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Final Analysis

McIan

Journeyman
For weeks now Dharzhal T'Ar, the emancipated dark elf, poured over every scrap of information, literature, recent and ancient, legends, lore, mysteries and whisperings concerning the events unfolding in Yew. All was leading him back to the same place: a conspiracy of epic proportions involving several disassociated groups led by mad men and women connected by a common goal: destruction, evil, mayhem and carnage. Whether some had the same reason or another, the focus of the entire array of groups was to bring about a new age of chaos and possibly the revival of apocalypse, the ultimate dissolution of the known world.

Yet there was little that could be done at the moment. The king was a toad, perhaps capable of speech but perhaps equally incapable as a toad to apply reason or logic. Some of the governors clamored for action, others seemed to sit by and watch events unfold, maybe hoping that whatever calamity befell other cities would not happen to theirs and they would come out of the destruction stronger than their rivals, stronger than ever.

And then as his own forsaken heritage by blood had taught him since youth, to despise humans and surface elves, he asked himself: Why should I care? They fight and war, kill, steal, loot, cheat and pillage one another and then claim superiority over his kind, the orcs, and all others. Let them stew in their own arrogance until the flames purge them all, bringing them down to the level of those they so pervasively despise; a lesson in humility that even their own sages had failed to teach them.

He drew in a deep breath and steadied himself. No, that was not the way. That was the way of his kin and many, if not most, humans. What would befall one race would eventually befall the rest. They all must work together for the benefit of all - the bystanders and shirkers be cursed.

He vowed to continue his studies and speak as often as those in power would permit; those who still cared that they all stood on the brink of the abyss and possibly the end of the world, however few of them there may be.
 

McIan

Journeyman
Painful Reminder

The malodorous stench preceding the appearance of the vampire/liche known as Scaramandine the Elder filled Dharzhal's nostrils as he sat at his alchemy table mixing components for testing. How he could grow used to the smell over the many years, and not gag at its rancid putrescence, surprised even him. Clearly the Elder needed more of his masking fragrance and had come for that no doubt. At least, he thought, it alerted him to his approach. Sure enough the shadowy cloaked figure stood in the archway to his chamber. He was always respectful enough not to barge right in.

"Greetings old friend," the Elder began. "As ye can tell, I am in need of thy concoction. Have ye supplies made?" he asked.

Dharzhal glanced at him and nodded, continuing to mix his reagents. "I do. Give me a moment if you will," he replied.

"What is it ye do? I see thee come and go often from these premises. Ye appear to be engaged in some important enterprise of late. Might I be able to assist thee?"

The dark elf completed the mixture and set it aside, rising out of his chair to go to the location he stored the perfume-type substance the Elder sought. He shook his head. "Though your powers are considerable, milord, I am sure this might prove taxing even to them. Besides, I am seeking to provide aid and, pardon my bluntness, that goal runs counter to yours."

The lich cackled. "Thy bluntness endears thee to me; I would have it no other way. Do ye know how utterly gut-sickening it is to have spineless, death-fearing, minions grovel? It would be refreshing for at least one of them to spit in my face," he responded.

"Milord their behavior is justified. They know and fear the horrors of your tortures. Besides, they are humans, largely, and fear is the primary essence of their daily diet. They feed on it and it, in turn, nourishes them." He found the vials he sought and moved to give them to him. "This is what you want. It is enough for several months," he added.

The Elder extended a bony hand and took them, placing them into a pocket of his robe. "I thank thee, friend, but ye did not answer my inquiry. What is it ye are doing?"

Dharzhal knew better than to try to match wits with this former human, or try to throw him off the subject. He was cagey and single-minded of purpose, born of ancient experience. The truth was simpler. Besides, lies revealed fear and while he did not fear him, he was respectful of his power. "There is a fungus spreading, some kind of disease that is infecting the flora and fauna of a distant land, Trammel. I have been employed to find a curative and this is my reason for the many journeys out, research, experiments, and deliberations."

"I have heard of this," the Elder stated. "It is useful to me. It cloaks my own program, enabling the attentions of the authorities to focus elsewhere as I build up my own power. I do not add to it, but I do not wish it "cured" too soon," he added with some measure of firmness in his voice.

The dark elf had sat back down. His mind raced through the various events which led him here, to the Elder's employ. If it had not been for him and his research, the Elder might have perished long ago after having returned from the Abyss, anemic in life force. It was his formulas that helped transform him into the lich that he became to avoid certain death. Besides that, it was his research that enabled the Elder's few acolyte devotees to cast, even locate, the spell that brought him back at all. The deal he had made with them in return for his own safety from his murderous kin, dark elves, had been beneficial for him. He now had a safe haven to work and was given all the freedom he wanted... until now it seemed. "There is no worry, milord. I gain a few steps only to be stymied. My work will not interfere with your plans, I assure you" he promised, looking into those two red glowing eyes.

"See that it does not my old and dear friend. I give thee thy space and all thy needs and supplies fulfilled. My own minions that dwell here leave thee in peace or answer to me. Without the security I provide, ye would have died long ago at the hands of thy enemies."

Dharzhal bowed his head. "For which I am forever grateful," he said, humbly. He did not mention that the arch villain owed his existence and restoration into this realm to him, not to mention the essential concoction that would mask that horrendous odor which lingered long after he had departed the room.
 
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