The massive beauty of the temple of Auril forever astonishes and amazes me. This house of winter is forever a sacred and safe haven for those who dwell in the destructiveness and glory that is Auril, Queen of Frost and Snow, Ice and the depths of winter. Every time I approach her statue I feel as though Auril herself is gazing down upon me, blessing and filling my heart with some dark and sinister purpose.
I came back to this temple to pray, as well as seek out the guidance and knowledge of Priestess Valkyrian, one of the only real clerics and holy clergy from Auril I have actually seen in the Swordcoast. It is an utter shame that only a hand full of worshipers outside of Nashkel can be found south of the Dales. However, I am eternally grateful there is the occasional devotee to Auril that is not unreliable and moronic. Far too many Ice Mephits and half-wit Frost giants do not deserve to be in the presence and magnificence of our winter-bringing matron. At least they know who to properly fear.
Regarding the issue of this "Brea" seductress, Priestess Irini Valkyrian had heard of no such being capturing the wills of weak men, nor could she really directly help me. I already knew whilst blabbing out my story about was has happened recently in the mind was falling on clueless ears. She has no information and knows nothing of the events that have passed.
I also warned her of the increase of adventurers and possible knights that may be wandering about the mountains and mines, searching for this witch they call "Brea." Having fools from other faiths, who lack and do not fear Auril within these wonderful and dreadful walls of ice and stone disturbs me.
We spoke on other matters, but nothing else came of importance regarding my mission came up My work thus continues. I do hope, that if we run into this "Brea" again, we may actually not lose some sort of evidence from the shard, so that I may observe it or garner some sort of power from within it.
I learned something interesting. The priestess associates herself with half-eyed, barbaric and swashbuckling pirates. Apparently she may or may not have been directly involved with the recent attack and ravaging of a small fishing village outside Baldurs Gate. I thought my priestess was more of a hermit, living amongst the ice caverns and temples, but she is actually quite worldly and travels frequently. How can she ever stand the warmth of the low lands? How can she venture on to the warm-wind ocean on floating rickety piles of wood that get pushed along the endless unfrozen seas by wind? And even associate with common criminals and thieves?
I really do not understand many beings in this world, nor do I think I want to. I rarely venture beyond the snowy hills of Nashkel. I suppose it is best that I just stay up in the mountains and continue fabricating my own plans and let the rest of the world below be.
Then again, Irini is blessed directly by Auril and has been granted powers that are beyond my knowledge of the Arcane. She doesn't seemed to be bothered by fire and other sources of warmth either. She also recommended I head northwards, towards the gate and mingle with the lesser beings outside of the frosty mountains, so that I may spread Auril's influence into the hearts of all mortals.
I have to contemplate this first. The warmth and the heat beyond Nashkel are horrendous. I still remember venturing into the Sharpwood teeth, and having to constantly summon ice upon myself to feel comfortable. Such a draining experience.
Zorn ~ Permanent resident in a Cavern.. Somewhere!
The priestess of Auril in the sacred temple outside of Nashkel has started the rituals which involved the final storm of the seasons. The Last Storm is underway, and I do not plan to miss it. I am uncertain if I will be attending it from afar or personally directing some of the ceremonies, but it matters not. To vie w the final splendor that is Auril in the last waking hours of winter is all that matters now.
I don't wish to write on anything else until after the storm, and perhaps a week. I wish to revel in what little is left of the most chaotic season of the year.
Zorn ~ Permanent resident in a Cavern.. Somewhere!
The priestess was right. Much more occurs when one ventures beyond the snowy mountains of the Cloudpeaks... I do not regret these past two days in any such way. There is far too much to jot down here, so I am going to summarize everything, quickly and appropriately.
I have decided on the contrary to what I previously wrote to actually take this initiative to venture out beyond the Cloudpeaks and into the world. There will be no such time for resting. Irini is wise as a human priestess and I feel that her wisdom is correct. Aurilites should not be idle in one area where the snow dominates, and spreading her dark and frozen influence about Faerun does indeed seem wonderful and magnificent. I am not cleric, but I too feel some need to bring Auril closer to the morons whom live in the Swordcoast.
Thus, I decided to first visit a place that I haven't visited for quite sometime. Durlag's Tower. It took me about a day and some to get there... but all and all, not much has changed. The lands surrounded by Basilisk which turn foe into stone, the arching bridge over that narrow canyon and the Displacer Beasts, the Umber Hulk. The Drow. The depths of the dungeon were all too familiar and were unchanged, with the exception of a few trap here and there which of course do little to nothing against most magical wards.
I did ran into that flirt Tildon though. Odd to see such a charismatic and handsome figure such as himself down there, looking for "Dragon's Bile" as he so claimed. And all for a friend? I seriously have my doubts he would go out of his way to get some liquid from the guts of a black dragon for some so-called 'buddy' or 'partner.' Regardless, we chatted on the matters at hand within the Trade Emporium as were are colleagues. No stones have been left unturned and it seems that our trails are all cold when it comes to locating this "Brea." Sadly, I fear the orders from the north will soon be trampling on the snow and ground which is sacred about the Temple of Auril.
I barely stayed in the depths of those bleak an ancient dwarven passageways before deciding it was time to leave. There is nothing there for me. I have long studied the properties of both Umber Hulk and Displacer Beast, and Drow's natural resistance to magic make them a frustrating test subject.
But where was I to go? I felt the heat at the edges of that vile desert along my way to Durlag's tower, and I dare not return to such a horrendous place. Beregost and the woods full of Orcs do not interest me, but it seems that there was little room for options.
Teleporation. Such an interesting spell. This was the means of which I traveled. To teleport is something otherworldly (then again, many things you encounter as a wizard really are!). The shifting of space and time and the sudden appearance of being in a place that you previously were not. I myself do not quite grasp it when I do cast it, but I find the results to be rather chaotic at times.
I made my way to the top of Durlag's tower and closed my eyes, concentrating on a point. Yet, my mind was not clear. Somehow through it all I was indeed able to warp my body through the emptiness and appear from another side. Unfortunately this place was not desired. The Friendly Arm Inn. And surrounded by Gnoll at the time too. I tried to communicate with the ugly beasts with what I know of the Gnollish language, but it seems the creatures were in a frenzy. They attacked the Inn and I barely escaped myself. Were it not for some passing cleric and an invisibility spell. . . well, to make a long story short, I may not be writing this now if it weren't for quick feet and the use of magic. I am not the wisest of beings, I'll admit, but I know when it is time to flee.
I ventured into the woods of Sharpteeth, having escaped the Inn's fate. I do not know if it remains standing, nor do I really care. But the woods around me during that time seemed desolate, and different since I last saw them. I'm not entirely sure what happened, but something about Doron Amar and black orcs tugs at my memory. I'll have to read what I wrote from previous dates to figure out exactly what was happening here. Far too much has passed while I was in that Frost Giant's dungeon, this I am certain of.
The second casting of Teleportation was much more successful. I appeared exactly where I wanted this time: Eastern Baldurs Gate, in the fields that once bent to Auril's will in the dead of winter. But it seems the drought of the land is no more, and the crops are growing, even during the end of winter. A farmer asked me to stuff his scarecrows full of hay for him, but I think my emotionless glare intimidated him and he quickly turned the other way. . . .
Then, the highlight of these past two days happened to walk by. An annoying individual by the name of Westin Blake attempted conversation with me. At first I shunned him, telling him to begone and find someone of his own level worth talking to. But later on, sometime after I had traveled northeastward towards the other farmsteads I ran into this human again.
I decided to toy with the creature, wondering if there would be anything worth getting out of it since he had come a second time. He mentioned his name and told me what he was doing. I was quite shocked to at first learn that he worshiped Auril, but he claimed that it ran in his family and that all fathers before him also worshiped the goddess of snow and ice. At first I thought he was joking as his tone sounded all too full of lies and mockery. I thought he was making fun of my religious beliefs, but I soon realized that he was indeed serious. Still, he seemed weak and poorly trained, unlike other warriors under the service (and fear) of Auril's influence. Thus, I decided to mess with the mind of this human.
I told him I needed a task to be done, and that I would reward him if he assisted me. Being a mercenary seemed to be within his nature and he agreed. I made the idiot stand in the center of the arena north of Baldurs Gate. It was empty at the time, and I made sure no guard was looking. I had him pose like a fool in the middle of the arena. I then began to draw him, using parchment and ink, the very substances I use to write this diary.
*The following half page shows a crudely drawn man in armor, wielding a mace and sporting a short beard, posing in a way a typical warrior would try to pose: Tall and strong. *
When he asked if I was almost finished (he was clearly impatient), I told him only a spell would complete the drawing. He agreed to let me cast magic on him to speed up the process. What a fool. I only made him regret when he realized he just allowed me to let all his time literally freeze into place. I petrified the moron , freezing all but his head and chest in stone and ice.
Westin Blake. The Wailer I think I will call him. He began to scream and demand that I release him at once. He threatened me, begged me, and then soon I swear I saw tears form at the bottom his eye sockets. This was a warrior of Auril? I laughed and taunted him so, knowing that he could not truly understand the fear that Auril bestows in the hearts of mortal men.
His voice carried rather loudly though, and I noticed both farmers and guards approaching the scene. I told this Blake to swear that he would forever fear and respect Auril, no matter what he went through. An oath to the frozen mother of the snowy mountains and an vow to fear her forever. He agreed entirely, having no other choice, really. So I released him. He fell to his feet, cursing and babbling in whatever tongue he could and he began to take off , swearing that he truly feared nothing and that the whole event would not shake him. But i already saw the fear in his eyes, and I know that I have made a point out of this situation and that he may from now on know and fear the mother of all things ice.
For his amusement, I left him a rather cumbersome trinket. A tall tower shield blessed by Auril that I found in the mountains. It is useless to me, but hopefully whenever Westin Blake gazes upon it he will think of Auril, uttering her name when he kills, and also think of me, that witch who could have frozen him solid and broke him into thousands of pieces to be picked up by wondering fools and fighters who next came to use their arena for sport and play.
Irini has been completely right. There is no need to stay in the Cloudpeak mountains for extended periods of time. Although I hate the heat of these warmer areas, the entertainment is far too enjoyable. I have much hope that the next victim and play thing will be even more entertaining, and that he, she, or it too will respect and fear Auril the way that this warm earth and all the warm-blooded creatures should.
Now. . I wonder. Where shall I go next?
Zorn ~ Permanent resident in a Cavern.. Somewhere!
The Fields of the Dead. I see some thickets and patches of tall grass growing out from the cold earth, and bones. Hundreds of bones litter these lands. I feel the curses and the damned, and it seems as though the very essence of the dead scream out to all those who pass through.
I haven't been back to the Cloudpeaks for these past days. The warmth below the rolling hills full of hill and frost giants still bothers me, and I don't think I'll ever get used to it. However, exploring and venturing beyond places that I have not been for what seems to be ages is rather refreshing.
I've seen a few of the dead walk across the fields. Strange that some unholy magic animates them as so, yet they don't seem to be able to detect me through invisiblity spells. It's as if they had eyes in those empty eye sockets.
Zorn ~ Permanent resident in a Cavern.. Somewhere!
Time keeps on slipping by as I have wandered to the edges of the Swordcoast. From the Cloudpeak mountains I have travelled North, nearly beyond the rolling troll hills. The air continues to get warm, and I dread the day time. Noon is horrible and the afternoon to follow also horrendous. There is no mercy from the sun anywhere, it seems. It is not as bad as some desert land, but the lack of coldness somehow causes me to shiver in fear when I think about it. Quite ironic when I don't find the cold all too painful.
It's been nearly an entire month, four weeks since I've had any decent report. And there is nothing to write down. I have run across trolls, undead, and bugbears. Nothing out of the ordinary in these parts. I have had little contact with adventurers, for I meditate in the dark and damp caverns that I steal from Ogres, usually at night. Being an elf, immune to the reliance of needing to sleep like that of other mortals, I still at time must rest. An Ogres den is hardly a wonderful place. Yet it provices an ample supply of darkness during the daytime when the sun is at it's peak. I could use magic to easily keep my skin cool and cold, but I feel that an entire day of casting is quite draining on one's mind. .
I feel like a vampire that needs no blood. Yet I do not stalk humans, halflings, or any other civillized race... no.. I drive out hideous barbarian gaints from their dwellings and wipe out their offsprings, just to keep myself cool and out of the sun.
Perhaps Irini was wrong. . for I feel there is little excitement away from the Cloudpeaks. Perhaps I should go further north into the northlands, and into the dales. If I could express a sigh in written language here, I would.
I've had little contact with the Trade Emporium and sometimes even forget entirely that I am a member. I suppose this is what a diary is for.. to help wandering minds and crazy wizards remember what exactly it is we should be doing or have to remember.
Zorn ~ Permanent resident in a Cavern.. Somewhere!
