Fahren al-Heit - The roads ending

The Direlands overland have provided me with ample ways of testing and refining my skills. Despite the hampering of no Creature magic I have been able to carefully size my opponents and emerge triumphant time and again. While I am wary of many places there isn’t anyplace I fear in the Direlands. I am careful to avoid the larger packs of Banderlings and I am quite careful when taking on a Diamond Golem. With some patients these too have fallen to my mana released manipulations.

Along the way I have picked up a mentor. Brother Dragon, the Lord of Yaraq as his followers call him. His deft skill and tutelage have enabled me to leave the Tusker ground of the Black Spawn behind.

While on respite in Tout tou word got to me that the Zharalim is keeping watch over the mansion of Nuhmudira, the Monster of the Labrinyth. Nuhmudira. Since my time on Dereth I have heard of her works with the Arcanum and was pleased to see her putting her scheming ways to good use. The magic she has learned from the Empyrean manuscripts found in Xarabydun have provided us all with safe homes. Even if the securing of said homes can be an exercise in frustration. One of my many fights had yielded a broken Virindi mask. Following the instructions of my friends I had ventured to a mage tent where in a Virindi pair dwells. Leopold, the Virindi repaired the mask thinking I was his kin. Not wishing to have any part of the floating creatures I headed to the mask maker in Al-jalima. In an ironic twist of fate my Virindi mask was traded for a mask like the Shagar Zharala also known as shadow garb. I carry it still but loath to wear it.

the Zharalim was founded by Malik Amul ibn Rakhil first to secure the release of the poet Yasif ibn Salayyar, later to exact revenge for his torture. The Shagar Zharala, or Zharalim, are professional killers, who will stoop to any level to see a job done. They consider themselves outside the strictures of the Dozen Roads, based on the belief that evil is best fought with evil.. They kill out of a profound sense of duty, and not out of pleasure.

With some trepidation I head to the town of Yanshi and head west. The dismal humid bog of the swamplands slowly changes to the arid desert. There over a rise I see the mansion. I see the Shagar Zharala in their traditional garb. I contemplate pulling my own mask on in case I am spotted. I discard that notion, I have a find Gahru’n helm that will serve me better. Dispite our joint heritage they spring to attack. I quickly retreat sustaining a few minor blows. They are quick to break off the attack.

I begin my long practiced ritual of protections and self-aiding spells that make me nigh invulnerable to all but the most powerful of creatures in this land. Again I approach the Assassins, this time as a mage of the Ighaz. I announce myself by making them vulnerable to my next spell. The first of them is upon me as I see the green flash surround the last of them. His hits are minor through my protections and they all drop to streams of acid. With purpose I enter the mansion. Its décor is interesting. Many objects and artifacts I would enjoy examining. I have a pressing need to find out what has gone on. The upper levels have no clue for me to follow so I head below. In the swirling portal that leads to the mansions sub levels I leap. The books and tomes here are intriguing. Oh for the time to properly study them to see what powers they would reveal to me. I accidentally trigger a secret doorway. It’s a long corridor heading downward. I renew my precious protections and head downward. I am little prepared for what is down there. Sclavi have also discovered this lair. It is a time consuming battle but of the winner there can be no doubt.

The images inside will haunt me till my dying days. A journal of writing that seems to say Nuhmudira has gone mad. The body of a Shagar Zharala lies prone, its dead eyes and pale appearance betrays the obvious. This was a sacrifice for power. I sit and ponder the meaning behind it all. Utter madness is our destiny. My father used to speak of the evils of the world how the worst evils all started with intentions that are good. I hope the words of the poet will come again to Nuhmudira before it is too late.

With a heavy heart and a mind full of worry I recall to the lifestone and head to the tavern. A stiff drink is now required to allow the implications to be digested.

A numbness makes the next morning a bearable ritual. I head back to the black spawn. It’s a short journey now but one that needs taking more then ever. Those of us from Ispar need to prepare for an uncertain future. Again the Tuskers charge and surround me. With precision tinged with boring similarity they fall. A shower of rainbow surrounds me and I have arrived. The esteemed level 50. I am now a Battle mage. A gem is cracked and a portal to the arch mage appears. I will need new components for this aspect. The secrets suddenly unlock inside of me and as I utilize the last seven levels of experience I have gained it is all too clear. The scrolls fed to the essences suddenly make sense.

I have long thought of this day. Now it is here and im unsure of my upper limits. What was once a comfortable level now has become ungainly. Like a newborn foal I need to try out these legs to see if I can run with the wind.

Let it be known the boy from Ispar is now the Battle Mage Fahrenheit. Let all the creatures know I am coming to call and will bring hell with me.


~fini~

I would like to thank Dizz for this wonderful site and all those journal writers who plunk down their experiences so we may gain from them. I choose a different tact and I am grateful for this place to show my works. If your ever in Leafcull give me a @tell. Ill be haunting the boards here and there. Thanks to those of you who read my little ponderings and a bigger thanks to those who have left me a comment or two either here or in game. It’s been a fun ride.
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-Fahren al-Heit (loyal follower of the Silver Citadel)