Aunrae Releth's Journal - A Clear Mind

[Shadowspinner70]

Note: This is Aunrae's journal and meant for her eyes only. Unless she says something, allows someone to view its contents, or leaves the journal out, nobody should know this information. If you can piece it apart, that is!

Introduction:
A slightly young Drow sits at her desk, shifting in her padded stool. Her eyes are on a black leather-bound journal. It sits there, tauntingly. The voice in her head - her own, only lacking the strange hollowness to it - reminds her that it may aid in maintaining the facade of what she would call a "fogged mind." Others would call it sanity.

Hesitantly, she uses a finger to open the journal to its first page. The scent of fresh parchment is so strong that she could almost taste it. She uncorks the inkwell. She dips her quill into it and begins to write in Infernal.

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25 Flamerule, 1354
At last, words flow in ink. I wonder - can parchment forget? Fairest gold cannot cause sweet amnesia. The promise of inky blood will not sway it. I am a creature of whim. This thing, creature or no, refuses to be one of my whims. It is willing to betray me, but for what purpose other than to be looked at? The answer still befuddles me: no other purpose.

The cursed-blessed fancies me mad. The shadow faern - he might be an illusion in himself - fancies me mad. The mocking lord fancies me mad. The silent death fancies me mad. Worst of all, perhaps, is that the master of shadows fancies me mad.

The master of shadows, with his visage brought to my cleared mind, has been out of sight for the last couple cycles. Of course, that is to be expected, but his silence troubles me. However, the cursed-blessed realized she needs him. Good. The bloody touchstone also manages to elude me. That fact brings about a strange sensation where I feel as if I 'm drowning, but that is better than the primal war drums which assault my ears. If only he could hear them! If only he could feel it! I am liberation. To spread my will to the bloody touchstone, he must be found. I also have news of an enemy refusing the destiny that her blood binds her to! Perhaps the red tendrils of rage will take him and will allow for our shattered selves to collide once again. As these words flow, the war drums return. MAKE IT STOP.

MY MIND LEAVES.

[Shadowspinner70]

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26 Flamerule, 1354
I let the bloody touchstone see the inner workings of my mind. Nothing can bring about his amnesia. At the very least - perhaps a drop or so - he might know what calls for my freedom from the prison of a fogged mind. Meeting with THE LIAR broke the trust which he mirrored. A piece is missing from that mirror, and I will return it to him at any cost. His brilliance never fails to show; he suggested that I approach THE MISGUIDED LEADER and report to her my well-intended misdeeds.
But THE NAKED ROTHE is partnered with THE LIAR. THE MISGUIDED LEADER will learn of this and put an end to this corruption by leather. Why would you be the willing slave of something that beats and twists you, expecting complete obedience?

The woefully false promise of power.

I will liberate them all.

THE LIAR was correct about one thing: before me, Lolth's walls will be torn. Under her chokehold, we remain behind the starting line. The Spider Militant will be dragged past that point. Sweet irony! The taste it leaves is euphoric.


Capitalized titles such as "THE LIAR" are written so forcefully that holes pepper the names. Whoever they are, she harbours a special hatred towards them.

[Shadowspinner70]

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27 Flamerule, 1354
My world is gone.

The silent death and the ice queen are now intertwined, dancing to the sound of the primal war drums which fill the air when in each other's presence. First, they decided that their lips were meant to meet. Then, they decided to [missing text] at the meeting room in Gloura's. How did he make such progress in so little time?

We emerged from the meeting room - the silent death, his twin, the sidekick, and I - and saw that the bloody touchstone, THE NAKED ROTHE, and THE TRAITOR were at the door. My bloody touchstone informed me that the Spider Militant has pushed me from their ranks. They were not his words. They weren't.


Black ink takes up a quarter of the page, streaked and diluted with something else. It looks like she put it under the last paragraph, let it drip down, then wiped it away to keep it from taking the rest of the page.


And the shadow master returned. I can't believe nobody knew his identity, not until he gave my touchstone a much deserved warning. I will go to him, much like how I went to THE LIAR. The difference is that one is like a heart; I don't command him to beat and keep the Spider Militant's body warm, but he does. He sometimes makes it hear the war drums. It isn't the cursed-blessed that hurts him so.

We're all jokes. I never saw myself accepting the possibility to become a priestess of LOLTH and yet it might happen. THE NAKED ROTHE and THE TRAITOR will find their way onto my altar. The bloody touchstone will be mine. I will be the instrument of him and my three patrons: Gargauth, Kiaransalee, and perhaps LOLTH. The misguided leader sees me for what I am and might make a good case for the goddess.

We will see.

[Shadowspinner70]

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30 Flamerule, 1354
The shadow master sees! His blessed eyes saw the truth and yet his mind struggled to accept it. While seemingly everyone has concerns for my enslavement to LOLTH as her divine conduit, they have begun to see through a clear lens. The two-bladed weapon of passion will be held high, striking down THE NAKED ROTHE. Her blood will drip from the ceiling forever, like that cursed rain from above. What a mess . . . Her corpse will lap it up. Woof, woof!

So the bloody touchstone has made my weakness his strength. With that, I have four words: explain or be dominated. I must think like ice, and that is my specialty. War upon THE NAKED ROTHE. War upon THE TRAITOR. War upon THE MISGUIDED LEADER. Conquer my bloody touchstone. Behind me, the shadow master, the cursed-blessed, and the liar. Or is he the truther? That is a mystery which can never be solved.

Remembering the past does not mean forgetting you, my friends. Under me, you will never rise so high. My indoctrination has begun - I can feel it in my withered soul - and I will not fight it. I musn't, to keep myself. LOLTH will have me, but she cannot take my spirit! While this happens, I will tolerate THE NAKED ROTHE'S incessant temper tantrums and tauntings. Then, when the time comes, she will fall.

"Fear is as strong as steel, while love and respect are soft and useless. Convert or destroy nonbeliever drow. Weed out the weak and the rebellious. Destroy impugners of the faith. Sacrifice males, slaves, and those of other races who ignore the commands of Lolth or her clerics. Raise children to praise and fear Lolth; each family should produce at least one cleric to serve her. Questioning Lolth’s motives or wisdom is a sin, as is aiding nondrow against the drow, or ignoring Lolth’s commands for the sake of a lover. Revere arachnids of all kinds; those who kill or mistreat a spider must die."


Lolth's dogma is repeated over and over again until she reaches the very bottom of the back of the page, where she then adds,
"What of following your commands and falling into your cold embrace for the sake of a lover? Have you thought of that, Spider Queen?"

[Shadowspinner70]

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1 Eleasis 1354
I am the mistress.
I am the mistress.
I am the mistress.
I am the mistress.
I am the mistress.

The shadow master, approved as the editor of my play, is rearranging the libraries of my mind. His chief - the orc knight - urges for my clarity to continue without my brethren. They see my strength and seek for it to blossom. I breathe in and the scent of irony is so strong that I can taste it. How is it that the shadow master, who is of a lesser race, is giving me better lessons of superiority than THE NAKED ROTHE? He showed me a reflection of myself, blurred by ripples. He is right; I am the mistress. To secure this mask so that it may, one cycle, meld into my flesh, he and the cursed-blessed will call me such. My ego starves. They will provide something for it to gorge itself upon.

The silent death scorns me. It must be the wealth of luck Belaern has to remain under his dark tutelage. I merely hope that he doesn't know only the bare-boned basics. Nizana, in the other palm, will make her first pact soon. Very soon. However, they will, like the dark sister and the cursed-blessed, will encounter AN ETERNITY OF DISS.

I am either with LOLTH or against her. Every fibre of my being used to reject her. With each cycle, she becomes more palatable - even appealing. I will mourn the cycle my pacts are broken, but with that, power will fill that empty gap.

My mind leaves.

[Shadowspinner70]

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3 Eleasis 1354
The three insurgents! Yes, that's what we are! In my play of darkness, the master of shadows and the cursed-blessed are my editors. To become an editor, one must willingly show weakness to me in the knowledge that the blade will remain sheathed. Their still-beating hearts are in my hands. I will not squeeze them. The shadow master recognizes this and fear's black tendrils grip him. Those who attempt to bend me to their will are the ones bent instead! How long will it take until their spines snap? For the spinal fluid to quench the surrounding flesh's thirst?

At the point of no return, the curtains fell. Why do they rise again?

I will cut them down.

Love hurts. Its call is that of a siren's. It slits my throat lightly, then drops me into a shallow grave. This disease must be cured. It's getting out of hand.

But I must forget about that.

To appease my peers, LOLTH must make a snack of this damaged soul. When she does - I fall to my knees as I ask this - do not make a misguided attempt to cure my clarity! But my voice! I long to sing again. I do sing, though, but I sing the song of unrequited affections and the irresistible pull of chaos. It is pleasant but its lyrics must be changed.

My mind leaves.

[Shadowspinner70]

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9 Eleasis 1354
My quill has evaded me so. No gift could bring about the sweet amnesia I long for. In parting, the orcish chieftain warns us to "not let the eyes of the gods peer our way." I am no longer opposed to doing such despite the ringing in my ears from everything screaming at me not to. THE NAKED ROTHE wields the blade of hatred as if she had done so for the whole of her miserable life. Perhaps I can be the MISGUIDED LEADER's music box and gain her adoration to replace her as first daughter. Doing such by using her to smear the streets with a satisfying "thud" will only cause everything to implode. The choice is not surrender or her ruptured cranium. It is surrender and a ruptured cranium or continued stomping of the feet. The dark holds many beasts which duel for blood and dominance. I am becoming one, much to the cursed-blessed's dismay.

My ideas overwhelmed the cursed-blessed. She drew her blade and informed me that I would be aiding the enemy. Yes, I would be. I would be drinking LOLTH's poison. I hate her. We all do. Promises merely stamp down the hatred. I would be required to turn my two closest allies into enemies. Two sides, each with their sweetness and poison. The choice twists a rusted dagger into my heart. I attempted to follow through with one of my ideas, but it is impossible! My patron lied to me! Now I bear a mark at the base of my spine and - rather proudly, I will admit - a crimson collar! It fits snug around my neck. Sometimes I make a bow in it.

The winds have followed me into the tunnels and uttered a name to me. These pages are unworthy to feel it grace them in the blackest ink. His mind has the same clarity as my own. I would crack open his skull to inspect the effects on his grey matter but I very much do prefer him alive. Affection has spilled from the well of my heart and he, so expertly, refills it, unlike the bloody touchstone. He took and took and took, hardly bothering to return a thing.


At the third paragraph, marks left by droplets darken the page slightly. A few stray ones are present.


I wish I was able to pull him from the blinding sun and into the darkest depths of my mind, showing him the way things truly are. Here, my pages will utter the words I never had the strength to say: I loved you, touchstone, more than these pathetic words could express. It was my greatest shame and my greatest strength. As my final act of love towards you, you will be spared from my wrath.

[Shadowspinner70]

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13 Eleasis 1354
I must hold onto my heart lest it sprout wings and fly away! My weakness is reciprocated! But do I mourn or rejoice? Perhaps it was better giving the poisoned water to someone who would give nothing in return. Around the silent death and house member - yes, even the shadow master and cursed-blessed! - he must stack brick upon brick of the hardest material he can find! Should the misguided leader be able to glean that much from our collective grey matter, everything will crash on top of us. He is part of the house; it is dangerous for us both and yet it provides the perfect cover for him. To his grey matter my own will offer up the drink of knowledge of our people so that he may pass verbal tests.

The silent death blackmails me. If I do not comply, he drags my sister into a place where she will never return. A place where she will kill me. If I do not comply, he kills my music box. I agreed to his stipulations, but one sent me reeling: no more males. I already keep my music box from the house - what could a necromancer possibly do? Tell his twin? No, for he would surely join a crusade with my sister against him. Neither of us would win.

I have the orcish knight's support in making an attempt to join the dark clergy of spiders and climb the ladder of success. Twisted, charred wood will be the surface elf forests and the lands - above and below - will belong to the Drow. The misguided leader has also given me her double-edged support.

Chaos dictates that I be her successor.

The Spider Queen cripples my people where she reigns supreme, but her influence in S'shamath may be low enough that she cannot whittle away what progress I make. In an attempt to soothe my patron's rage, I will offer Nizana and my first-born, full-blooded female whelp to serve him as warlocks.

Living by the Outcast and Revenancer has prepared me for this. I ask that Mephistopheles - the Cold Lord - the Lord of No Mercy - will use a lighter hand (oh, but his names suggest otherwise!).

[Shadowspinner70]

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17 Eleasis 1354
I've not laid eyes upon my music box for a couple cycles. May he be safe.

Duties to the heart are duties I cannot complete. Thus, duties to the mind and body are called for. A female with skin of ice - the humble assassin who drags her lessers through the mud - is an interesting one. "Allegiances are like masks," I told her - what mask will she wear for me? The white sun is a mystery, though all mysteries are eventually solved if there is enough digging. Crack the skull with the tip of the shovel. Make shallow scoops out of the grey matter, inspecting it as you go. Fill the ruptured cranium with blood and drink from it after having consumed the knowledge. As for the death knight twice encountered, another method may be required.

Who is his master?
Nobody knows.
Who is his master?
Curiosity grows.

Walking bones, armor, and weapons is what they are; the ability to speak means that this master must surely be a necromancer king without a crown to show! He seeks a faceless child of cloth, stuffing, and porcelain; dried drinking herbs; tales of complexity and simplicity; and items which make the dried drinking herbs stain water. If they stain water, can they stain alcohol? If a man can walk on water, can he swim on land? Those are the two mysteries which will never be solved.

[Shadowspinner70]

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21 Eleasis 1354
It is all so clear. Lolth is not the poison which flows through the veins of the Spider Militant. It is THE TRAITOR. It is she whose feeble bones could break under the weight of her flesh. It is she whose visage does not match her words. In fact, she wore a clever disguise last cycle, in the form of a human man's flesh. Her mind met his body and I cleansed him with unholy fire! I've not snipped his life's thread, much to my regret, but perhaps his body will reject her next attempt.

Eventually, this walking corpse will finally rest.

My skull was beginning to crack with all of the new information! Two surface elf settlements, wreathed in green and brown! The domain of the druid shields them and yet they prefer the arcane. Most curious. I invited THE TRAITOR and a shattered touchstone to feast upon the information, but they did not even taste it. The shattered touchstone reached out, starving, but then THE TRAITOR restrained him! Do you ask me why? How can you ask me why? It is I who speaks in this relationship, through blackest ink. You listen, but I will afford you the chance to ask this one question. My clarity shows it to us both: I asked to fulfill my dark purpose within the Spider Militant, far from their warded circle of innards. The shattered touchstone looked to her, seeking wisdom that was not there. Then she made unrelated, utterly UNTRUE accusations. It was not I who orchestrated THE NAKED ROTHE's silence, but she hopped off Revenge's chariot with ease, for her silence is like a glass of fine wine. TRAITOR, it is your turn, and not even silence will save you.

Hide behind your shattered touchstone's walls. We already dash around them.

Yathrinshee, choose between bringing yourself to your rightful place in the sewers or choose your infernal pyre. In death, you will never serve our lady; instead, you will serve those you loathe.

[Shadowspinner70]

After the last entry, the next eighteen pages were soaked through with ink. The remains of the nineteenth is shredded parchment hanging from the leather-bound spine. Blackened, brittle bubbles bear motionless air when burst by careless hands, testament to a broken yet beating, berserk'nd heart.

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25 Eleint 1354
The vaults have been raided, tomes pulled from the shelves, and misplaced by those damned jellyfish in the endless ceiling above. Misplaced like my dear music box, whose body I see intertwined with my own whilst visions of his broken strings - those melodic voice has been reduced to silent verses of death - assault the fort within my chest. I beg of thee, regal one, that our troops and walls join without your infernal crown becoming tarnished. I pass his musical crown onto you; learn to use it and use it well. Come, come with me and see the glory - the splendor - of the beauty underneath, then return to the Night Above. Our homes, cushy within reason to one, are inhospitable to the other. Just as the ink on these pages dry, your people lead a wild hunt for my head. And for what?

A duel.

A magical youngling that fancies his troll form more powerful than his magic! Nevertheless, like many of his kind, he is malleable., much like the loyalty of others and my faith until now. Shadow, you cannot keep me from the pyre that I will eventually be dragged to, but you can keep my goals far more pure than the muck which the other gods compose themselves of. I have you, my lord, the regal one, and the twin blades.

Pure guerilla tactics are failing. Many do not realize it, but bridges are being built nearby so that they may be set ablaze when my allies cross. The regal one told me that no truce (alas, even in the loosest sense of the word, which would, without a doubt, be the case!) can be breathed to life. The Scourge of the Light will blot out the cursed ball of fire in the endless ceiling above. The endless night might confuse the surfacers at first, but I have faith that they will gorge themselves upon the knowledge it brings; they are selfish at heart.