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**Nyssis** · 04-11-2007, 03:52 AM

The list appears to be expanding and a small piece of paper is being toted around within it like a footnote. When reviewed, a long scribbling of Common dialect is scripted upon it. Unfortunately, it seems that no one will ever be capable of even glancing its contents, for she keeps it close to her heart and protected, as if a reminder.

"You and I. We are a lot alike. It is a shame that I will have to do this to you, but do not fret. It will only occur if he is found out. I will try my best to not let it happen so I do not have to hurt you, love."

**Nyssis** · 04-13-2007, 07:08 PM

Whereas new names have been observed upon the parchment, a new paper has been attached to the ensemble. It lists the amount of guards stationed at the Viridale border camp, Sundren City (all districts), Port Avanthyr, Aquor, and Sestra, as well as where to find the chief authority and temples in each region. On the opposite side is a list of diagrams tracking routes snaking within each settlement, points plotted wherever a statue or other decorational item is placed. It appears to be a simple map to prevent her from getting lost in the cities, or notations as to where she is most commonly found spending her time in case someone wishes to meet her.

Another small footnote is grouped with the slowly increasing stack of information, though it is written in excitedly- and messily-inked Infernal language.

((Translation)) WE KNOW WHERE YOU'VE BEEN HIDING; YOU'VE BECOME SO WEAK FROM LACK OF BATTLE. YOU ARE EASY TO TRACK, YET SOME CLERICS HAVE GONE MAD AND KILLED THEMSELVES FROM THE MENTAL STRAIN WHEN I WASN'T WATCHING. BUT I CAN'T RESIST. I WATCH YOU FIGHT AND SLEEP, CONVERSE AND SOB; MOURN YOUR LOVER'S DEATH. I WONDER. PERHAPS I, TOO, HAVE BECOME MAD FROM SCRYING YOU SO OFTEN.

**Nyssis** · 04-15-2007, 11:58 PM

Marona has obtained a book over the last few days, either sent to her from the frozen wastes of her homeland in Damara, or obtained through other obscure methods. Either way, she has steadily been reading its handwritten contents and taking notes, inserting small strips of paper as placeholders between pages. It is a book bound in softened leather with pages of bloodstained and inked parchment, the edges tattered slightly from abuse, and numerous slight cutting indentations riddled along its surface. The cover contains a single line of words written in the deepest of black inks in the oddest devilish script. It is translated just below in Marona's handwriting: "Talaster Morden."

Its contents contain smatterings of a madman slowly losing his mental stability, the sentences occasionally trailling off of pages into some unknown abyss where only the writer's mind could follow. It is a book of mixed languages, varying from Elven to Common to Infernal across its numerous pages without a moment's notice. The dates above each entry are of a calendar nonexistent to anyone other than the writer, squandered in a series of eccentric symbols and potential numbers similar to Dwarven.

Entry 1, XXXX/XX/XX;

Why, why, WHY!? My own god has betrayed me today, bringing forth some impudent wench and granting her prestige over I, whom have run this citadel for more than twenty years! My throne has been stripped of me, given instead to a lowlife raised by jabbering fools of the Church of Talos! And to make matters worse, the woman is older than I, and garners far more respect from the other clerics that reside alongside us here! I was meant to be His chosen. I was born into this position. I know it to be true.

Yet how He adores her! Bathing her is His glory and power, all while taking mine in key! I feel myself growing weaker because of the leech. My strength, my appearance, my mindpower. All of it! TAKEN AWAY! TAKEN FAR AWAY BY SOMEONE THAT STAYS SO CLOSE! How it eats away at my sanity. She can come within a foot of me, yet I cannot do a damned thing.

I'll get her and prove myself worthy in the Iron Duke's eyes. It will simply take some time. Yes. Time.

Entry 17, XXXX/XX/XX;

Eeeeeeeeeeee?nough. Enough is enough! ENOUGH! Get the bastard daughter from my sight and send her up the molten river that encases the lowest pits of Cania!

No. No, that is too good for her. Bringing her so close to my masters, not to mention the Lord of all devilkind? Please. Why would I desire such a thing? I want her dead; incinerated alive, stripped of her flesh, devoured whole by tanar'ri, ANYTHING!

I pleased my Archduke today with a most magnificent sacrifice of a young Celestial-blooded maiden I lured into the slave's quarters. He was so pleased that His servants granted me a wish! I am excited. I have until tomorrow to decide, but I already know what it is I truly want. I wish to be able to see past the treachery in our ranks within this citadel. I want to see into the darkness and know the presence of oncoming assaults. I would wish for the woman's death, but Lord Dispater would be displeased with me. I must usurp her from her throne! That would make Him most happy.

Entry 18, XXXX/XX/XX;

((Translation from Infernal)) I MUST REFRAIN FROM BEING SO LIMITED IN MY DESCRIPTION NEXT TIME. THE GODS TRULY DECIDED TO LOOK DOWN UPON ME AND GAVE ME THAT WHICH I DID NOT DESIRE. I WANTED MY EYES TO BE THOSE OF A BAATEZU, BUT THEY INSTEAD RIPPED ONE FROM MY HEAD AND REPLACED IT WITH A BARELY ATTACHED EYE. IT BELONGED TO A FALXUGON, I BELIEVE.

MY EYE KEEPS TRYING TO FALL OUT OF ITS SOCKET DESPITE HOW OFTEN I HEAL THE DAMNED THING. HOW HIDEOUS I HAVE BECOME NOW. THE WOMAN CANNOT RESIST LAUGHING AT MY MISFORTUNE WHENEVER WE MAKE EYE CONTACT. SHE DOES NOT SEEM TO MIND MY ADVANCES, HOWEVER. PERHAPS I CAN PLAY A DELIGHTFUL LITTLE TRICK ON HER IN EXCHANGE FOR THIS HUMILIATION.

Entry 37, XXXX/XX/XX;

You! Me! We shall have a glorious feast together! Upon the woman's flesh, of course. That would be most? (The end of this sentence trails off the paper.)

SO RED! SO RED ARE HER LIPS! RED AND RED AND TRUE AND RED! SHALL I WRITE IT BACKWARDS FOR YOUR ENTERTAINMENT?

.gnitarelihxe tsom eb dluow tahT .esruoc fo ,hself s'namow eht nopU !rehtegot tsaef suoirolg a evah llahs eW !eM! !uoY

I am going to find those within our sect that also dislike the female, and I will garner a force powerful enough to wipe her meaningless existence from our Lord's mind! I'm sure that if she truly knew what I was up to, she would be honored by my efforts.

Entry 50, XXXX/XX/XX;

((Translated from Elven)) I have done it! I have found that which matters to her most and destroyed him! He is gone, her lover. This "Arond Masuya," the one whom bought her as a slave when she was 14, is dead. Oh, yes. I know plenty about her now. She and I were intimate for a time, but all is ended and settled and done. A shame I lied about everything I told her. She cried so beautifully after she sacrificed him. Unfortunately, the bastard had to agree and willingly let her kill him.

Such alabaster skin looks marvelous when coated with sweat and tears and blood spray, especially when clutching a corpse still warm from only seconds of death. You should see her sometime, Iron Duke. Visit her in her dreams and let her cry so pitifully. I am positive that you, too, would find it as enjoyable as I had.

Now I must be off to listen to his bones. They sound lovely in the dark, strung up like a blasphemous windchime.

Entry 59, XXXX/XX/XX;

so mny allys now it maks me soooo hapy

DON'T YOU AGREE!? ISN'T IT BEAUTIFUL, OUR TREACHERY, LORD DISPATER!? SHE MAKES ME ANGRY, DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND!? I MUST BE RID OF HER! I MUST KILL HER!

Her blood is so healthy and red. I saw it today when she accidentally cut herself on a blade I placed strategically on the altar. It looked so warm. I wanted to lap it up, but I suppose smelling the tip of the sword is good enough. It was so coppery. Hah. My eye almost fell out in excitement. I haven't felt my heart jump like that since I performed my initiation sacrifice.

Entry 70, XXXX/XX/XX;

diediediediediediediediediediediediediediediedie
diediediediediediediediediediediediediediediedie
diediediediediediediediediediediediediediediedie
diediediediediediediediediediediediediediediedie
DIEDIEDIE!

Entry 75, XXXX/XX/XX;

She's found allies, it seems. A Red Wizard hired her as a mercenary for protection while he was setting up an enclave to the northeast of the citadel. He and two Luskan males take a peculiar liking to her; her beauty, undoubtedly, though the evoker probably appreciates her divine power and usefulness. They've also come across a disgusting abombination of a draconic blood. A hulking monster, tall as a tree, with powerful anatomy and strong flesh and bones. I have a feeling that it may follow Marona when she returns to the citadel. Gods help us if that happens.

Entry 76, XXXX/XX/XX;

((Translated from Infernal)) I WAS RIGHT. THE CREATURE, PRESUMABLY MALE, IS EATING ALL OF OUR SACRIFICES AND DISOBEYING ALL COMMANDS. I HAVE ORDERED MARONA TO GET RID OF IT, AND SHE WILL BE TAKING IT TO THE RED WIZARD IN THE MORN. THERE IS ALSO A SCHITZOPHRENIC MALE HALF-ELF WARLOCK TRAVELLING WITH HER. HE SOUNDS TO BE POSSESSED BY A TANAR'RI, BUT SHE DOES NOT SEEM TO CARE.

THOSE DUERGAR ARE BEING PAID TO EXCAVATE A NATURAL CAVERN INFESTED WITH CHOKERS AND FORMIANS BELOW THE CITADEL'S MAIN FLOOR. SHE BROUGHT BACK QUITE A BIT OF COIN AND GEMS FROM AIDING THE WIZARD. PERHAPS SHE SHOULD BE COMMENDED.

Entry 80, XXXX/XX/XX;

I look at her and see beauty. If not for my horrible depth-perception with my darkvision, I could gaze upon her more completely. I really must get these thoughts out of my head. I want the woman dead. I don't desire her.

Entry 83, XXXX/XX/XX;

She has been staying at the Red Wizard's enclave for a week now. I want to take advantage of her before she is killed. A lifeless body just isn't my sort of thing. That is better left to Quinneth, the drow. He enjoys the bodies of those recently sacrificed. It's disgusting, in my opinion.

It's getting harder and harder to keep things literate in my journal. My mind strains with the hours it takes to write a simple paragraph. Why I put so much effort into this, I have no idea. Perhaps I hope to regain my sanity from gazing upon my truthful scribes.

but tht isnt goin to hapen, nwo is it? hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!

Entry 91, XXXX/XX/XX;

marona! yu cam bak! im so hapy yet so not hapy at teh sam tiem. i hav frends now an thy wil help me kil u.

sty in my room tonite. i promis ill love yu befr u die. ill let yu b hapy for 1 nite ok? don cry aynmor; im here for u.

Entry 99, XXXX/XX/XX;

quinneth scarred hre away! wat an idiot! why did he have to do that? I swear, the more I interact with him, the more I realize just how irritating he is! HE'S DRIVING ME INSANE!

((Translated from Infernal)) NOW I WILL HAVE TO SCRY HER! NO, I WILL FORCE HIM TO SCRY HER, THE MORONIC NECROMANCER! HE WILL SCRY HER EVERY WAKING HOUR SO THAT I MAY WATCH HER! THIS WILL BE HIS PUNISHMENT! MARONA RESTED IN MY ROOM LAST NIGHT; I COULD HAVE TAKEN HER AS MY OWN, BUT THE BASTARD HAD TO ATTACK HER PREMATURELY!

That is the first and last warning he will ever receive. If he obscures my plans again, I'll mount his still-bleeding corpse above the altar as an ornament! I have gained leadership of the citadel again, but not in the way I desired. I'll have to take heed in tracking her and getting my opportunity to kill her again. First, I must set up a constant scry over the Red Wizard's enclave. She enjoys spending her time there.

**Nyssis** · 04-18-2007, 11:32 AM

Marona has, for the most part, been preoccupied with things that do not involve the time-consuming decipher of Talaster's eccentric journal. She has been steadily making her way towards the Sharahan Hills, avoiding the bustling city and loud commonfolk of the lesser communities. Her interest has shifted suddenly to a male human that attempted courting her into a journey, and she has become a bit more closed in emotion with other people. Perhaps she feels that the time is drawing near.

Since her most recent treck into the Hills, she has been silently repeating the word, "Drogan," over and over in absent thought. She refrains from doing it too close to public gatherings, but judging from the expression on her face, whatever events tied to the apparent name have her upset or irritated.

She received a few letters recently, some marked with glorified arcane symbols in distant Mulhorandi script. Apparently, she has been sending notes to the recipients for a few weeks now, but is only slowly getting a response. One of the letters is written in a distinct form of Common used in the northern Sword Coast region.

Marona,

It's good to hear from you again, Tymora be praised. You sort of vanished without a trace, right off of the face of Toril, after you washed up on Luskan. At least the bounty is off of your head now, but from what you've been telling me, I highly doubt you're safe over there. Jarod's been ranting about you ever since we got your letter. He's kinda' sad without you, ya'know?

We haven't heard anything from Aloth. That Red Wizard just doesn't want anything to do with us; we're apparently incompetent, badly-armed Luskans, and ... well ... Jarod got turned into an elf. You really shouldn't have assured him that he would grow up to be one. It's even harder to stand him with all of that elven mojo drawing the ladies' attention offa' me. A streak of bad luck, I assume.

Thanks to that hoard of coin you left us before you up and disappeared, we've been doing a lot better than before. I gotta' hand it to you. You always seem to know exactly where to get some good funds. You sure you shouldn't be worshipping Waukeen?

I hate to say it, but we kinda' miss you. It's boring without you attracting paladins and dragons and magical creatures that wanna' smite you all the time. Come and see us if you get the chance. I know it's a lot to ask, but a few days' visit wouldn't hurt, would it? I highly doubt Talaster and them will try killing you. Just get Aloth to protect ya'. He isn't very reliable unless you pay him, though, so bring a full coin purse.

Lady Luck bless ya',
Reddan & Jarod

Another is written in Mulhorandi, Thayan dialect.

((Translation)) In regards to your letter;

I have been enduring persistant scrying thanks to your "friend," the mentally unstable cleric and his slave-driven inferiors. It is becoming harder for me to experiment or practice the Art without jittery, paranoid eyes attempting to follow my every move. I suppose it is a blessing, then, that I have lesser Red Wizards to deter the attempts and replace the feedback with false visions.

Yes, quite a nasty bit of business you have been enduring. Perhaps you should have stayed here at the enclave with me, or over in that infested plague of filth that is Luskan. Based upon those two suggestions, as well as the events that occurred while you were unceremoniously dumped into either locale, I believe a wise woman like yourself knows the answer. My offer for you to join my personal harem still stands, of course. So long as you submit to me, I will ensure your safety. A reasonable proposition, agreed?

I will not apologize for sending you to Baator. You should have specified the exact location that you wished to be transported, instead of simply stating, "...send me where I want to go." I would figure that a devil-worshipper such as yourself would appreciate me being so polite. It amazes me that you were able to leave at all. Apparently, however, you are rethinking your faith ever since being trapped there. Who will it be this time: Bel, perhaps, or this "Azag-Erishtu" of yours? Or maybe even me? I have never had a zealot before. I am willing to give it a try.

Send a reply as soon as you receive this document. You have adequately garnered my attention for the time-being. Do not waste it.

And no, I will not give you another discount, dear Marona.

Sincerely,
Aloth Zura
Master Evoker of Thay

**Nyssis** · 04-18-2007, 02:42 PM

OOC: I appreciate everyone that is visiting this page and reading the material. To show my support, I've made a few sketches and wrote a little about each influential cleric that led the revolt against Marona. Please note that all of these characters, as well as their storyline, are a static plot for tabletop D&D. Yes, you can call this "fan service." (I apologize ahead of time if the images are an eyesore on the page. If it becomes a problem, I will reduce them to links. Until then, they will remain as they are for convenience purposes.)

Talaster Morden
Race: Human (Mulhorandi)
Age: 34
Height: 5'8"
Weight: 163 lbs.
Hair Color: Dark Brown
Eye Color: Amber
Fleshtone: Deep Tan
Class Levels: Cleric 14/Disciple of Dispater 2

This man has resided in the citadel for two decades, since he was a mere 14 years of age. Most of the entire time, he has been the head cleric of the citadel, though the incident regarding Marona dropped him from his throne for a year or two. He is a paranoid, mentally unstable man with a surprising grasp on reality despite his chaotic nature. He is capable of being literate and intellectual, though it can change at a mere whim into bizarre, childish, high-pitched yells. His expressionism is very otherwordly, his eyes adjusting from slivers to widened sockets and back as he speaks, though it usually only occurs when he is "collapsing," so to speak. Talaster has adapted a violently dominant nature from his years as a head cleric, and thus expects absolutely everyone to submit to his will despite their acquaintance or strength. If they don't, they earn his interest for a few minutes, but he'll eventually get bored and kill them for rebelling.

Marona is a different story, however. Although he tries to convince himself otherwise, saying that he wants to skin her alive or feed her soul shell to tanar'ri, he is compellingly intrigued by her. Entranced, even. He is affectionate for her, but can only seem to communicate lust and hatred through this emotion due to a lack of loving presence and instruction in his life. Also, most females that join the citadel are killed almost as quickly as they arrive (a test of strength dictates whether they can stay or not, and they rarely succeed because the males are almost always more powerful), so he never had a chance to interact or even a remote interest. Currently, he is obsessed with capturing her, though the distance between Sundren and the Vaast, where the citadel is located, allows only for him to send her morbid excuses for love letters.

James Caladri
Race: Tiefling (Baatezu)
Age: ~60
Height: 5'3"
Weight: 129 lbs.
Hair Color: Blonde
Eye Color: Red
Fleshtone: White
Class Levels: Cleric 12/Rogue 3

Talaster trusts James, who claims to be a direct descendent of Dispater, more than any other cleric in the citadel, except himself, of course. He is considered to be Talaster's second-in-command or his right-hand man, and holds himself high in regard. He is known to have a horrible temper with those he denounces as weaker than himself, but is a submissive slave for those more powerful. Talaster appreciates being pampered and called, "Master Morden," by the tiefling and often times gives him rewards of summoned servants or currency, but it is questionable as to whether or not James truly wants to usurp him instead. He is well-known for scaring the wits out of lesser clerics and keeping them paranoid, jumping at every subtle movement. He spends his time hiding in the darkness and awaiting orders, but he always has time to leap out and sneak attack other clerics with glee.

Although he instigates otherwise, James is a very influential opinionist whenever Talaster makes a decision. He is usually the first and only person consulted before the head cleric deduces things with himself, and as such he can control numerous people. James was the cause of Quinneth's revival, Fredrick's torture, the citadel being expanded, the hired mage that added the destructive runes to Quinneth's chamber, and several other events. He lets Talaster take the credit for everything, however; if he tried to, he would be skinned alive, and James quite likes his skin the way it is.

Fredrick Rasshell
Race: Human (Waterdeep)
Age: 46
Height: 5'5"
Weight: 142 lbs.
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Blue
Fleshtone: Light Tan
Class Levels: Cleric 6/Monk 4

Fredrick was initially a supporter of Marona. He appreciated her benevolence and level head when it came to protecting the citadel from Baalzebul cleric assaults, and overall found her to be an excellent leader for having such limited experience. While Talaster was garnering allies to usurp her from power, Fredrick attempted to thwart his plans ahead of time by spreading false information that irked clerics away from aiding him. Eventually, however, James learned of Fredrick's treachery and informed Talaster. Enraged, he and his second-in-command proceeded to torture the aged male with crippling magic and physical abuse. His skull was cracked, his eyes were ripped from his head and fed to him, and he was placed under a geas to forever serve Talaster loyally, no matter the cost, even when their souls are damned into Baator.

He is the rarest seen out of all of the "greater clerics" in the citadel. Most of the time, he is away on pilgrimages with his fellow Monks of the Long Death. When he is around, however, it's hard to keep oneself calm in his presence; several of the weaker residents complain about how unsettling his supposed aura is, frequently having spans of time where his mere walking by would cause their hair to stand on end.

Quinneth Xune
Race: Drow (Menzoberranzan)
Age: 317
Height: 4'9"
Weight: 74 lbs.
Hair Color: White
Eye Color: Red
Fleshtone: Ebony
Class Levels: Cleric 6/Wizard 3/True Necromancer 2

Quinneth was always a horribly depressed elf, bullied around by even the lesser clerics that occupied the citadel. He had a long string of patience and attempted to command respect, but his dabbles as a necromancer (probably the only one in the entire community) have brought others to look down upon him. He was one of the first employed by Talaster in killing Marona, easily swayed by James' persuasive tongue and eventual brazen anger. Unfortunately, he suffered a miscommunication with Talaster on the eve that she returned to the citadel. He attacked her ahead of time and she fled, leaving him with the blame.

Talaster, outraged, punished the drow by encasing him in a room with deadly runes lining its walls and forced him to scry the woman endlessly. As a primary cleric, he was a horrible scry, and was often disciplined for "doing it wrong." Eventually, he couldn't take the relative lack of sleep and sustenance anymore, and he took his own mace to his skull. Of course, Talaster wasn't done with him yet. He raised the drow from the dead and is tirelessly ordering him to garner an army of undead at the moment, trying to raise his seemingly useless skill. Quinneth has degenerated into an entirely passive, almost mindless individual now, and he follows orders even from lesser clerics to a key.

**Nyssis** · 04-20-2007, 04:50 AM

More entries of Talaster's journal have been wantonly translated and viciously broken down into theorums and propostions. As footnotes extend further into the breast of the journal, it seems that their quantity increases, as if things make much more sense. Marona is gathering far more an understanding of the man the more she tinkers with his writings.

Entry 103, XXXX/XX/XX;

Between starving the drow of food and disturbing his sleep, as well as physically torturing him, he has been making too little a progress to even bother with. I am getting severly frustrated with his lacking desire to appease me. If he won't even attempt to make amends for his destructive actions, there is little reasoning as to whether or not we should keep him around; whether or not we should keep him alive. I say, he'd be much better a statue, frozen in hewn stone, that stands watch over the entrance to the citadel than a scry. He would at least entertain me that way.

A worthless creature, said drow necromancer! He is better off returning to his traitorous birth-soil, once again reduced to the ash that crafted him! I should endeavor to obtain his True Name, or at least stick him on cleaning duty.

Fredrick was designated a traitor by James. He informed me that the monk was conspiring against me and favoring Marona. I'll eat the eyes and tongue right from his skull! Boil him into partial death and pluck them like freshly cooked fruits! A little shrivelled, but I can tolerate the taste until my stomach disagrees and I spit them back up.

No one favors Marona without my permission.

Entry 109, XXXX/XX/XX;

((Translation from Infernal)) I AM BEGINNING TO THINK THAT SOME CLERICS ARE JUST NOT WORTH AS MUCH TROUBLE AS I GRANT THEM. I CALLED IN A MAGE THAT SCRIBED EXPLOSIVE RUNES UPON EVERY WALL THAT SURROUNDS QUINNETH, DAY AND NIGHT, SO THAT HE WOULD NOT ATTEMPT TO BREAK FREE FROM HIS ENCHANTMENTS AND SLAY ME IN MY SLEEP. UNFORTUNATELY, THAT DID LITTLE TO PREVENT HIM FROM KILLING HIMSELF.

HE BROUGHT HIS OWN HEAVY MACE INTO HIS SKULL, SPRAYING FLUID AND SCATTERING BONE FRAGMENTS. ONE MUST HAVE TOUCHED THE GROUND JUST OUTSIDE HIS DESIGNATED CIRCLE AND ACTIVATED A RUNE. NEEDLESS TO SAY, HIS BODY WAS SPREAD LIKE A THIN MARMALADE TO EVERY CORNER. HE MADE QUITE THE LOVELY PICTURE, BUT WHAT A MESS! AT LEAST IT SAVES ME THE TROUBLE OF PONDERING WHAT HIS INSIDES LOOK LIKE.

IT APPEARS THAT DROW DO, INDEED, HAVE THE SAME BLOOD VISCOSITY AND HUE AS OTHER RACES. A SHAME. I WAS EXPECTING SOMETHING A LITTLE MORE WATERY.

Entry 110, XXXX/XX/XX;

Quinneth has been resurrected and is as submissive as always. I'm glad that he isn't mindless like those undead he command; he would hardly be as useful as he is now, as miniscule a difference as it would be. He needs to be kept under constant observation now so that he doesn't try to kill himself again. I've left Fredrick to that duty, despite how much James begs otherwise. The tiefling tries too hard to please me. It's wonderful, but annoying.

I've been shirking my duties as the head cleric for a few weeks now. I feel tired all of the time, like my energy has been expended well beyond its capacity. It saddens me. Marona is gone now. She was my energy. I want her back so I can return to my old self.

I ... miss her. Her hair, that lovely pale blonde; almost bleached white. Her eyes, that glorious turquoise. Her scent, ridden with lavendar and baby's breath. How it radiated from her, that energy. Despite her years, she still remained so youthful and exhilerating. How?

I'm so tired and it is only early dusk. I have to sleep for now. Perhaps when I get up, I'll be? (The end of this sentence is marred by a smudge of ink, as if he passed out in the process of writing and drug his quill against the paper.)

Entry 117, XXXX/XX/XX;

still tired. i can hardly bring myself to expend the effort to capitalize. something seems to be wrong with me, though i know not what.

i have a headache.

Entry 124, XXXX/XX/XX;

i'm so happy. i saw her today. james is doing a magnificent job of tracking her. i rewarded him with a new sword. he was so excited, and i don't blame him. he has deserved it, however, despite ignoring my other orders and scrying marona 3/4ths of the day for me. such a good boy, he is. perhaps too good.

finally, after such a long time, i feel that energy coming back. it's slow, but steady. i should be fine again in a day or two if i continue to see her.

Entry 125, XXXX/XX/XX; (The date of this entry is weeks after that of #124.)

cant stop scrying
cant write anymore
seeing her so often

iron duke be praised!

Entry 131, XXXX/XX/XX;

Again, again, AGAIN! It is the only thing I want to see anymore! She's running. Running from James. I sent him after her to get her back. She'll be mine again, just you watch.

Must get her away from the protection those two Luskans give her! But, James, you're doing it wrong! I want to exchange places with you and show you exactly how I can get her back, but ... the citadel. The walls are telling me of traitors in our midst. New faces, old faces, those unhappy and melancholy and overjoyed. The sanctuary requires a cleansing, they say. A cleansing only I can perform. It is my duty as the head cleric.

You best not fail me. I will not fail the walls. Their cracks and crevaces will seep with the blood of those that plot against us. AGAINST ME! DO YOU NOT REALIZE HOW IMPORTANT THIS IS!?

((Translation from Infernal)) I WILL SHOW THE BLOOD GOD A FLOOD EVEN HE HAS NEVER SEEN! REND FLESH FROM BONE AND FLING IT INTO THE EYES OF OPPOSITION! YOU WILL ENVY MY FEAST TONIGHT: MY FEAST OF CADAVERS!

Entry 136, XXXX/XX/XX;

hahahahahahahaha! ive yet 2 clen the pit of blood no th 1st flor. its startin to rot inot the craks an all th cornrs, but i don care. quineth cna clean it. tats wha hes here for.

there is still blood deep beneath my fingernails that refuses to come out. i'm afraid to keep pushing my eye back into its socket with these filthy hands; it may get infected.

we will be getting replacements tomorrow morn, though we will have a noticably smaller number than before. it's alright, though. i know these individuals. they are clerics of mephistopheles that will take up residence in the citadel. if i am lucky, i can convert them to our faith. if not, they'll stay until i get sick of their screaming fits, from whence i will sacrifice them to our lord dispater. not an appeasing effort, sacrificing our own allies, but their inability to talk without yelling at the top of their lungs makes me feel threatened and it gets me jumpy.

my room has had new protection spells and wards enchanted into the walls, ceiling, floor, windows, and objects. i also have prayed for only domination, scrying, and protection spells for weeks now. i am ready for them. i have memorized escape routes in case this is a hoax. the other clerics can die protecting me, but i mustn't. the easiest way to conquer us is from the inside. i will not allow myself to be overthrown by berserked fire-hurlers.

Entry 142, XXXX/XX/XX;

((Translation from Elven)) One of the Mephistophelites tried plotting against me! I killed him, but his fellows did not seem to appreciate that, so James and I slaughtered the whole lot of them! We are now back down to seven clerics: myself, James, Fredrick, Quinneth, Yevaol, Traada, and the half-elf who dubs himself "Sermon." I believe he raped the female arcanist, but he refuses to come clean about it.

I can see Marona every day! I am so happy! She changed her clothing preference again. She wears much more revealing garb now with a vast limitation on armor. Not that I should complain, but I really do not appreciate other males gandering at her figure. Besides, her lack of armor means that she will get injured more often. Watching her rip hearts from the chest cavities of villains that tempt the fates and get too close is highly entertaining, though.

My fingers are beginning to bleed from writing so much. I have been sending her letters tens of pages in length, dozens at a time. I sent her another eighteen this morning. I truly hope that she will eventually reply.

Entry 149, XXXX/XX/XX;

The Mephistophelites at the temple are inquiring about where their contacts disappeared to. I told them that they were plotting to take the citadel for their own and I had no choice but to slay them, but they didn't believe my words. We will be engaging in war at midnight. Their numbers are triple our own, but I'm not worried. I watched Marona all day today. She alone battled back a group of a Red Wizard, his two Thayan Knights, and nearly half a dozen hired mercenaries at the enclave. Of course, this is my fault to a limit. I didn't mean to, but I put out a bounty on her live capture in order to urge the Red Wizards to aid me in retaking her as my own.

She was injured a little. I felt bad when I watched her bleed. I don't know why, but watching her get hurt isn't as appealing anymore as I claimed it to be in earlier journal entries. I am going to garner a force of Red Wizards, allied clerics and blackguards, and miscellaneous other mercenaries following this conflict. I will take her back myself, rather than relying on others, but I know that she'll put up a fight.

Please don't make this difficult for me, Marona. I want to be gentle with you now. I place my faith in my iron and magic in this approaching tempest, if only to prove to you just how devout I am to your safety. No one else will treat you with as much kindness as I will.

**Nyssis** · 04-20-2007, 06:58 AM

OOC: This is a continuation from the previous post. Man, that 10,000 character limit has me irked.

Entry 157, XXXX/XX/XX;

They let her escape, slither right out of their grasp. To make matters worse, the head Red Wizard, a Aloth Zura, has fallen comatose. These MENTALLY-INADEQUATE BASTARDS!

I'm so outraged...
I was so close...
so damned close.

why did they have to do this? why did they insist on letting her go? my offered price was probably twice their sales in a whole semester, yet how careless they were. shes fled to the southwest, apparently, but i am not sure if i should even believe their words anymore.

such twisting, incomprehensible words. they do this on purpose.

wat should i do? shuld i pursu her? is it evn worth it anymor?

oh, but it is worth it. marona is wrth evrythin. a setbak, no mor. i cna stil get her.

th bounty is stil out on hre. the rd wizards hav sent wrd to their allys. nwo i wil hav an even largr forc, an marona wil hav a limted path to folow. she travls wit a luskan. they wil atempt to seek sheltr in his homelan.

Entry 160, XXXX/XX/XX;

no! shes disapered! we scyed her up until she entred rashemn an then ... nothin. shes gon. no mater how mny tiems i cal out to dispater, he wont answr me, either. scryin resuls in nthing. im getin worrid.

its posibl tha she has a mage folowin her an proteting her from bein watchd, but ... i dont kno. somthin is rong. i jus know it.

Entry 167, XXXX/XX/XX;

marona.

im sorry. truly. if that is enough to bring you back, please do so. if not, please let me know what i can do to make it up to you. i miss you so vastly. the world seems to move at a sluggish pace without you as my focus.

weve returned to the citadel. fredrick took care of quinneth while i was away, and james was left in charge. the blood stains on the first floor festered for so long that no amount of cleaning could get rid of them, but at least it managed to keep quinneth busy. he hasnt cut himself in a month. fredrick is proud of him. they commissioned some duergar to reconstruct the floor for us. weve had gray marble added. it looks lovely and it gets so shiny that you can become mesmerized by your own reflection in its surface. paired with the stained glass windows, its a magnificent addition fit for a king (or me, as james reassures).

marona would like it. i know she would. shes odd for a devil-worshipper. she still values beautiful things like gems and flora, despite how tainted her soul is. i, too, still value beautiful things. i value her. she is beautiful.

i need to sacrifice a clutch of slaves we were given as compensation for our wasted time at the enclave. hopefully ill feel better afterwards. if not, ill just go play the grand organ in the entrance hall.

such sad things i do and say now that she is gone. i would cry if not for the horrible pain it caused my eyes.

Entry 182, XXXX/XX/XX;

james took me on a killing spree early this dawn. he said, "youre worrying too much about everything. you havent even killed anyone in the longest time. we should change that, master morden."

i dont know why i continue attempting to scry her. she hasn't been found out in years. i suspect that she may be dead, for scrying any of her luskan or thayan allies has resulted in nil, but for some reason i cannot help myself. i keep hoping that, perhaps, my assumptions are false or mislead.

ill kill her for making me "worry" this much.

Entry 199, XXXX/XX/XX;

I?

I saw her.

James' voice was filled with noticable suspicion when I told him that this morning, though he refused to make it known. He inquired where and when, his face looking paler than usual, and I told him, "The shores of Luskan, this morning."

She washed up on the shore at the docks on the southwestern side of the city, barely breathing but alive. Her clothes were moist with sand and saltwater, her hair sticking to her bared shoulders and face, and her shoes were missing, though the soles near the toes of the feet were slightly burned. I was worried at first, for she refused to regain consciousness and stand up, but she eventually turned over in the sand and coughed viciously.

One of the residents approached her, weapon drawn, and asked if she had a coin purse. She asked what would happen if she didn't have it, and he threatened her with a smile. Exhasperated, she checked herself and assured him that she indeed had it, but she began playing a word game with him. He wasn't amused and slightly cut her in the throat with the tip of his blade. I was engulfed by rage and destroyed my desk in my fit of anger. I've never done such a thing. I am embarrassed by my lack of control; by my obsession.

Marona cooperated and gave the male damn near a thousand gold pieces. When he left, I was hoping that she would rip the soul from his body, but ... she simply stood up and began dusting herself off. I didn't understand it, but, then, Marona was more apportioned to neutrality. The only thing that inherently makes her "evil" is the corruption her soul has endured from killing, sacrificing innocents, and worshipping baatezu. Regardless, while she was adjusting herself and grimacing over how filthy she was, the two Luskans came upon her while in the process of leaving on a ship to take part in a mercenary exploit. The odd thing is?something that threw both me and her off?the archer of the two had suddenly altered from being a human to being an elf.

He had missed her more than the still-human and couldn't take his eyes off of her. I seethed. I knew what would eventually happen between the two and, to spare myself, I stopped scrying her for a few hours so I didn't have to endure their romance.

I'm jealous. I'll have to kill him eventually. I'm the only person who is allowed to look at and touch her that way.

Entry 200, XXXX/XX/XX; (This is dated the same as #199.)

I can't sleep. I've found her again and I'm so happy. I wish I dabbled in studies of the Art so that I may have learned teleportation or gated travel. I could be with her now, rather than lying awake here in my bed.

No. I would go there, get her, and come back so that we may lie awake together. Nothing would please me more. I could show her all of the new things we've added to the citadel.

All this afternoon, I've been filling what was once her room with flowers and other things that she likes. I stayed in there by myself for a few hours, tending to it carefully; lovingly. Then I ... suddenly had a fit of rage, and ... I destroyed everything in sight. I broke everything glass, burned everything flammable, melted anything metal; I don't know why. I carved Infernal script into the stone walls with the acidic tip of an enchanted blade; I don't know why.

And then I left the room and I felt coerced away from this anarchic behavior.

I'm turning unspeakably violent. I want to love her; physically, mentally, emotionally. Unfortunately, it seems that this other "side" of me feels otherwise.

This other version of myself. (This last sentence has been written on the next page, the quill noticably digging into the paper with a severe lack of control.)

**Nyssis** · 04-28-2007, 06:43 AM

"A letter for you, ma'am," a male voice, weak from travel and search, called out to the solitary woman leaning against a natural incline on the roadside. A book had previously been intertwined within her hands, but it was deftly set aside. She made no noise in reply and extended her hand, beckoning the message to her inventory. Wary, but otherwise not drawn aback, the male proceeded to hand the wax-sealed sheet of parchment over, his hand met with a few shimmering coins in prompt exchange. Accepting them, perhaps in longing gratitude, the young man tipped his cropped hat to her and smiled, fading back into the nearby campfire existence to rest. She watched him exit, conforming into the blue shade of the evening, then looked to the outside visage of her letter.

It held no information, though one could see the indentations of paranoid, jittery pen strokes through the paper. She extended it towards the moon's glow, but was greeted with a bare representation of what its contents were. Grimacing, she leaned forward into a stream of light and slipped a nail into the fold of the paper, snipping the wax away and discarding it. Viewing the parchment gave her great distress, as noticable in the sudden contorted expression on her face, but she denied the obvious yearning to stop reading. The letter was written in Infernal, the language of her god, but was otherwise improper and broken. The writer was rushed to get this message to her.

((Translation)) Come, come quickly. The citadel is under attack, waylayed by marauders under the flag of every other Archduke. Baalzebul, Levistus, Belial and Fierna; even those that worship Asmodeus himself! Please, we need your aid. We understand how fearful you have become of us, how much you despise and undoubtedly plot against us, but the citadel?our home?will crumble if you do not help. I've convinced Quinneth that contacting you would be the best choice in our feeble stand to defend the citadel. Fredrick is geased, though, so we cannot trust him for an honest, levelheaded decision.

Talaster has earned more than his fair share of enemies with most of the outlying temples. His paranoia has reached a new, incomprehensible level, and despite our Lord Dispater's yearning to become allies with all and enemies with none, our head cleric has done everything in his power to make everyone turn against us. I beg of you. I don't care how you help, but just hurry and do it. If we cannot spare the citadel from being overrun, I will give it up in favor of joining you in this new land as an ally. It's been my secret to overthrow Talaster for the longest time, but ... I am willing to forget it in exchange for my life.

We are so few in number, though powerful in strength. Unfortunately, the enemy is both multiple and strong. Know that if we fall, they will find you through the scrying circle that has been sealed to the floor of the temple. Old enemies are with them. They will remember and recognize you.

Blessed be the Iron Duke of Dis,
James Caladri
Servant and Child of the Lord

Marona glanced up. Her eyes searched the pool of water, murky in the night light, just across the bend on the opposite side of the road. It held no answer: only the faint lapping of liquid rolling against the ground in broken unison, and the rippling reflection of the moon in its glassy, smoked surface. There would be no insight there; she returned her gaze to her hands. She remained quiet and motionless for span of time, nearby patrols failing to break her of this phase with their passing greetings and meager attempts at conversation, as she simply shooed them all away and returned to her deep thought.

"I was certain that something this extreme would occur eventually," she conversed with herself in a hushed tone, brow furrowed. "Talaster is a man with little comprehension of alliances and allies, always attempting to milk the most out of potential as quickly as possible and use it for his own benefit. He has dug his own grave?quite the deep one?and now he and his inferiors must lay and be buried. James is plagued with cowardice for sending me this note. I should not aid them..."

She fell silent, struggling to find words of reassurance that accurately portrayed her ideals, but nothing hit her beyond guilt.

"However, would it be right of me to deny the fact that the citadel held a place in my memory, my sentimentality, and I desired not to see it crumble? Would I remain true to myself if I assured such a thing?" She shook her head in reply, continuing, "No. I do not want the locale to be overrun. I despise those that reside there, but I do not want it to be captured and claimed under someone else's banner. Unfortunately, Narfell is such a distance away. I would never make it there in time to aid them in any way."

Marona reluctantly reached into her pack and removed a clean sheet of parchment, a vial of ink and a quill, lifting the leather-bound book on her side into her lap and setting the paper upon it. The ink vial was unplugged and the tip of the feather-shafted instrument was dipped into its contents, soon set to write on the parchment. Slowly, she began retracing roads and passages that led to the citadel, noting areas in the frigid tundra where avalanches and cave-ins most often occurred. She was aware of the probability of new developments and escape routes in the surrounding area, and noted this off on the side in scripted Common, delicately taking extended time to draw arrows pertaining to possibilities.

Eventually, the paper was filled, front and back, with her tactics on approaching forces and their attempts at storming the citadel from any angle. She let the writing dry thoroughly, waving it with a subtle shake in the air every so often, and gave it a good look over, packaging it up for sequestered delivery in the morn and preparing Talaster's journal (and all of its notes) for the same transfer.

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