One Step Closer

Dear Journal,

It is Feastday of LastLeaf in the year 3735. The wards are strewn about the battlements of the ghostly castle called Nektropos. Theeral be damned! There are all manner of flesh-rotted beings and patchwork golem-like beasts guarding them! It is a trap and the nomad knew it all along dispatching us off to march unwittingly to our deaths. A wicked surprise awaits her should we ever cross paths again.

Regardless, the wards gleemed to the touch as we raced from one to the next with all manner of beasts trailing close behind wailing, gnashing their teeth, and striking blows upon our backs. The holy man finally unsheathed his sanguine sword to unleash the fire of the heavens upon these mindless minions. One last step remained. We simply had to reach the Herald of Nektropos. Finally arriving at the gates of Nektropos, the Herald materialized from the ether to grant us access with a sinister "The master is expecting you".

Passing through the portal into Nektropos, a chill descended upon me and every follicle remaining on my body stood with military-like attention. Something was amiss, but what I could not surmise. Once inside the spectral stronghold, my senses spun to a dizzying degree. I collapsed to the floor hearing naught but the hammering of my own heartbeat in my ears and throat. Then, something else penetrated the war drums pounding my skull. Echoing through my brain came the words sister and awakening. It was as if they were whispered from every ceiling crack and floor fissure. The harder I tried to block out the voices, the louder they became. From behind me, above me, beside me, and below me the voices rang. Louder. Louder. Louder. Haunting. Louder. Louder. Chanting. Louder. Louder.

Darkness took me. I have no way of knowing how long I had laid upon the cold stone of Nektropos. When I awoke, what did I see standing before me? Ischade. Something is familiar. Something fits. I am not sure how or why, but I feel I am one step closer to understanding my past and my future.

Bathed in the Blood

Dear Journal,

What strange happenings! While banding together with the lizard, evil twins, and the holy man this day, I came across a curious nomad, Theeral, who spoke in shrouded mystery. She claimed she foretold my appearance before her and knew the path I sought. What madness is this? I have no predetermined path to follow. I go where e'er my mood takes me. The unmitigated gall of her to tell me I have no free will! I would have struck her down there if not for my accursed curiosity getting the better of me. I listened in quiet to her tale of a spectral stronghold which stood somewhere in the forest of Nektulous. Naturally, a treacherous trek lay before us in order to learn its location.

Following the flowing river, we journeyed northward in search of Timber Falls. Many a minion meandered across our deadly path as we cut a swath of wanton destruction and mayhem along the river banks. Kodiaks, Grimmins, Fae-folk, and the like all fell before our combined might. After what seemed an eternity, we managed to find our way to Timber Falls only to discover that the information we required was not to be found there. We were then pointed in the direction of a structure stricken with the skeletal scourge, N'Marr's Ascent.

Traversing to N'Marr's Ascent was remarkably uneventful. Upon arrival, however, the skeletal scourge struck. They set upon Szadiss as if revenging for their awkward, unwarranted awakening. Wave after wave gathered 'round us as we struck back. There is a moment of clarity, which settles upon you as dust to a hearth, when you question if you are severely outnumber and quite possibly overwhelmed. It appears that you may not last the day, let alone the seeming eternity of moments you find yourself mired in. Time halts. It is in that moment that you realize you are never outnumbered nor are you ever overwhelmed. The more that assemble before you, the deeper you reach within to draw from the darkness that is your soul. You are power incarnate! Then as quickly as time halts, it snaps back and you find yourself standing wild-eyed over a heap of corpses bathed in the blood of the innocent and the guilty alike. N'Marr's Ascent had been cleansed and we were no closer to our goal.

Our quest was leading us to Bone Lake. The forest took on a malevolent presence as we neared our goal. The very trees themselves began to uproot as if to block our progress toward Bone Lake. Someone or something did not want us to reach our destination. Could this be the cruel machinations of an as yet unknown mastermind or were we choking the forest on the blood of the fallen and it merely wished to regurgitate us? Either way, we are not so easily expelled. We traversed the muddy banks of Bone Lake only to conclude that all roads lead back to Theeral.

Theeral the Nomad. Theeral the Insane I say! She knew the location of the castle the entire time, but had to determine if we were worthy of the information? Insolence! To make matters worse, we still must complete the final portion. There are 3 mystical markers which hold Gul'Thexian glyphs. We are to uncover these words and speak them to a Gul'Thex Lieutenant who will give us the secretive word to pass to the spirit who guards the castle. Our adventure is nearing an end... or is it?

The Filthy Ratonga Part II

Curse me for a fool! The witch Kirsteh must surely be addling my senses. For as I spoke to her tonight, she appeared not as a filthy Ratonga at all, but a beautiful Gnome. I must regain control of my faculties! If someone such as her can dupe the likes of me, then I fear my sanity is surely slipping away. I try to comfort myself with the thought that it is mere parlor trickery, a simple illusion that clouds an already overthinking mind. However, the doubts inevitably seep back into the darkest recesses. Yes! The mind plays tricks... you play tricks back!

Bah! I hope to speak no more of the vile witch now that I have completed her task and collected my reward. The ethereal ones of the Fallen Gate were no match this time for me and my allies, the lizard and the twins. I feel it necessary to mention a strange occurrence this evening that slightly puzzles me. While decimating the denizens of the Gate, we happened upon a curious fellow. A dwarf no less. A dwarf that far from Qeynos? What madness is this? He called himself Ment and he was a brilliant sort. Brilliantly clad, not brilliant of intellect. No, I dare say he was far short of that. The metal that encased his girth shone brightly even in the depths of the Gate. He had an aura about him, this holy man, an emerald hue that seemed to emanate from his very pores! He is stalwart and brave and his self-righteousness is sickening. I don't trust him.

Perhaps the holy man could lend some clarity to the nightmares that have plagued me these many months. They are always the same... carnage, turmoil, strife, destruction, and then the vast emptiness of the abyss. At first the floating sensation is a cold, dark blanket wrapping itself around me, comforting me. But that is fleeting as I topple and tailspin towards some unknown depths. In the end, my bones lay battered and motionless. Intact, but incapable of movement. As the light of consciousness flickers and fades from me there is one word that echoes almost elusively in my ears. Another.

The Filthy Ratonga

Dear Journal,

It is Brewday, Warmstill 6 of the year 3734. Kirsteh is the vilest vermin in East Freeport. How long must I endure her taunts and condescending attitude? If it were not for the promise of grand new garments, I would sooner skewer her and roast her over an open flame to the delight of Szadiss, the lizard. I am no one's errand boy but that is the role I must accept if I am to gain a new robe. Perhaps this one will have great enchantments that will push my power to even loftier heights. A reckoning will come, I swear.

The Fallen Gate calls and mysteriously the lizard is nowhere to be found. No matter, the filthy dark elf, Ischade, and her twin, Genvissa, returned with me to that dank hole in an attempt to complete Kirsteh's task. Secret research notes were lost somewhere within the Gate. It is certain that no Gnome owned these documents for they surely would've been given the utmost care and kept in the safest of places. As we approached the Pool of Percilia, a wail pierced the gloom and our skulls. We were under attack! The apparitions made short work of my uneasy allies as they fell quickly. Naturally, I was the last one standing. As I rained stone after stone down upon their ethereal bodies, flung arcs of electric energy, and hurled bolts of pure disease, my life was claimed or so it would seem. I awoke just outside the gate dazed, confused, and seeking vengeance. I summoned my undead companion and gathered all my might as I plunged back into the murky depths of the Fallen Gate to rejoin the dark twins. Alas, vengeance would not be mine... at least not this day. The apparitions that had beseiged us had vanished into the ether. Vengeance can wait.

A Necromancer's Journal

Dear Journal,

It is Steelday of Blossoming in the year 3734. I am attempting something never before done... never before done by someone like myself at the very least. I wish to maintain a chronicle of events as I fear that the dark energies that I surround myself with are taking their toll not only on my intellect, but my shadowed soul as well.

The details of my past continue to elude me like the fading fingers of fog on the breeze at daybreak. I continue to scour tome after tome in hopes of finding the smallest clue to reveal the link to my dark origins. Alas, to no avail. It is whispered in the darkest recesses of Freeport that Sage Nevarius Orvalis or Arcanist Sonius may hold the keys to unlocking this mystery, but to date, the only thing I could discern from the inane ramblings of Orvalis is the tragic history of the Teir'Dal. Tragic indeed, good riddance I say! I have fared no better with Sonius' prattling. Bah, they know nothing of further value and serve as no more than a reminder of the futility of Freeport! Perhaps the answers lie elsewhere so away I go.

The Commonlands... the words stick in my throat as though the very arid climate had lodged them there. What a desolate place seemingly teeming with the putrescence of various tribes of orcs. There are no answers there. Venturing further, I have acquired some companions. The lizard, Szadiss, and the dark elf, Ischade, have allied themselves with me. Common goals make strange bedfellows indeed. If someone a year ago were to tell me that I would be fighting beside a Ratonga eater and the filth of Freeport, I would've called them mad. Mad I say! Still, they have proven themselves worthy allies even though there are moments I catch the lizard eyeing me as a tasty morsel. There is also something oddly familiar about the dark elf. If only I could put my finger on it.

Thursday Has A New Feel...

A decidedly evil feel. Ischade, Szadiss, and Derko have made Thursdays, Evil Thursdays. That will be the one definite day set aside to play any evil toons. If you have one and would like to join the fun (a healer type would be very handy as poor Szadiss needs rezzes more often than is fair) or if you think you might like to create one, you can join the group as they explore Freeport, The Commonlands, and beyond!

Evil Seeping In

The Legion of Light has a newer darker influence. The first two necromancers (in training) have been initiated into the guild as well as the first shadowknight (in training). Leading the way in these dark realms is Derko, Ischade, and Szadiss. There is more darkness to follow.

While these 3 understand that they can't help the guild with quests or status points (in Qeynos), they hope to bring something just as valuable to the guild... balance. They will add the yin to our yang, the chocolate to our vanilla, and well, the dark to our light (duh!). If you require assistance in your travels in and around Freeport, call on them.