intrigues me. When I had first arrived, I set out to kill the first one I saw and over time I had counted many more among my allies, even those who dwelt in that isolated village in the southern woodlands of Vallaki and so I wonder at the merit of these ambitions and their possibilities. Belias attempted to endear tolerance from the locals of Vallaki only for such to result in conflict with those within the drain, his own rothe-esque behavior aside, the goals I found amicable, however, to ever trust the word of Barovian filth is as sound as trusting the words of Yathrin.

The tenets of Eilistraee befit my desires, regardless of the difficulties I foresee in following such. Though better to temper expectations, the storm has yet to end.

[Hallows Elf]

[Several pages are filled with sketches of the Underdark, dark ink and crosshatching give the illusion of depth. An outlook from a tower on the isle of Rothe toward the rest of Menzoberranzan takes up two pages. Another, a Roper leering up from a stone pit, tendrils lashing about. Sketches of various Drow who frequent the mist shrouded keep of the Dyad are given their own page before words return to the journal in lieu of sketches.]

It has been a time since I felt the need to scry my thoughts upon the page. As ever those I know blink in and out of my life, some return and yet others I wonder if I shall see again. My former Ilharess returned of all who could have- from mind shrouded Darkon of all places. The circumstances for this I never questioned and regret, for that mystery shall plague me for centuries. Regardless Kyndriia wished for myself to repay a blood debt for myself and Azaulia forsaking the house of Kiy'zuel.

I cannot even begin to fathom why I followed her wordlessly into the Vardo, through the mists, to what could have been my death. It felt natural, the thing to do, what had to be done. Perhaps I felt overconfident in my abilities- stubborn arrogance, a flame difficult to quench. We did battle there in the dunes of Har'Akir, a familiar feeling. I had dueled a native man, a wanderer in the ancient tombs and the battle was nearly evenly matched with me the victor. A stark contrast to the grueling struggle to dodge the Ilharess’ blows- though it was some small comfort I lasted as long as I did. And afterward when I lay a heap in the crimson stained sands, she congratulated myself. I expected a quick death for my betrayal, not words of encouragement. With her bidding I continue to struggle and survive in these misbegotten lands she took her leave into the night. Leaving a spear and myself to contemplate the nature of things.

Perhaps the one small purpose I cling to is guiding the ilythiiri not only within these lands but to aid them in the arduous path of shedding the more insipid and self-destructive habits bred by the lash of the Yathrin. An intermingling of truths, struggle and survival, trust and cooperation. Pain and pleasure, in equal measure. I’d see the Ilythiiri learn these truths, aid one another and if necessary, cull those too deluded or dangerous for the benefit of the whole. Idle musings for now, until the time comes that I find others outside of the guild I shall wander the lands of the core whenever able. Even now I prepare another venture into Barovia, the wilderness and dark corners of the land that would offer sanctuary to the wayward.

[A sketch of a silhouetted Drow against a cratered moon fills the next page]

The search yields results, three by my reckoning, possibly more- One Jaluk, two Jalil, archetypical of those from below, though the last one met was a devotee of Eilistraee- an initiate into an order of “Silverhair Knights”. Of course, she was far more invested in the aid given to those of our kin cast here, the paranoia and superstition redirected toward those who remain ensnared in Lolth’s web. This will serve her well, as for the others they may prove difficult, though the jalil at least is pragmatic. There is high potential here for success or failure, it will require I remain within the municipality of Vallaki or nearabout for some time- a welcome respite from the tedium of that dismal port in the mists.