Serenitis Book of Fey Lore book 1 Preface

[tooley1chris]

Exerts from D20 supplement
http://www.mediafire.com/?w4m7xwj9tvjjwp7


Most Loved Sereniti,
You must oomveela my words as E writes them. E can speak your tongue well, but the letters escape me and you won’t know the words of my people. Some words E may have to use my writings for.
Sa name is Halsfast. E am an Aco, or elf, as you may call us. E am your oilaniram. E helped bring you into this world.
_______________________________________________________________________
OK, this is ridiculous. I have hired a scribe to translate and transcribe what I say to you. I apologize this is not in my hand but I need to be clear so you understand what has transpired up to the point of you reading this.
YOUR MOTHER AND HER TRIBAL CURSE
first, your mother. Rochelle was brought to me by the spirits of Chult. She was drugged and abandoned to die by her own sisters and left to die.
Every woman of your mothers family was born with a gift bestowed on them by the Fey named Xotli.
This fey was worshipped by your tribe as a god but it is no such deity. Rochelles sisters were jealous of her power and left her to the savage jungles.
These are not your mothers words but what I have surmised myself from many years of conversation with her. She never returned home for fear her sisters would be put to death for their crime against her.
You mother knew only love.
This love and her love for me brought her to make a pact with the fey demon Xolti to grant her long life so that she and I could live long together. My people live very long as compared to yours.
Xolti agreed to this pact as long as Rochelle give up her first born child to the demon.
Please understand it had long been decided that your mother was barren and incapable of having a child. This being the case, Rochelle agreed thinking she had outsmarted the fey.
She was already blessed by you in her belly and knew it not.
Your birth was hard on her, Sereniti. More than her body could bare. She bled. She died. And you were born.
Understand I never knew love like your mothers.
I fled with you before Xolti could claim his prize. We travelled for a year before I heard of the refuge for children near Baldurs Gate in which you would be kept hidden from even the most powerful magics. You would be safe.
I paid them very well and hope you were treated with respect. But had to warn them of the danger you and they would be in so I know you were treated unfairly compared to your peers. For this, I apologize but it was a necessity for you to remain unseen.
I’ve spent the last few years learning all I can of the creature that hunts you and all it’s kind. Perhaps this lore will aid us in freeing you from the curse that haunts your soul. The below pages are the result of my research.

[tooley1chris]

The Fey
The fey are difficult to understand for many of mortal blood. Their actions are strange and seemingly without reason at times. Worse than this lack of understanding is the tendency of
mortals to generalize them so much that further study seems unnecessary. “A dryad of course,” says the pedantic human scholar, “is tied to a tree and cannot leave it. She wishes to protect nature more than anything.”
Never is it considered that the tree might be a personal hell, and that the dryad would escape if
it had the chance, or that she only wishes to protect nature to evade its wrath. This is indeed the case, sometimes.
So too may it be that the dryad truly loves her home, but not because she is inherently a creature of nature, but because she is not.
Every single one of the fey can be understood by keeping the following truth in mind: Fey beings are souls that have been given one last chance at existence. \
They are no longer part of the True Cycle of nature, and when they die, they fade away forever
unless some immensely powerful being (such as Rememberers) can bring them back quickly.
They are not an inherently related class of creatures, so much as a state of being, a condition of the soul. Ancient gods, spirits of the land and of the sentient dead come to this state when they are left with no other option for perseverance.
Incorporated into worldly vessels, their souls are bound so tightly that they cannot procreate among their own kind. They know that each day may be their last, and they strive to make it matter, one way or another. In this way, the fey are tragic creatures, even as they are creatures that revel in life. While they are for all intents immortal, “forever” is but a word. Every fey creature knows that he must eventually fade, as circumstance collides with the weight of eternity.
To become fey is to enter into a pact with the All, the essential forces of reality that even the gods are powerless to create or destroy. This bargain allows the spirit to continue its existence
but ensures that it must remain outside of the True Cycle of life. Sometimes this pact is facilitated by an intermediary like a deity, but many times, it is personal to the fey, something that cannot be expressed by words. At best it may be described as something akin to duty and love, even if at times it is a smothering duty or a selfish love.
A fey is a being that has come near the end of its existence – a dwindled god, a lost elemental spirit, or the unclaimed soul of a mortal creature who failed to cast his lot with the gods in
time. When such a spirit despairs that it is on the verge of oblivion,
something, somewhere, may hear him and answer. When this happens, the spirit is remade as a fey.
Indeed, “fey” is a state of existence, ontologically no different from the state of being undead, except that fey exist on a separate pole of the spectrum. Fey are creatures that have no other
recourse for continued life; they are the memories of old souls in a great mind; or recurring dreams, that will fade should the universe stir in the night. The best they can hope for is to enjoy their false promise of eternity while it lasts, to shout with glee against the nothingness, or to become a nightmare that cannot be so easily brushed aside. Every fey creature is aware of his or her plight, on some level, and it shapes his every action. Birth, living and dying. This is known even to children as the natural order of things – the life cycle.
It’s almost quaint in its simplicity. But this cycle is just one of many that weave and swirl through each other in the dynamic masterwork that is creation.
Fey are souls that have been embodied into a state of being that exists outside of these cycles. All of the potential energy of the web of life is denied to them, and their energies are denied to
it. They are fundamentally representative of a state of imbalance of imperfection.
For some reason, they have been found wanting and consigned to a role outside and in between the natural order.
For some, the state of being fey is a gift given to a soul that had nowhere to go upon death, and for others, it represents a chance at atonement for whatever imbalance they had created in their
previous incarnations, or a slim chance to enter the True Cycle for those created or forced outside of it.
The existence of the fey is fragile and the world, tumultuous.There are countless ways which a fey creature can be changed as it ages, from changing host or court, to its own self directed advancement. They are at the helms of their own destinies, a fact that gives them great freedom but leaves them unprotected.
If they make a wrong turn in their path, they can end up weakened or dead.

[tooley1chris]

Physiology
When we examine a fey being, we notice that it appears to
have been pulled, prodded, and warped, as indeed it has, though
not physically. A fey’s features are an external view into its soul.
The flesh that contains it is altered by the nature of the soul in
many ways. Form follows the state of the soul, and the sight of
a fey creature with features pulled taut is a revelation of the tenuous
hold that beings that have come to this state have on existence.
Fey are spirits bound into a fleshly form. They have skeletons
but no naturally occurring internal organs or muscles as
humans know them. They have blood of a sort, as all living
things must, but they do not pump it though their systems by
physical means. Instead, each has a hollow chamber within its
ribcage that holds its heart, the focus of its soul. A fey heart is
composed of energy, but it takes the illusory (figment) form of
some symbol that represents the state of the fey’s soul.
Each fey heart is different. Ashee may have a glowing gemstone
or a golden acorn, while a grogan might have a ball of
brambles. Afey heart is the pattern that ties the spirit to the flesh,
and its blood is the conduit that translates the will of that soul
into action. Of course this heart is rarely if ever seen by others,
but the fey knows it’s there. It is a symbol that may recur in dealing
with the individual or in his idioms, and he may bestow a gift
that resembles it upon any he cares for.
When a fey creature dies, its soul enters its heart, which then
leaves his body in an ethereal form. Cast about on the winds of
the Ethereal Plane, the lost fey soul begins to dissolve. Over
time, this fragile soul will be torn apart completely, and it will be
as if the fey had never existed.
The Blood
Though fey are only tied together by metaphysics, their
blood is the same, no matter how they come to their state. It is
the conduit for their souls and the container for all of their
magic. The fey refer to their blood, the one aspect of their physicality
that is the same as that of beings that are part of the True
Cycle, with a reverence that approaches worship. A fey will
swear an important oath “on The Blood,” and to cut one’s own
flesh when making a promise is particularly meaningful. Even
the most vile creatures among feykind will swear “on The
Blood” when they wish it to be known that they are in fact
telling the truth. When they find the need to do so, it is certain
that they are.
Unfortunately, there are magical uses for fey blood, the
most common of which is the elixir of life. Wizards also find it
useful in the creation of new life forms or in powerful transformation
spells that are never spoken of in public.
Pure fey blood, when applied to mortal skin, grants a
Charisma bonus equaling the fey’s hit dice for 24 hours. When
drunk, it grants a like Dexterity bonus for 1 minute. In the right
hands, any or all of the former fey’s magical abilities can be distilled
in the form of a potion, except that such a potion can contain magics higher than third level. This requires the Craft
Wondrous Items feat and a Craft (alchemy) check, with a DC
equal to 20 plus twice the power’s spell level.
Basic Needs
The creatures of faerie do not need to eat, sleep or breathe
as a mortal does, though some choose to. Instead they are sustained
by siphoning of the sparest amounts of magic and life
energy from their surroundings. They are so efficient at this that
they are able to do so without doing harm to plants or animals
that may be in the area.
Eating
Most times, fey do not need to eat at all. When they are in
the wilds, they are able to sip in the nourishment they need from
their surroundings. When they enter even the most slightly civilized
area, however, they cannot find sustenance so easily. In
such cases, they may eat by drawing the essence of food or drink
into themselves. Such foodstuffs are destroyed in the process and
turn gray and tasteless, leaving intact any water or other elements
such as an apple’s skin that the delicate fey find difficult
to digest, but turning all matter to something akin to ash. Unlike
ash, however, this substance is useless, though thankfully without
odor. An apple or two is often enough to feed a mediumsized
being. Feeding upon the foyson of intoxicants has the same
chance of bestowing the substance’s intoxicating (but not poisonous)
effects upon the fey as if it had eaten or drank the substance.
Sleeping (Reverie)
Fey do not need to sleep or trance whatsoever. By default,
spells and abilities are regained at dawn, though members of the
Nightmare Court (see Chapter 2) regain them at midnight. Not
all fey are understanding of the mortal need for sleep, just as not
all mortals are understanding of the boundless energy of the fey.
This can create unusual conflicts when parties of mortal and fey
cohabitate. Luckily there is an option that alleviates fey boredom
when mortals need to “lie down for the whole night” as it has
been put. Though a fey cannot sleep, it can dream. By relaxing,
perhaps with a bit of wine, a fey creature can slip into a state of
“reverie”: a focused delirium not unlike the state of being
drugged, or a waking dream in which the fey creature can interact
with whimsical characters and scenes, or even, with enough
power, divine the past, present or future. The reverie is personal
to each fey, though some are able to share it in the form of illusions or by projecting it into another’s mind. As a fey grows
older, the draw of the reverie becomes stronger and stronger, for
within it, the fey feels no pain and indeed is too euphoric to even
pay much attention to his surroundings. Many if not most fey
choose to live their entire lives in reverie, conducting both business
and play according to rules based on dream logic to further
compound the strictures of fey existence.
Aging
Fey do not age, unless they choose it for themselves. They
may age or reverse apparent aging at the rate of one year per day,
or slower if they wish. Most prefer to remain in a perpetual state
of youth, but others choose the forms of children or the ancient.
As they “age” in this way, they gain the outward traits of a mortal,
such as white hair and wrinkles.
Breathing
Fey do not truly need to breathe as mortals do, as they have
no natural lungs. Instead, they draw air or water, if they are able
to breathe it, into their chest cavity, where their heart pulls the
life energies they require into itself.
However, this does not make them immune to the ill effects
of suffocation or drowning or of attacks that depend on their victim’s
breath. Air becomes devoid of life energies as living creatures
take it in, so unless the air is replenished, a fey is just as
susceptible to “suffocation” as a mortal.
Each is attuned to the environment that surrounds him, and
in order to maintain a link to life, he must use the air or water of
his surroundings as a medium. In addition, unless the fey has
developed the capability to extract the life energies from water
(or another medium), he will not be able to sustain himself on it.
So in essence, though he does not need to breathe, he might as
well have to.
Life Cycle
There are five ways that new fey may come into existence.
These methods are:
1. They (male or female) may mate with mortals, drawing on
their unbound life energies to create progeny. Fey created in
this way show no physical signs of their mortal parent,
though a bit of the mortal’s emotional tendencies and attitudes
will carry over. The mortal supplies the clay and the
fey supplies the design. Fey born of a human mother will
always be the same type of creature as the father.
2. They may render the fey nature unto mortals who follow no
god and who remain unclaimed by divine beings. This is
how some fey have garnered the reputation for kidnapping
newborn children as they have.
3. They may invite unclaimed souls of any kind, including
those of the dead (but not those that are already undead),
into fey existence. Little unintelligent spirits and elementals
sometimes become fey, as they are drawn in by the power
of a greater being like iron to a lodestone.
When a female fey wishes to bear a child, she calls out to a
spirit that is ready to take on fey existence. This spirit then
joins with her, and she shapes it during periods of reverie,
seeing her child as it will one day be.
4. A sufficiently powerful being, such as a god or demigod,
may choose to become fey if it finds that it is near death.
Though incredibly rare among mortals, there are also magics
that spellcasters can use to bestow this state upon themselves.
The process is not entirely unlike the process of
becoming a lich, though it is significantly less gruesome.
5. A sufficiently powerful being may create vessels for lost or
abandoned spirits and render unto them the fey nature. The
creator of the fey need not be fey, merely powerful enough
to create vessels for them. As fey are “used” souls, such a
being usually resorts to using them if they are unable to create
souls on their own. Such a powerful being becomes a
Rememberer (see below) to all fey under them and has commensurate
powers over their well-being.
A female fey that is with child can choose the form of their
offspring. A dryad could give birth to a grogan, or a nymph could
give birth to a puck. The tastes and desires of the mother determine
the actual form of the child. Unlike many mortals, the
appearance of the offspring has no affect on the love of most fey
mothers. If the child of a fey mother is to be different from herself,
the child will be born of one of the base races listed in the
Characters chapter.
Of course, a fey may choose to give birth to a fey that
exhibits its own characteristics. Such fey are born with 1/4 hit
die (1 hp), and grow to a mature stage of 1/2 of their parent’s hit
dice in 10 years, unless they choose another path. Like humans,
most never become very powerful.
Death and the Promise of Eternity
Fey immortality is a burden imposed upon a soul that has
transgressed in a prior existence or which would otherwise be
lost upon its death. To become fey is to receive a final chance to
become part of the world, to be remembered by the Overmind.
Fey deaths are final. There is no afterlife for the fey, even if
some powerful beings can draw upon the echoes of their souls to
recreate them. No magics of 9th level or lower are powerful
enough to restore a dead fey without the aid of a Rememberer. A
fey creature that remains dead loses one HD per day, as he fades
away. When he has no more HD, he is gone for good, and no
power is great enough to restore him.
A Rememberer (see below) such as a god who rules over a
world’s fey may specifically exclude his fey from this fate and
allow them to be restored by mortal magics or not, as he desires.
Some even go so far as to reclaim fey souls and give them new
incarnations, especially where fey souls are scarce. In the
absence of a powerful Rememberer, however, a fey soul is especially
fragile.
After a fey dies, any of his active spells or effects, even
those that are permanent, fade away to nothing. That which is
wrought by the fey is not meant for the world.
Remembrance and Dream
“Do not forget me. Do not misremember me.”
– The Eternal Plea of the fey
The fey are an echo of mankind that expresses our deepest
fears and our brightest hopes. They are images of us as seen
through the bubbled glass of the window that looks out onto our
dreamscapes. But they are more. They are not, as some might
fancy, our dreams made manifest, but rather part of a greater
dream that reveals that we too are but passing thoughts in a great
mind beyond our feeble reasoning.

[tooley1chris]

The All and the Overmind
The All is the fabric of all reality, as the fey know it. It is a
pattern beyond all pattern; everything that is, will be, or may be
lies within it. The True Cycle is but a tiny part of the All. It is
beyond men, beyond worlds, and beyond gods. It is the totality
of being, and anything that can be described falls within its infinite
boundary, even that which is called nothingness. Whatever
lies beyond the All cannot be described by that which lies within
it, for the very act of naming or describing brings a thing into
the fold. This belief in the All is the closest most true fey come
to religion, though they hold no ceremonies in its honor and
build no temples to its glory.
The fey believe in a sentient aspect of the All, which they
call the Overmind. This is the soul of the All, without which
none of it could exist. They believe that all things, even them, are
but dreams of the Overmind and that they are particularly deep
ones that might be forgotten should the great consciousness stir
in the night. In a very real sense, each time a fey dies, it risks
being forgotten.
The Rememberers
Sometimes lesser fey will elect or be born under the guidance
of a leader. The primary role of such a leader, be it a powerful
fey, an outsider, or a god, is to serve as cynosure (see
below) to the fey beneath him or her. Such sentient cynosures are
called Rememberers, for it is they who helps to hold the fey to a
given world.
Becoming a Rememberer grants the being utter power over
the life and death of those who follow him and the ability to take
on the burdens of another’s crux, if the Rememberer is fey or a
god. Some worlds have many Rememberers, some have one, and
some are entirely without them. Only through a Rememberer can
a fey soul be restored to life after death.
A Rememberer has its own goals and can be benevolent or
cruel, depending on its nature. Some teach the fey of their state
and serve as shepherds, while others keep such knowledge hidden
or warp the truth in order to maintain power. Some, with the
power to do so, alter their charges – either to remove weakness,
or to impose it.
Once a being becomes a Rememberer, the title can never be
taken away, short of the being’s death.
Fey Mindset
Fey are ancient beings who feel the wounds of the world
more deeply than humans do. Because they have little ability to
temper their emotions, they can be volatile. Fey are incapable of
governing their passions. Logic has little if any place in their
decision-making processes, if emotion tells them otherwise.
They do what they feel like doing at the moment, even if they
know it might bring about poor results. More thoughtful fey justify
an emotional reaction after the fact rather than operate from
a logical base to begin with.
Promises
Regardless of alignment, fey who make a promise are
bound to keep it. They must do everything they can to fulfill any
promise they make, even if it is made under duress. They must
use all their power to deliver upon their oath within a year and a
day, or longer if agreed upon. They expect no less from mortals
who they grant favors to, though they can defer their own payment
(as in the case of requesting a young mortal’s first-born
child) for as long as they wish. They know when the agreed-upon
price for a favor or boon is available and will come to collect it.
The fey may use tricky wording to bend an oath to their own
needs but do not take an oath lightly.
If a fey creature breaks an oath, it immediately enters crux.
If a mortal breaks an oath sworn to one of the fair folk, the fey
creature gains the ability to use any of its powers or abilities
upon the mortal at any distance, even on other planes. Being an
oathbreaker among the fey is a very undesirable situation, for the
fey creature’s allies may help to punish him.
Symbols and Rules
Symbols are as important as fact to a fey creature. Rules are
nothing more than symbols, and even the most ridiculous fey
rules will be obeyed, even if it means the death of the fey;
indeed, a fey creature can be killed by his own faith in accord
with these rules. Some rules are made by a Rememberer, while
others are inherent to all fey.
The Laws of the True Cycle (The Law)
The world of mortals is full of cycles: the seasons, the
moon, the tides, and life itself. Beyond all of these things is the
True Cycle, the hand or will that comprises and moves all of
these things. Fey are outside of the True Cycle; it is not for them.
The True Cycle is simply everything natural. Plants, animals,
rocks, the sea, and even humans are actors in it. The world
is the theater of life, and the True Cycle is the script. The act of
performing magic rewrites this script and changes events from
what they should be into what the spellcaster desires. Such petty
spells are but ripples in the river that is the True Cycle, but
beings like the fey are boulders or dams built in its way.
Because fey are made of the very stuff of magic, their very
being reworks the True Cycle in such a way that can threaten its
existence. Like any natural thing, the True Cycle seeks the path
of least resistance, and sometimes that means removing fey from
its way. It is a force of nature, devoid of intellect, uncaring and
unknowing.
Every fey must respect the True Cycle and never interfere
with it, unless it first interferes with them. They are not allowed
to come into direct conflict with it, except to preserve themselves
in the moment, though they are able to hasten its course, or to
repair it should another damage it.
Essentially, the Law says that fey are not allowed to interfere
with the natural order of things. Therefore, they may not resurrect
a mortal in its natural form after its years are done, they
may not cause it to snow in an equatorial desert, and they may
not cause the extinction of a race. Smaller influences may escape
the force of the True Cycle, as the damage they do is undone
quickly enough that the Cycle doesn’t build up behind the obstacle
created.
Below are the specific laws of the True Cycle. They apply
mainly to spells, spell-like abilities, and supernatural abilities
used by the fey, but truly egregious nonmagical acts might bring
them into effect. No matter the source of a fey’s spells, they must
abide by these laws. Thus, for example, a fey sorcerer is still subject
to them.
Law of Balance: If one gains, another must suffer. If a fey
heals an innocent, it must also cause harm to one; if it gives
wealth to one, it must take from another. The good give of themselves,
while the evil take from others. In the above example,
simply casting heal on an ally and doing damage to an enemy is
not enough. Another innocent must be injured, with whatever
alignment issues that might bring up. This is why many fey are
neutral.
The Law of Final Truth: One cannot deceive the True
Cycle – at least for very long. A fey may quickly conjure or alter
an item, to great effect. However, these changes are not truly
real. Food conjured from nothingness offers no nourishment, and
fey are at best temporarily in another place when they translocate
to another area. In addition, a sorcerer cannot simply conjure an
attack, unless this attack causes another to break a law or reveals
the fact that it is breaking such a law in its own magics. For
example, a fey may “heal” another without giving of himself or
taking from another, but when the magic fades, all effects of
wounds will accumulate on his person. Spells that create matter
or that alter reality and have a duration of instantaneous or permanent,
cause the fey to enter crux a number of hours equaling
the fey’s level after they are cast, unless they are rectified.
The Law of Propagation: One can change the flow of the
True Cycle, but one must be careful. Anything real that is to be
done must arise from the original conditions of nature, as they
are altered over time. There can be no truly instant creations,
though more powerful fey may be able to act very quickly. This
law means that the only time fey can safely “create” lightning is
when there is a storm overhead. Another example is that to throw
a fireball, the fey must first have at least a candle flame to build
from. Matter may not be created or destroyed, but it can be
pulled from the surrounding area. In other words, a fey must take
something that already exists as the seed for any spells that it
casts, if it is to avoid the possibility of crux. To safely use spells
of a permanent nature, a fey must increase their casting times to
a year and a day. A year indicates the length of one turn of the
True Cycle on a given world, and a day allows the alteration to
become real; it bridges two turns of the Cycle, and thus the
Cycle’s flow is changed to accept it.
Fey are able to cast the spells on their lists as they are written
and without hindrance, even if casting them conflicts with
the laws. However, doing so without heed can quickly lead to the
fey’s demise. Each time that a (non-permanent, non-instantaneous)
spell is cast without heed to the laws or that tries to find
a loophole (there are none), the fey receives a grace period of a
number of days equal to his caster level squared. If he has not
brought the effects of his deeds back in line by this time, he
reaches a crux.
The fey have an acute but strange sense of justice. What
they receive, they repay in kind. The fey notion of an equal trade,
however, is an odd one. It is based on emotion, not pragmatism,
or the concept of an object’s inherent worth. A bluebell given to
a dryad when she was wistfully remembering the ones that used
to grow near her grove may grant a full wish to the mortal that
gave it to her, if such is within her power. Depending on the court
the fey belongs to, this may vary slightly, but overall, it holds
true.
Even a good fey cannot be
held accountable for acts that cause distress in others, as long as
he returns things to their previous state at their end. Good fey are
quick to forgive, as long as the offender is truly recalcitrant and
undoes any harm he caused. In the meantime, they may consider
him an enemy, but as soon as things are right, they tend to forgive.
An evil fey may never forgive even the smallest slight,
dwelling on the harm until vengeance is sated or even longer,
even as he expects forgiveness from others.

[tooley1chris]

Cynosure and Cycle
The state of being fey is delicate. While beings who enjoy it
possess great power, it is a subtle and volatile combination of
spirit, sentience, and life that runs the risk of becoming unbalanced
at any time. Fey must follow the rules of their existence.
The two primary rules are called the rules of cynosure and cycle.
Cynosure
Like undead, fey are incomplete souls, lacking in some fundamental
resource. Unlike undead, however, most fey do not
harm that which they need; they coexist with the object of their
completion symbiotically. Rather than feeding them, per se, this
need, when fulfilled, ties them to the world, preventing them
from fading to nothingness. The thing that ties the fey to this
world is called its cynosure.
A cynosure is some being, place, idea or group which reinforces
a fey being’s existence. It is a hand reaching out from the
darkness that keeps them from falling from a precipice. By tying
itself to a cynosure, the fey is able to borrow time. Even if the
Overmind has already begun to forget, why not cast one’s lot
with a race, the land, or the gods? As long as they remember, the
Overmind cannot forget so easily. In a very real sense, the fey are
stories told by the Overmind to itself, and sometimes other
beings learn the secrets of these stories, and the fey live on in
their tales, even when the Overmind has already begun to forget.
A cynosure, once chosen, may not be abandoned unless the fey
survives a crux imposed by forsaking it, but it may be slowly
altered over time, as the object of the fey’s passion changes. Fey
can take multiple cynosures, but this is usually not wise.
Multiple fey may and usually do share a cynosure. More fey
inhabiting an area increases their ability to protect it from threats
that come from many angles at once.
Locale: Fey who choose a locale as their cynosure must
choose a contiguous feature of landscape, such as a river, forest,
mountain, or lake. Even something so large as the sea could be
chosen, in theory, but at great risk. This area must be protected.
If any part of it is destroyed or damaged to the point that it can’t
support life, the fey will enter a crux. They may leave it under
normal circumstances but do so at their own risk. Most fey will
resist changes to their locale, but some are content to allow mortals
to inhabit it and to change it over generations. These fey
change with the land, adopting local customs slowly and often
seeming anachronistic where they are found. The typical portune
exemplifies of this kind of adaptation.
Group: This may be a number of specific types of plants,
creatures or sentient beings. This can range from a type of violet
or a breed of fox, a fey host, or a subculture or tribe within a race,
as long as it is clearly definable. If this group is ever wiped out
or assimilated into another one, the fey will enter a crux.
Rememberer: A Rememberer is a single individual who
has utter power over the fey who follow him. Casting one’s lot
with such a being can be a very good decision, or a very bad one.
On one hand, the being will seek to preserve itself and thereby
the fey beneath him, but if the Rememberer so chooses, the fey
can be destroyed on a whim. Most often, fey take a Rememberer
as their cynosure out of ignorance or desperation.
Ideal: Only the most powerful and ancient fey have tied
themselves to an ideal; for when they were formed, there were
precious few places in creation. These ideals might be peace, justice,
vengeance, truth, or rage ... or any other objective. If a fey
ever fails to embody this ideal by directly acting against it, he
will enter crux. A fey tied to an ideal may never abandon it,
though they might change their interpretation of it, becoming
darker or lighter. This cynosure is best reserved for NPCs,
because it is a powerful and vague one. If a fey Rememberer
chooses, it might have an ideal as its cynosure.
Cycle
Every fey has a purpose, either one chosen for herself or
given to her at creation. Since fey are not part of the True Cycle,
they must find their own. Cycle is as close to religion as most fey
get. It is a set of ideals that those bound to it adhere to, and it
grants powers to those in association with it.
The cycle that a fey being belongs to defines the way that he
or she uses and consumes natural energies, and the way that the
fey creature may use the power he or she is given. It also serves
as a measure of the fey’s remaining life force, for a fey can
change the cycle he is aligned to by his actions. In this way cycle
can be seen as a ladder. Descending this ladder is risky, for to
travel beyond the lowest rung is certain death to the fair folk. As
a fey lives through the ages, it most often will move down this
ladder, rather than up.
Each cycle is tied to a fey host, but their relationships will
be discussed here. These cycles are more than simple delineations
for fey; they are echoes of the cycles present in all of
nature and in all of nature’s creations. Each cycle has a day when
it is strongest and when its fey are at the peak of their power. On
this day, a fey creature gains one bonus spell for each spell level
he is able to cast. There are eight primary cycles of fey existence,
just as there are eight phases of a moon, or eight turning points
in a year. Additionally, there is a ninth, which represents the most
fragile state of the fey: the Cycle of Twilight, which exists
between and transcends all others.
Every fey is comprised of forces from these nine cycles
(including twilight), but some focus more intensely on one than
the others.
The cycles are:
Destiny: The Destiny Cycle is one of promise. It is what
makes kind beget its own kind, allows the sun and moon to rise
every day and the seasons to change.
Fey who are bound to the Destiny Cycle are among the most
powerful and honor-bound of their kind. On extremely magical
worlds, they help to maintain the natural order of time and keep
nature’s schedule. The Destiny Cycle is also farthest removed
from the petty concerns of mortals. What is a single lifetime in
the grand theater of history? The Day of Destiny is the Summer
Solstice. The host that upholds Destiny is the gentry.
Transformation: The Transformation Cycle is about
change, such as the birth of a child or the butterfly that emerges
from its chrysalis. It is the spark that is kindled into a flame, the
moment that one thing becomes another or when a new role is
taken in life.
Members of the Transformation cycle are the tricksters and
wise folk among the fey. They enjoy their supernatural abilities
to walk in the shoes of another and are drawn to artistic performance.
Their primary concern is knowledge, whether it be
gained or given. The Day of Transformation is Midsummer’s
Day. The host that upholds Transformation is the revelry.
Creation: The Creation Cycle is about genesis. It is the
beginning of a long journey, or of the hope of spring to come. It
is gestation, the first thaw of winter, the first stirrings within a
seed. It is pattern untouched by decay, a pure idea at the moment
of conception. It is as close to perfection as any mortal can come,
for deeds can rarely meet the promise of ideas.
Fey belonging to the Creation Cycle are the builders and
architects of history and of matter. Those who fall into this cycle
tend to be the fey that are most concerned with humanity, for it
is by their deeds that all future history shall be written. Whatever
course they take, they are often drawn into the beauty of their
own work and are prone to covet what they create. The Day of
Creation is the Spring Equinox. The portunes are the host that
upholds Creation.
Growth: The Growth Cycle is present in the tree that
strives to touch the sky, the yearling who becomes a stag, and
the moon as it grows from a sliver into a disc. The growth cycle
is the one that has given fey their false reputation as creatures of
nature.
Fey who belong to the Cycle of Growth are the protectors of
life. They possess the most powerful healing magics of all the
fey. The Growth Cycle is the one most concerned with the True
Cycle.
The Day of Growth is Mid-Spring’s Day. The yarthkin
uphold the Growth Cycle.
Mystery: The Mystery Cycle is about secrets. It is evidenced
in the power of an obscure blossom to cure a mortal
plague, the markings that hide a predator or its prey, the fog that
leads wanderers astray. It is dark truths whispered to a child as
he sleeps, or the disheartening truth of a lover’s infidelity.
Mystery Cycle fey are the most deceptive, the most vile, of
all the Nightmare Court. They prefer stealth and numbers to a
fair fight and have the least honor of the fey. Wicked and ugly,
they wear cloaks of innocence and beauty to better set up their
victims for the kill. The Day of Mystery is the Winter Solstice.
The horde upholds the Mystery Cycle.
Fortune: The Fortune Cycle deals with luck. It represents
the force that gives one child his father’s strength and another his
stupidity. It is the early thaw that comes in time, or the early frost
that kills the harvest – the give and take of nature’s whim.
Fortune Cycle fey are the ones most concerned with material
gain, and they hoard their riches to the detriment of others. Fey
of the Fortune Cycle are the most likely to actually steal, rather
than borrow, what they covet. These evil beings will allow suffering
in others, even when they have plenty to spare. The Day
of Fortune is Midwinter’s Day. The bogeys uphold the Fortune
Cycle.
World: The World Cycle is about consequences and
rewards. It is the time of harvest or famine, the ability of nature
to give or to take. It is burnished gold, glittering silver, and the
sparkle of a newly bought soul within a gem.
Fey who uphold the World Cycle are the buyers and sellers,
those who know a man’s price and are willing to meet it. These
fey are the ones who steal mortals from their worlds and remake
them as loyal new fey for the Nightmare Court. They are the
most likely to wander dark roads at night and to come to a mortal
in the hour of his greatest need and tempt him with what he
desires most. They seek to gain power, to better corrupt civilizations,
in order to cause their downfall. The Day of the World is
the Autumn Equinox. The uninvited uphold the World Cycle.
Death: The Death Cycle is one of endings. The Death Cycle
is about the chance at renewal that destruction brings. It is the
teeth of the wolf biting at the stag’s throat, the setting of the sun,
the dying ember. It is also the interval between notes, the heartbeat
before a lunge, the child’s first step.
For fey of the Dream Court, the Death Cycle is natural: predation
to preserve a species, the last leaf falling from the trees
before winter’s sleep. Nightmare Court fey come to this cycle
when they have no further recourse for existence. For them, it is
desperate, selfish, and cruel. They seek only destruction for nonfey
creatures.
There are several instances of “undead fey” in various editions
of the MM and in third-party d20 materials. The stance of
this book is that fey cannot become undead, by any means. Elves
can become banshees because they have given up their fey
natures, but what of other creatures that were once considered
fey but are now classified as undead?
This book’s explanation is that these creatures are not
undead at all but are instead fey, though they have become creatures
of the Death Cycle (see template on page 25) and are easily
mistaken for undead. Though they cannot be turned, they have
vulnerabilities that can be exploited.
The Day of Death is Mid-Autumn’s Day. The host of grims
upholds the Death Cycle.
Twilight: The Twilight Cycle is about balance and its precarious
nature. It is the act of fading from one thing to another,
the end and beginning in union. Within it, yet forever separated
from it, are each of the other 8 cycles. The Day of Twilight is the
first and last day of Reality’s Creation (only one of each, ever).
The Twilight Court upholds the Twilight Cycle.
Dwindling
Crux
The state of being fey is fragile at best. It is a walk along a
thin precipice, and one misstep can cause a fall. When a fey
being has committed an act that is exceedingly good, evil, lawful
or chaotic or has betrayed the role of his cycle, he may come
to a crux – a turning point with the power to kill, maim or leave
the fey forever changed. “Crux” is the closest translation of the
name the fey have for a transformation, an anagnorisis of some
kind with the power to change the entire psyche and physicality
of the creature.
Any time a fey violates the Law, changes alignment, or violates
his host restrictions, he comes to a crux. The results of this
change may cause him to change host or court or even to die.
Upon reaching a crux, the fey must make a Will save against a
DC of 15 plus his own character level. Failure means he immediately
and permanently loses two HD or levels, and is forced to
save again or suffer the same fate immediately. Of course new
save DCs are based on the current level. This process continues
until either the fey makes his save or dies, as outlined below.
The reader will notice that the save to avoid dwindling
increases in difficulty as the fey gains power. This is because the
most powerful fey are the most bound by the rules of the fey
nature.
Even if the save is made, the fey will dwindle, losing one
level or hit die unless he opts to leave his court and enter another.
Evil fey must enter the Twilight court if they leave their own,
but a Dream court fey may opt to enter the Twilight court or the
opposing host in the Nightmare court at any time after the transgression
(including after a failed Will save but before the
moment of death). They must change their alignment to evil, but
for many this is better than to suffer the effects of dwindling or
death. The dark ones welcome them with open arms. The reasons
a good fey might opt to join the Nightmare court rather than joining
the Twilight court are twofold. He may rationalize at that last
instant that he can work his way back into the good graces of his
former allies, and he may fear for his life. Entering the Twilight
court is a dead end; there is no way out once the fey has made
this decision, and future cruxes will hold greater risk.
A crux is a catastrophic event for a fey. If he even survives,
he will be transformed; how much is simply a matter of how
truly selfish he is.
A crux is a spectacular if terrifying sight, and no two are
alike. The energies of the True Cycle wash over the victim, and
he suffers incredible agony. Those who stand by may hear
incredible thunderclaps or feel powerful winds, which only
adversely affect the victim of the crux. The fey may burst into
flames, be struck by lightning, or be thrown violently around in
an invisible zephyr or any number of primal tortures. At the
moment of such an event, the entire cosmos is out to harm the
transgressor, and no magic is powerful enough to stop it.
Regardless of what happens, the one who suffers the crux is the
only one in real danger, although if another fey attempted to
interfere, he would call a crux down upon himself.
Though it is extremely difficult, a member of the Nightmare
Court can make his way into the Court of Dreams. He must gain
the confidence of a Dream Court fey or a mortal who is willing
to believe in the good within him – no mean feat in itself. He
must then begin to perform good acts to invoke cruxes, with all
of the dwindling and risk of death that entails. Finally, when he
reaches the point where a single dwindling will result in his
death, he must perform one more act of goodness and its body will be greatly tested in the effort.
If he survives, he is transformed into a Dream Court
fey but greatly weakened. He may begin again, carefully. Only by risking
himself can he earn his way into the Dream Court.

[tooley1chris]

The Court of Dreams
The Court of Dreams upholds the virtues of justice, purity,
altruism, and passion.
All members of the Dream Court enter crux when they commit
an evil act, violate their host restriction, or break any part of
the Law of the True Cycle
THE GENTRY
The gentry are the so-called trooping fey. They see justice
as the prime fey virtue. They are noble fey who travel the land
righting wrongs and seeking true, equitable justice. Even so, they
take some joy in any excuse for a hunt, which gives them the terrifying
reputation they have. When there is a threat in their lands,
they mass and go on a “rade,” a great hunt where they face and
eradicate the threat. Escaped mortal murderers or other criminals
may also have to answer to them when they seek refuge in the
wilderness. The hosts of justice are the hunters of the fey realms.
Most of this host is comprised of shee and pucks.
Forms: It is the gentry that gives the fey their nickname of
the “fair folk.” All members of this host are exceedingly beautiful
or handsome members of their race, with fine skin and hair.
They resemble perfectly proportioned, slender humans, with
chiseled, angular features and ears that come to a sharp point.
Their skin ranges from luminescent or translucent primary colors
to rich tones in human tones. Regardless of the original type
of the fey, entry into this host bestows a regal presence.
Weakness: Gentry are vulnerable to attacks of the evil
energy type.
Restriction: The Gentry may never lie or break a promise.
If they do so they must pass a test of endurance or fall asleep and die. Even if they pass this test
they immediately dwindle unless they enter the Court of Twilight.

The Yarthkins
Yarthkins are devoted to the fey ideal of purity. They seek
to keep the pristine places in nature pure. They favor primal surroundings,
uncorrupted by civilization. Therefore, yarthkin must
take a contiguous feature of landscape as their cynosure. This
may be a mountain, a forest, a lake, river, or any other significant
object on the natural landscape. If they allow civilization to
encroach upon their protected lands, they become grims.
Forms: Yarthkin resemble humans with plant features
instead of flesh or hair. Females of the type are usually fantastically
beautiful, as nymphs and dryads are. Males of this host are
usually even more secretive than the females.
Weakness: Yarthkins are vulnerable to fire.
Restriction: Yarthkins may never allow harm to come to
their cynosure. If they do, they immediately enter crux, as they
are overcome by the same forces that led to the crux, dying within
soon after. For example, if a dryad’s tree burnt down, the
dryad might burst into flames.
Some of these creatures can grant another the ability to become fey.

The Portunes
Portunes favor the fey virtue of altruism over all others.
They are the host most concerned with mortals, as they believe
that by showing that fey and humans can cohabitate, they can
stave off costly wars or possibly earn their way back into the
True Cycle.
The portunes are the workers and craftsmen among the fair
folk. An individual portune may take up with a mortal craftsman
and lend a hand in exchange for foyson (nutritional value) from
the foodstuffs of the household and whatever leftover scraps of
leather, wood, or metal the craftsman has lying around. They
accept no other payment, for to do so requires that they become
indebted to the mortal. They may grow angry if gifts are left for
them beyond the requisite food and scraps.
Portunes tend to live in the walls or cellars of mortal homes,
hiding there during the day in a state of reverie. Portunes hate
noise and disarray. The first few times their reverie is disturbed
by chaos, they will take it in stride, but if it continues, they may
leave the house.
They come out to work when the household’s asleep. They
take scraps and leftovers from their mortal partner’s workshops
in payment. These they craft into fine goods, for in their hands,
slag is just as good as refined steel.
Forms: Portunes are small little humanoids of any fey race.
Upon entering this host, the fey becomes size Small, or one size
smaller if already Small. Most portunes have almost comically
exaggerated features. If they are fat, they are round; if they are
thin, they are gangly. Their noses can be incredibly small or larger
than a gnome’s. Of all the fey, portunes are the ones most likely to
have beards, and the males are sometimes covered in patchy hair.
Weakness: Portunes are vulnerable to loud noises. They
hate noise.
Restriction: Portunes may never accept outright payment
(other than what they take) or gratitude for any work they do for
others. If they do so, they enter crux, shrinking away to nothing quickly if they die from it. If a portune survives this and stays with the mortal, he is indebted to that house and will be forced to serve for generation after generation.
This is how I learned so much of the fey, Sereniti. I tricked one of these into accepting a gift in payment. Then he was mine until I took every scrap of knowledge from him I could.

The Revelry
The revelry takes entertainment seriously. They are the
group that focuses most on emotion and are the group many people
think of when they think kindly of the fey. The revelry values
passion as the highest goal of fey existence. This host holds
the best parties among the fey. They are charged with trade and
serve as liaisons to the mortals. They hold fairy markets in outof-
the-way wilderness areas and will often make deals with mortals.
Members of the revelry might poison a mortal, dress him up
as royalty, and put on a maudlin play about “The Poisoning of
the Prince.” They would of course cast neutralize poison before
it went too far, but the fact that they would put a mortal at risk in
the first place helps in understanding their minds. Likewise they
might cast fear on their audience at a particularly tense moment
of a play.
Forms: Fey of the revelry tend to be urchins, grogans, or
pucks. As a fey of the revelry grows in power, he will take on
even more exaggerated features than he began with. These alterations
will always make the fey seem almost decorated, somehow
more fey. Highly pointed ears will be brought to windswept
points behind a puck’s head, a satyr’s horns will become more
ornate, while a shee’s natural aura will become brighter.
Regardless of the changes, the being’s features become more
delicate.
Weakness: Revelry are vulnerable to attacks from the death
energy type.
Restriction: Fey of the revelry must never cause a mortal to
give up on a worthy dream. If they do so they must suffer a
crux. If they die from the crux, they fade away or are torn asunder, unless they enter the Court of Twilight.

The Court of Nightmare
These are evil fey.
The Court of Nightmare upholds the twisted virtues of
vengeance, fanaticism, domination, and obsession. Their primary
goal is to rid a given world of the True Cycle and to impose
their own. Depending on the host, success would mean either
that they would lord over lesser races forever or a world entirely
rid of mortals, where fey can frolic in eternal night.
In places where the Nightmare Court rules, common folk
call the fey by euphemistic names, designed to avoid their attentions.
Names like “the kindly ones” or “noble ones” belie the terror
that these creatures instill in mankind. All members of the
Nightmare Court enter crux when they commit a good act, violate
their host restriction, or if they break any part of the Law of
the True Cycle.
Unlike other fey, the Nightmare Court is not averse to using
undead, though they tend to prefer that such monsters be preserved
from rot, or stripped to their bones. The process of decay
reminds even them that life is fleeting.
Despite their evil, members of this court are still capable of
love, or even kindness, in their own twisted way. If they succumb
to it completely, they may over time earn the right to leave
their court behind and enter the Court of Dreams. This doesn’t
happen very often, I’m told.

The Horde
When justice is all-consuming, it becomes vengeance. The
horde makes war on mankind, but without honor. They travel illlit
roads or skies by night, hunting mortals and razing remote villages.
They are cowardly in their activities, striking only when
they believe they have no chance of failure. A large hunting party
of these fey is called a “rade.”
Forms: The horde are a motley assortment of trooping fey
and creatures possessing fey blood, with features that border on
the demonic. They are mostly humanoid in form, though they
come in all shapes and sizes beyond this. Many have goat horns,
black fur, cloven hooves, and red eyes, forked tongues and tails,
and disproportionate limbs.
Weakness: Members of the horde are vulnerable to attacks
with the good energy type.
Restriction: The horde may not cross running water, even
in flight, without using a bridge. If they do so they enter crux. If
they die from it, they boil away to nothing.

The Grims
The ideal of purity, untempered, becomes fanaticism. The
grims hate everything not fey, despite the fact that many of their
own court are less than pure of blood. They seek to cleanse the
world of its mortal taint, one region at a time, and go about this
by befouling the lands they hold and by corrupting any mortals
they allow to live. Grims are the Nightmare Court’s answer to
yarthkins.
Forms: Grims resemble wizened old humans, except for
their pointed ears and disproportionate features. Their faces are
lined with cruelty, and most have long noses like a hag’s. They
often dress in patchwork clothing made from rags, including
softly pointed hats. They are found living below decrepit
bridges, in old mills, and along rarely traveled roads.
Weakness: Grims are vulnerable to attacks of light
energy.
Restriction: Grims may not enter a place that is used for
active worship of mortal gods (they can still live on the grounds
of a temple, just not in the actual temple proper). If they do so,
they are destroyed as if turned by a powerful cleric.
If they survive, they immediately dwindle, unless they
enter the Court of Twilight.

The Bogeys
Altruism unbound can decay into domination. Bogeys are
portunes who have lost their way. Instead of working with mortals
to mutual benefit, the bogeys wish to place them under their
thumbs. They are small-time slavers who take over small farms,
villages, or mining operations. Bogeys are not required to dwell
in a mortal residence; they merely need to live where there are a
lot of mortals to play with. This means that mines, school houses,
and barracks are all fair game. In large groups they are a
threat, but alone, they must often content themselves with stealing
goods or otherwise taking advantage of their unwitting hosts.
Bogeys hate noise and disarray.
These fey move into mortal settlements in secret and gradually
drive humans out. They use their unassuming looks to lull
mortals into complacency in order to steal from them and then
betray them at the worst possible time, such as by setting a home
on fire on the coldest day of winter. Like portunes, bogeys love
mortals, but rather than aiding and protecting them, they prefer
to torture and enslave. Unlike the horde, they don’t seek the
extermination of mortals, but they do wish to see them under
their thumbs.
Forms: Bogeys look very much like portunes, and this fact
is their greatest power. If anything, they have a slightly more
wicked cast; some are wizened almost beyond belief.
Weakness: Bogeys are vulnerable to chaotic energy.
Restriction: Bogeys may not allow natural daylight to
touch their skin. If they do so they turn first to stone and
then to dust.

Now this next one is the type of being that hunts you now so commit this to memory, Sereniti.
The Uninvited
The uninvited are revelry that have gone evil and now find
passion in causing pain. The uninvited seek to corrupt mortals
through avarice, putting them at each other’s throats. They kidnap
children for ransom or to add to their numbers and on cursed
nights are known to hold markets for their kind, where mortals
may find forbidden enticements for the price of a soul.
I’ve no doubt this was to be your fate, daughter.
Forms: The uninvited usually have the form of darkly
beautiful humanoids, wearing rich finery. Others may take the
form of kindly old men or women who entice children with
sweet morsels and adults with feigned distress. Whatever form
they take, they seek to put mortals at ease, making them easier to
tempt.
Weakness: The uninvited are vulnerable to lawful energy. Even though they may be lawful, their own adherence to rules can be turned against them.
Restriction: The uninvited must never allow a mortal to get
the better end of a deal, when all is said and done. If they do so,
they may be completely destroyed.
This is why you are in danger. Xotli MUST complete your mothers pact or die. What this means is that if you are not taken, body and soul, by Xolti eventually your mother will have gotten the better of him. If you are killed by another or your soul is somehow taken he will enter crux and die. If Xolti has members of the fey who hate him and know of you they may wish you dead so as to kill Xotli as well. Beware!

The Court of Twilight
The Court of Twilight prefers to remove itself from the
realm of mortals, staying hidden and private at all times. They
leave all cycles behind and try to survive on the fringes of the
natural cycle. They perform their duties to their cynosures but
choose to revel in life itself, rather than get drawn into endless
battles or court politics. This “court” exists solely to treat with
the other two courts on matters that concern all fey. They have
no particular forms and welcome all fey who wish to join them.
By default, unintelligent fey are nominal members of this court,
and representatives will speak on their behalf. All of the standard
fey from the MM, as written, are members of this court, though
any of them can be members of the other courts.
When a fey enters the Court of Twilight, he keeps his previous
host powers.
Members of the Twilight Court enter crux when they break any
part of the Law of the True Cycle. Fey who enter the Twilight
Court are permanently bound to their cynosures and may not
move more than 300 yards from the boundary of their cynosure
(without the Reduced Cynosure feat). If they do, they enter crux
in hours. This may present problems when a fey enters the
Twilight Court and his cynosure is a sentient being.

[tooley1chris]

Types of typical fey
Grogans
A grogan is a small-sized fey with the hindquarters of some
hooved beast, usually covered in hair, possessing incredible
strength. They are a race known for their exceptional strength.
Despite their small size, they have strength that exceeds that of a
mortal man. This, combined with their low charisma, leads them
to be the brutes among the fey. Many grogans become portunes,
enjoying the constant stream of varied tasks that come their way
when working for humans.
Grogans are the race that becomes satyrs, but the satyr represents
a refinement. Where satyrs prefer wind instruments, grogans
prefer drums. This comparison speaks to their character.
They are an intense, sporadic people. Many believe that grogans
are the fey created from elemental spirits.
Pucks
The pucks are the most manlike of the small fey, at least at
first glance. Pucks are small, human-like fey, who remind many
of precocious children in both appearance and action. They tend
to become tricksters and truth-tellers, especially where everyone
else is afraid to do so. It is said that they are created from the
spirits of the human dead.
Shee
The shee are glorious. They are the race who can become
the most powerful and beautiful of any of the fair folk. Among
them are the nobility, the leaders, and the greatest fey heroes.
Each is radiant, sheathed in a corona of golden, white, or blue
light, such that they are difficult to behold. Such power they
have, and thus require, that few worlds can sustain them. Before
the coming of man, most worlds had at least a few of these wondrous
beings, but when civilization pushed the forests back, most
retreated to other realms. Countless shee have had their lives
ended, or ended them by their own free will, as the places for
their kind have become fewer. Shee branch in many directions,
as they grow. Some become nymphs or dryads, while others take
more convoluted paths. The race of elves are the muryan scions
of the shee, in particular shee of the gentry.
Good shee are not arrogant; they are at peace with themselves
and believe themselves no better than any creature great
or small. Evil shee, however, turn all of this on its head. They are
the worst of the worst, cloaked in darkness, even as the shee are
cloaked in light.

Urchins
Urchins are among the most simple of the fey. Despite their
strange appearance, they are more like mortals in their values
than any other type of fey. Granted, they apply the same sympathy
to an injured tree as they would a mortal, but if one ever
needs help in the deep woods, an urchin is the one to find, if one
can. Perhaps this kindness can be owed to a lingering memory of
ancient mammalian warmth, for it is believed that urchins are
created from the unclaimed souls of small woodland animals.

Contact with the world of the fey can lead to subtle changes
in certain beings. Sometimes this is intentional and sometimes it
is accidental. Either way, a creature is removed from the True
Cycle to become an immortal fey. This process is where fairy
dragons, giants, and animals come from. Upon being shaped by
these fey energies, the creature’s features become more like the
rest of the fey; their ears may become pointed, their chins, noses
or snouts may become more or less pronounced, and their other
features may become exaggerated, even softer looking.
Fey-shaped creatures are in fact true fey, at least as far as
they and the other fey are concerned. They are subject to all of
the strictures and benefits of being fey, as they are now removed
from the True Cycle. If they lived very long as mortals, they
maintain the activity cycle they previously held and prefer to go
into a state of reverie when they would otherwise have rested.

[tooley1chris]

Father,
You left many pages in the back of this book of fey lore blank. I know not if the work remains unfinished, if you were unable to finish, or what you had planned for such a thick book. You are unavailable for such questions. I've all but memorized the preceding pages and am loathe to discard the only evidence I have that you ever existed. Nor am I like to give it to those lore hoarders in the Keep of Candles.
I doubt that you will ever browse these pages but I have descided, for good or not, to keep the remaineder of these many pages as a letter or journal to you. I do not know if you live still, father. Old woman Ness in the orphanage told me you stopped visiting when I was young. I remember nothing of these visits or you, but when she gave me your book she, at least, assumed you dead.
Like most orphans, I grew up with the termoil of hate for you, and ambandonment. Wondering where you were. Who you were. And why I was robbed of such knowledge. Still, if the words you left me have a spark of truth, you may very well have died protecting me. This will remain my assumption.
Know that your daughter has grown into a woman and left the safety you left me to. I am now Twenty as far as I've been led to believe. Four years have escaped these pages since I left my hiding place behind. But they have not been wasted.
I had to sell the gold band you wrote belonged to my mother, but it has afforded me an education.
Also I feel I should tell you mother's other "gifts" manifested in me very early, to the dissatisfaction of my guardians. They seemed prepared for it however. Whether warned by you or from reading the previous pages I'll not know, but I was reprimanded for every demonstration and told the fey curse must not be practiced er I be found out by the being that granted it. This scare worked for a bit but believe me when I tell you, it becomes impossible to contain over even a small span of time. The pressure builds and burns for release. I obliged, often.
Locked in my tower like the proverbial princess, while my peers played in the court, made me bitter. I was strange and alone, save for the constant scolding from my watchers. I didnt care if your fey demon came for me.
I whispered it's name into the darkness and told it
"Here is Sereniti."
But I lived still and I live still, as of these words in any case.
When Old Ness could convice me to stay at the orphanage no longer I found tutelage in an old man named Markis. He was fearful of my curse, but his mage minds curiosity and some coin apparently out weighed his distrust.
Without boring you with those couple years and wasting ink I will simply say he has taught me well. I owe him much more than what I compensated him for.
He is the only living being I trust with what is in these pages.
I left when he had little remaining to teach and he had little left to learn of me.
The following year was a test of endurance for me. I had no provisions, no coin, and no one to take care of my necessities as I had in the past. I was destitute and another urchin in the streets of Baldurs Gate.
A dock worker gave me coin to deliver parcels around the different districts and this small labor put food in my belly but more importantly it introduced me to prominent people of the city who otherwise might spit on me in the alleys which I lived. It took weeks if this squalor existence before I was forced to seek bravery and take a more dangerous job outside the city walls.
I should mention here a turning point for me. I was in the palace district when a young boy went rushing by me being chased by a rather large brute. Well I feared for the boy and tripped the hulking man who went sprawling forward on his chest. Just then a noble woman pointed at me and shouted something about me helping the thief escape. To "Get" me as well. The ladies would-be hero recovered from his fall and turned his now bloodied face to me, evidently no longer caring about the boy. I fled past the noble woman as he lunged toward me and fled into the docks district. An abandoned warehouse was my first refuge and I dove inside not knowing there was no way out. Frantically I hid amongst the dusty old crates and prayed to the gods to hide me as light poured in thru the door I had just slammed shut. I heard the ring of steel as the bloody man drew blade and my breath left me. I am no coward, father. But I know when I am over matched and I knew I was soon to die.
He searched the shadows and approached my hiding spot. I clenched my eyes tight and waited for the inevitable.
"Shurain Aflesh"
The words burned through my mind and I felt the familiar release of eldritch power coarse through me. Then he was there. Staring at me. Looking right at me, though he appeared confused and frustrated. He continued searching as if it wasn't me he was after at all, then stormed out of the warehouse cursing.
I lay hidden in the shadows for hours before I left the dusty building behind.
No sooner do I close the old door I see the boy thief from earlier. He was hiding behind some crates on the docks examining a bracelet. I rushed to him and demanded he give it to me so I could return it to the noble lady and clear my name. But he jumped at my words, very frightened, and seem to look right thru me. He muttered something about ghosts and dropped the stolen jewelry and fled.
As I claimed earlier, I am educated and now knew something was amiss in my world. I have long been able to see what others could not. The invisible comings and goings of those who remain unseen, and didn't realise that that meant I could now see my own form as well, tho others could apparently not.
I claimed the stolen bracelet and tested my theory on several of the cities residence on my way back to the palace district. I remained unseen by them.
Markis, my tutor, told me such abilities would manifest as I grew and I had learned to control them easily enough. As such, I removed the invisibility as I searched for the lady to clear my name. After some asking around I learned she was Lady Jessica and where to find her. She was a snobbish woman who looked down her nose at me but excepted my explanation and involvment. She only cared to have her property returned it seemed.
With my new found ability I combed the streets looking for ways to make coin.
I overheard a merchant complaining how bandits had stolen goods belonging to their guild and I volunteered to recover it for them.
I'm no fool, father. And I realize I am not the only one who can see invisible beings, but my fear of the Trade Way was greatly diminished. My plan was to find where these bandits made camp, sneak in and back out with the stolen goods, claim my reward without even being seen.
The freedom of the road was intoxicating. I travelled east and south across the mighty bridge and into the fields along the trade route. It didn't take long before I came apon a handsome man in leathers who was being attacked by wolves. I found his fallen dagger and, unseen, slashed at the beasts. To my surprise my invisibility left me and this startled the wolves as well, who scampered away.
The man, who called himself Flynn, was badly wounded and I had no bandages to aid him. He bade me help him to a cave aways north and I did so. Once there two of his comrads rushed to aid us and Flynn was healed. As you have no doubt guessed, I had found the very bandits I sought. There were crates and baskets lining the walls of the deep cave. The highway robbers appeared to be doing well. I was uncertain why, but they seemed to trust me and made me very welcome for saving Flynn. I later learned that Flynn had seen me attack the wolves invisibly and conspired with the others to use my ability to stage a wide range of thefts but that was never to happen.
I stayed with them for a month and Flynn taught me to use the dagger he insisted I keep. I became quite proficient at wielding first one and then one in each hand. Even throwing the light blades came easily to me.
Our group moved around quite a bit from secret hideaway to hidden caves. Seemed there was a rotation for most of the thieves in the area. One party would leave an area and another would move in and re-establish it. The dwarf in our party said this was to keep new faces behind the raids so no one bandit was likely to be identified. I had no idea thieves were so organized.
But organization means little to bounty hunters and people in this profession do not live long lives. Such as is the case with my Flynn.
Aria, a rogue in our group returned to our camp one night near Candle Keep mortally wounded. She and Flynn had travelled to the Friendly Arm Inn for to spy a new mark and they were waylaid by mercenaries. Aria had tried to flee but was wounded and Flynn was either dead or heading to prison. She died in my lap.
The dwarf disbanded our group right then and swore if I looked for Flynn I would be labeled an accomplis and either sent to rot in prison or executed. We were done. I had grown rather anamoured by Flynn and was crushed, but the dwarf was right and I set my heart against any hope.
This marks the end of my days of banditry, tho they were not long. I had coin enough to keep me awhile and was not a wanted woman by the Fist, so I made my way back to civilization.
You are now up to date, father. I am alive and alone and, save for a purse full of coin, very much as I was when I began this letter. But life experiences have made me more confident and I seek to live in this hostile land with a little more trust in my skills.
Cloakwoods. I had no idea that fey resided so close to areas I've traveled.
I'm leaving the auction house of the Friendly Arm Inn and a group of various peoples are chatting by a campfire near those woods. This is a place of gossip, politics, and idle chat. I loathe it, but in passing, I hear an elf talking very seriously about a dryad he encoutered. He says he tried to speak to her but she was immediately aggressive, calling on vines and the very grass to tangle him while shooting arrows.
Foolish as it might seem, I donned my old bandits mask and I went in search of this creature.
Half a days walk into wood I found more than I cared to. Dryads and even pixies seemed to be protecting this area almost mindlessly. I say "almost " because they seem in league with the lizard folk who also furiously guard these old trees. The fey either couldn't speak my tongue or chose not to respond with more than hostility.
I have now the ability to channel my eldritch power through my knives and dispatched all who saw me. But I am none the wiser for my efforts. Perhaps the languages I've learned should have been more centered on these beings than well, what it is.
Languages... I'm not sure how to approach this subject with you, father. Since there is little chance of you ever reading this I suppose it matters little.
While growing in the orphanage many children would tease that I had sold my soul to baator because I was so...unique. You wrote in your lore of the fey that if I were killed or my soul somehow taken from me that Xolti would perish. Over the last couple of years I've researched soul accords or pacts with beings and have learned the languages such lore may be written. I had even discussed this in length with Markis before he left me and he agrees that if I were to form a soul agreement with a being that has power over such things I might very well void Xoltis agreement with mother and cause the Uninvited a crux, and death. All the while, my soul being spoken for by another would void my new contract with the...other being.
Am I not damned for the actions of my mother in any case? Markis is the wisest man I have ever known and this seemed right to him. How I wish I knew where he has gone.

[tooley1chris]

Father, you may or may not be surprised by the number of people in this country alone who are infused with eldritch power. It seems at least once a week or two I'm asking somebody where they receive the gifts I see them use openly. If such a thing is so common I wonder why the children in the orphanage teased me so relentlessly about it.
Most of these are fools and don't understand the cost that wielding such power brings.
I have however met one who seems like minded.
I'm not sure how to explain this but he called to me. Not a voice that you here with your ears but in your mind. I found this person. His name is Black. He has the appearance of a noble born but I do not know his history. He has called others as well and we are to meet on the suns next rising. I have seen him call apon eldritch fury, so while I do not fully trust him, perhaps he can answer my so many questions. If this is my last entry then know my curiosity was my downfall.

[tooley1chris]

The meeting was well more than I bargained for, father. Though I still have many questions I will likely not write further here as it may well expose me and my new companions to danger were these pages ever brought to the wrong persons attention. I am lost now. And I am found.
A change is coming, father. A new wind blows and it smells of brimstone.

[tooley1chris]

Father, ah, I fool myself. You will likely never read these notes, as I've already stated. They have become more of a journal to myself. So be it.
My group, or Convocation, has failed. It's members either dead or departed. I was niave to think others like me, who crave nothing but power, could join together to share it. Jealousy and individual motivations are not a glue that binds.
It has actually been some time since our last gathering. I seek knowledge still. Attracted like a moth to the flame. And yes, sometimes do feel the burn.
I fear my time of hiding from the shadow demon fey, Xolti, is nearing it's end.
I have been less than discrete with my name and my travels. Less so of late. Whether pride, arrogance, or ignorance on my part, I long for my paranoia to end. For years, every shadow contained the fey who would devour my soul and I shuddered in fear. Then I hid no longer and welcomed confrontation, even were it to mean death. Now, I am a woman to be reckoned with. I have survived enough hardship to value life. Well, at the least, my own.
Recently a great caravan was leaving from the city of Balders Gate and many came to see the spectacle. Many a renowned hero and heroin had volunteered to escort it.
The number of "well knowns" in this troupe made me curious and I followed invisibly at distance, in the high grass of the fields near the road.
Not an hour from the start of this chaotic trains slow movement did I stumble into something most unexpected. An ugly creature more troll like than any troll I'd seen yet only as tall as a Hin.
"I've been looking for you." It said in a gravely voice.
I fell to the ground, so shocked I was.
"And it was not difficult. " it smiled a toothy grin and I recognized the magical outlines around it. It meant it was invisible and only seen by those who could see the hidden.
It was a fey and it had come for me.
I quickly collected my wits and had daggers in hand.
"You are a fool to make yourself known to me. You will never report my presence to your master." I spat, twirling daggers charged with eldritch acid.
"Nay! Nay! Stay your wrath!" It sang hoarsely barely containing a hint of fear.
"Xolti is no master of mine!"
"Speak your mind, gremlin." I snorted with muscles tight to strike. "And be wary. I know of your kinds trickery and will sense the motives behind your words. "
Seemingly content I would not lash out with blade, the thing sighed and looked to the caravan which had pulled away further up the road. My gaze remained fixed on him.
"You'll not distract me, toad. I grow anxious. "
"Such pleasantry you show." It cackled looking back to her. "You appear'n a wise girly, yet if'n yous be thinkin all of feydom in league against you, well..." It smiled up at me, "A fool you be still."
I sheathed one of my thin knives and sat eye to eye with the ugly fey.
"You may call me Aslat. If'n you be findin it more ta yer likin then gremlin or...toad?"
"Enough. Why have you searched me out?" I hissed.
Much of his story I'll not record as it was long winded and greatly unimportant.
What I will note is that Aslat is of the dream court and claims that much of the lore I have in my book is false. In your defense, father, he said if even he were to write such a lore book it would be riddled with inaccurate information as well. The fey are just to chaotic to catagorize them in any way it seems.
Also he and others of his kind have been searching me out. Some to ensure I am not found out by Xolti, some to kill me. All of these attempts are to one goal. Bring crux to Xolti.
It appears the shadow demon is not well liked among his peers.
I also gained a bit of valuable information concerning Xolti. He kills through draining the life essence from his victems. This energy is then formed into a shade of it's former self and is bent to his will.
Xolti has dozens of such shadowy servants seeking me even now.
If I'm to defeat this fey, I must be protected against such attacks.
All my efforts are now focused on discovering such a protection.

[tooley1chris]

BITTER FAILURE

My searches for lore had led me to a master of the arcane who was living in an old ruin west of the Friendly Arms. I'd heard stories of this dilapidated structure when I ran with the rogues of the Trade Way. The stories were quite true, even these years later.
Many traps were laid by the kobold tribe that called the upper levels home, but I skirted them and avoided their builders easy enough.
The lower level of the ruin I was not prepared for. Demons there were in droves. I think these fiends smelled my blood and avoided confrontation with me, but there was also there a small wyrm. This was, no doubt, a straggler from the great dragons that attacked Baldurs Gate not long ago. It could see me in my invisibility and attacked. I sent it wimpering down some dark corridor and filled my bags with what little treasure it had collected.
I did indeed found a mage living among these horrors and, though he could not aid in my quest, he did point me to yet another of his kind doing research in the cemetery near Baldurs Gate.
A few days later found me at the gates of that cemetary, so close to the orphanage I once called home and prison.
Inside this hollowed ground I found a priest and her warrior escort battling the dead that would not rest. This must have been a fairly common occurrence as the two seemed rather casual about the fact that some dark force was animating the fallen and dearly departed of the great city. I should remember to investigate this later, it I am able. They were helpful in locating the wizard I sought and I was soon talking with him.
He claimed to also be researching why these dead would not rest but his research seemed to revolve around the actual remains more than what dark power fueled them.
In any event he heard my tale of what I seek and promised me a recipe that might lead to discovery.
According to him if I were to powder a giant spiders mandible into a bottle, place it apon a prepared alchemist bench and infuse it with eldritch power the resulting concoction should give me the results I require. The ability to recover what was drained by negative energy. He had also given me a scroll that was to protect against negative energy as well. Given is hardly accurate as he required me to bring him the remains of more undead from the cemetary first.
And on top of that grisly task I was to bring him the blood of a vampire known to haunt an old house somewhere within Cloak Wood. I agreed as he pointed out this would allow me to test my new defenses against their dark power.
Back at the Friendly Arms, I had aquired a few large spider mandibles from a hin at the campfire who claimed to use their poison for hunting. I paid him a gem worth atleast a thousand coppers for it, to my dismay, as I found the Cloak Wood were crawling with such beasts. However this did give me the time I needed to research the scroll from the probable necromancer in the cemetary.
The scroll itself was written in draconic, which was strange, as its words were celestial in origin. A priests spell, no doubt, made to protect the one who released it's power from the touch of the grave. I could not tell what Diety allowed it's power to be stored in the parchment as it made no calling of a name or even sphere of influence, but I could read the words and sense the power within. I grew anxious to call on that power.
I should point out that I detest the Cloak Wood. Seldom have I risked the fey haunted forests for fear of being found out by one who answered to my nemesis, Xolti. Fey here are abundant.
So it took couple of days of stealthy movement through the Cloak Wood before I had reached the spooky old house.
I recited the words from the scroll, and though I could feel the holy power like ash on my lips, I entered the house quite confident yet sheathed in eldritch invisibility.
I had waited until darkness fell to enter the vampires haunt as I was not intent on merely killing the abomination but wanted it to try and kill me. It must be awake... and hungry.
The interior was nothing as I would have imagined. Not clean but not filthy. Many suits of armor lined the walls. Curtains, rugs, even table with placings as if a dinner might take place soon. Perhaps these monsters were more civil than I believed them to be.
A search of the lower levels uncovered nothing. I found no cellar or basement, which I also assumed would be where the vampire might rest.
I climbed the stair to the second level of the home. As quiet as I could be the floors still complained beneath my feet. Any surprise I might have planned was wasted so I dipelled my ability to remain unseen.
I had to be close as the smell of rotting flesh filled the air which was thick with flies.
My confidence was faltering as sweat run down my face. I longed to leave this place and not see, or be seen by, the horror that caused the chill in the air. I paused at the top of the landing and contemplated turning back to the lower level but I was too late.
It was there waiting in the shadows. No doubt alerted by my footfall squeeks apon the stair. It's eyes were piercing and I was urged silently in my mind to kneel. To lie down arms and submit. To embrace the thing smiling at me. I resisted but sheathed my daggers.
"I am yours lord." I whispered.
The vampire seemed almost to float across the room to where I stood in my false submission.
I tensed for the inevitable as it took my arm and bit delicately into the flesh. Not a frenzied blood feeder but indeed civilized. I could feel the monster suck harder as if he were not satisfied with blood alone but sought something greater that escaped his grasp. Then he stopped and looked into my eyes again.
"You are enchanted to resist my hunger." It whispered in my mind without speaking a word.
"Remove this feeble protection and join me in bliss."
"Shall I show you what I call bliss?" I whispered dropping all presence of being charmed. I called forth to my lady to bathe me in Hellfire, as I have done so many times before. I would burn this thing to ash. But I was foresaken. In my soul I knew relying on the power of the scroll, divine power of another diety had caused Glasya, my mistress to turn from me, refusing me. I panicked and tried to wretch my bleeding arm from his mouth but his might was greater. I reached for blades but he held me firm. What had protected me from this monsters dark power would now kill me from blood loss alone.
I dispelled the wards protecting me from death and immediately felt the life force within me flow into the vampire. He knew this as well and nearly broke my arm in blood lust.
-sheraynaflesh-
The words fell from my trembling lips and my hands dripped eldritch acid filling its hungry mouth.
It recoiled screaming and I fled down the stairs. To my horror the suits of armor lining the walls turned to me with swords raised. FOOL! I thought to myself. "Of course it has defenses in it's crypt. I called apon my ability to walk unseen but it was late and the metal puppets attacked.
Even now I'm unsure how I escaped with no wound but what the vampire left me with. Hellfire engulfed me again as I tore through the woods anticipating the vampire would give chase but it didn't.
The potion I had made from the spider mandibles did have restorative powers. I was Sereniti, I was alive. But weak. I was not wholly cured of the vampires embrace. My quest had failed.

[tooley1chris]

So I've reached yet another impass. I can no longer go forward or back. I'm once again out of leads. For as many mighty sorcerers and wise magi that walk this country there is precious little lore on the undeads ability to drain life. I will remain vigilante but doubtful.
This is not on topic but I have met someone. Actually I met him awhile ago and thought him a much needed distraction only, but he is turning into more. I'll not name him more than calling him B or Sir Knight, as that title seems to annoy him a bit. Writing his name might bring him harm were these pages brought to light. I've little doubt he would laugh at such fears. He seems of like mind of the ways of the world which suits me, but he is also an Asimaar which I find I distrust. There are more powers in this country that seek to destroy me and my kind other than the fey Xolti.

[tooley1chris]

The Tower and the Wyrm

Recent journies with an old aquaintance named R, who is a fully plated summoner of eldritch fury wielding a mighty blade, had found me in a large ruin tower near the Hin town.
I was disappointed at first to find it's only inhabitants were mindless aberrations who would know no lore I sought and held little of value.
However deeper in this ruin we came across many other horrors and it is a testament to my Lady Glasya that I live still.
First I will tell of the mightiest foe I've yet to face and greatest test of my own bravery.
I knew the smell. The awful reek that permeated the halls we carefully explored.
I had smelled it before. Once in the bowels of the hilltop ruins near the Friendly Arms and then again when Baldurs gate was attacked.
Dragon.
I had watched the epic battles when these wyrms made war on the Gate, but I never braved the battles myself. Now, with my colleague R beside me, a blackish dragon made itself known to us.
Not as big as the beasts I'd seen before, these halls were too small to accommodate those monsters, but I felt the fear come over me nonetheless. We resisted and a great melee ensued.
Sure of my competence with my knives I dove at the beast with vitriolic daggers. The acid poured over it's hide like water as the thick scales turned my blades away like they were spoons.
R was far more successful with his broad sword and found mark after mark in the dragons hide.
I put daggers away and called on the power within, unleashing eldritch fury in it's purist form.
This seemed effective and gained me the wyrms attention.
It reared up and unleashed it's own acid on me in a solid stream of putrid breath. I was awash in it's vile spittle and I knew no more.
I had visions then. I was thrown over R's shoulder. Running through doors, up stairs. The smell of my own burning flesh and hair filling my senses.
Then my mithral chain being pulled from me.
Blue liquid being forced into my mouth, poured over my head, my arms, my legs. Everywhere the armor did not protect. Then a strange elf reading an incantation over me.
I was awake. I was whole. I could hear the dragons anger in the halls below as it roared and slammed the walls around it.
R and this elf seemed relieved I was Sereniti again and not the nearly lifeless burden he had carried far. The elf, I will call U, seemed to have some power over my wounds and I was healed.
R had barely escaped with me it seemed and, after seeing to his own wounds, was eager to quiet the dragons bellows below. "A new stratagy is required. " he said and we formed such.
I cloaked myself in invisibility and placed a ward against acid on my flesh. R and U prepared their armor and weapons against the wyrm and charged down the stairs again.
There was nothing. The halls and door were shattered and crumbled from the dragons attempts to pursue us but the beast itself was gone.
We searched the many rooms only finding it was waiting for us in a larger room that must have served as its lair. Seems it had wounds of its own to lick but it was ready. As soon as the door was pushed open it spouted a stream of greenish acid that began melting the frames and opposite wall. R and U waited for the stream to fail and charged in. I snuck around the back and called forth hellfire to shield me and fuel my own blasts at its rear. Then came a new surprise. The wrym had summoned aid in the form of a vampire and very large shade.
The vampire was on me even as I summoned the fires of hell and it was burned terribly for it's efforts. R, backed up by U's mighty axe had worn the black wyrm down with great cleaves as the shade moved to waylay. I ran up the wryms back, between its buffeting wings, leaving a wake of flame trailing its boney spine with each step, and vaulted to the shadow beast with daggers drawn. I would test vitriolic might against this horror and found it was not resistant as hellfire and acid burned its incorporeal substance.
The duo dragon slayers hacked and beheaded the foul wyrm but were not so engaged as to not see this new peril. With what aid I could give the shadow screamed and vanished under many blades. Whether destroyed or fled I do not know.
We breathed heavy in our labors but a small giggle turned to a mighty laugh of victory. The kind only known by those who have faced certain death and prevailed.

[tooley1chris]

The Tower and What Lies Beneath

The blackish dragon was lay wasted. We, myself, R, and U were relatively unhurt in this foray, so great was their planning.
The blacks head was removed from its necks and blood mixed with green acidic ichor scorched the stone floor where it pooled. I gathered some of this blood in a vile and removed several of the beasts teeth. A collector may find these valuable as trade.
A great hoard of coin was collected in the dragons den and we filled our bags to comfortable levels. In this hoard we had also found the remains of some dark skinned elves. Seems we were not the first to come seeking treasure. This was however another first for me as I had never seen a drow. R explained that it was rumored that tunnels deeper still contained passages to the great underground kingdoms of these folk. I record this to remember for future reference. If such a place was reacheable by me what lore might they have that never reaches the surface?
Indeed these were not the last drow we would see in the towers depths. And we ran into a few patrols of the dark elves. Allow me to note that these are a vicious, tireless fighting force. And while most proved little challenge after defeating the wyrm, they fought to death, never stopping. Never fleeing, even when death was apon them. And they use magics as well so don't believe them to be mindless killing machines. They are quick and clever.
A greater challenge was what U refered to as an Illithid. A flayer of minds. We encountered this creature as we delved deeper into the towers lower levels.
As we walked thoughts entered my mind of betrayal from my companions.
"They are leading you to your doom." my mind sang. "They despise you. Are jealous of your power. Seek to take your knowledge and leave you for dead."
All these doubts flooded me and I became very suspicious of their truth. Glances at my companions made me wonder if they were treacherous. They seemed to be watching me, watching eachother more than the dark corridors ahead. A great tension was building that I knew would breed conflict.
I tightened my grip on my daggers and my muscles tensed. As I was convinced they would kill me I turned to R to drive knives into the arm holes of his armor or the slit of his visor. But U suddenly laughed aloud. "You are hearing foul whispers in your minds, yes?" He asked. "Save your anger for their true source."
Just then, ahead in the tunnel, my sensitive eyes made out a tall figure stepping from the shadows. Its slick greyish head gleamed from its crown to many tentacle like protrusions around where its mouth should be.
The whipsers in my mind turned to a hiss like cackle as it reached out its arms towards us. A wave of what I can only explain as pure sound thundered at us filling my mind as if struck by a thousand hammers on a thousand anvils. I was blown from my feet. U the elf stumbled against a wall nearly dropping his axe. Only R seemed barely phased, perhaps protected by his sturdy helm.
The squid headed thing obviously thought this sonic attack enough to incapacitate us as it rushed down the hall to finish the job.
To it's dismay it reached us recovered and ready. U's axe found its chest as R's broad blade hewn head from shoulders sending many a small severed tentacle flying against the walls.
My head ached still. Even as I write this, days later, I wonder if I feel no lasting effects.
The Illithid had in it's thick robes a diary of sorts as well. Written is several strange languages. Only some of which I was able to read. It described an undead, rerefered by the squid as "The Eye of Fear and Flame" that apparently had the ability to not only drain the life from the living but to absorb or transfer that life force into another or itself.
I had had enough tunnel delving to last a lifetime and bid my fellow adventurers to leave the wretched tower with me.
We found our way back to a small inn in Gullykin to drink the horrors from our minds. To wash away the filth. And to find sleep.

I am in the process of deciphering the rest of the squids scripts now. Hopefully to find more information on this Eye of Fear and Flame it speaks of.

There is also a hand drawn map that seems to point out it's location but I do not recognize any of the landmarks.

Also found within was this sketch. I wonder if this creature is not a lich? My lore concerning undead is lacking. More as I translate...