“Mayong’s Cruelty: the Drachnids”

From the diary of Najena, Tier’Dal sorceress.

It was in the beginning of the apex of my career of sorcery when I accomplished what I still believe to be my prized achievement. They were beautiful beasts with carapaces that gleamed so black they seemed to be cut of obsidian, multi-faceted eyes that could not even begin to comprehend, and they were many hundreds, possibly thousands, of times the size of their much smaller cousins: the black widow spider.

They were beautiful, deadly, and my creations.

Once I had discovered the secret of raising these magnificent beasts, I sent some as gifts to those I admired. Among these individuals was Mayong Mistmoore. Seeking to curry his favor, and to let him know exactly how capable of a sorceress I was, I sent him one as a gift.

Imagine my surprise when he sent it back, irrevocably changed. And my poor emissary, L’Dalt, butchered for his experiment.

What had left as two different beasts returned as one. He had grafted the head and torso of L’Dalt onto the body of the spider, and the two walked as one. L’Dalt’s personality and memories seemed to have been lost in the shift, but his cunning and magical powers were still there - capable of being carried to and utilized wherever the body of that spider could take him. It was a truly formidable combination.

I couldn’t help but feel a hint of amazment and respect for Mayong’s ingenuity. At the same time, however, he had stolen my design and used it to his own ends. The thank you note he sent, “Thank you for supplying Mistmoore with suitable raw ingredients for true servants”, mocked me. I vowed to learn all I could of these creatures and create something better.

I studied these creatures, which came to be known as Drachnids, after Mayong began to release them into Norrath in packs.

They settled into small, neatly organized colonies. The young males spun the webs, and the young females caught food for the nests. The business of the mature males was always elusive. They seemed to be carrying out orders, possibly of Mayong’s, but to what ends? I could never tell. The mature females fought for dominance in the position of nest matriarch. These Widows fiercely protected their station and killed the younger females that might challenge them. It all had a beautifully simple design to it. Mayong was truly a genius.

My studies ended when I was discovered. Trapped in their webbing for days, I nearly went mad from hunger and thirst and finally, out of a purely desperate attempt to live, I managed to use my magics to get free. I evaded all who pursued me, though I know I am truly only alive today because I never had to contend with any mature Drachnids, and hid beyond their borders.

Before I was to truly escape, however, I confronted Mayong. He seemed to be waiting for me, on the edge of their territory, and his face was without pity, or humor as I approached. I outlined what had happened, expecting, well, I am not sure what, but something from him. He, however, only coldly acknowledged that his creations seemed to be establishing themselves well and learning to act together.

When I told him exactly how offended I was that he cared not for what had nearly happened tome, he merely stared at me and informed me that the only reason he had called off the mature Drachnids was because I had played a small role in their creation. I felt foolish then, incredibly so, for imagining he would be angry at his creations for capturing me. If anything, it was a testament to their prowess, and had doubtless pleased him. He told me then that my boon had been expended, and that I should not lurk around their nests anymore. Next time I would not likely find so fortuitous a path to safety. Nearly every hour of every day, I think of something I should have done or said to prove to him that he had crossed the wrong sorceress, though the truth was that I said nothing to him. I only ran away in a wash of emotions I do not care to admit to having felt.

Once back within my own dominion, however, I began to plot.

I designed newer, more ferocious creatures to match and surpass his own. He, I vowed, would feel that same fear and humiliation I had, and I would not rest until he had been shamed.

I am still striving. I have created creatures from all manners and pitches of nightmares, but none seem to have quite such deadly perfection as those beasts.

I will find one though. It is only a matter of time, and then Mayong Mistmoore will regret what he did to me, and regret having ever made the Drachnids.

By my blood,

Najena

Sorceress of the Teir’Dal

Thousands of years ago, a group of brilliant iksar druids sought a power unlike any other possessed by their people. They tapped into a deep, ancient power that drew on a very different aspect of nature.

This power is the root of decay - truly a mixture of nature and shadow power. Where most natural power gives energy and life and growth, this power sucks it away. Some powers of wardens and furies draws on this in small doses, but none plunge straight into it the way that these iksar did.

They might have had the world at their feet if the nature of the magic hadn’t slowly drained them of their mental power. They fed more and more on it, and as they did, they lost more of their mental acuity and of their physical form.

Soon, they had little more will or reason than fungi, and their bodies had grown to resemble their intellects;ashen skin covered in slime-like glaze. A small growth, protruded from their head, and as time passed, it swelled and swelled until it resembled a mushroom cap.

Today we know these beasts as the sporconids, and they dwell in the much near Dragon Drool Lake. Though they may resemble giant mushrooms, they have a measure of sentience, and an undeniable power at their finger tips. Fortunately, they don’t have the guile to harness this power fully.

And so we see what can result from harnessing a power that is not fully understood. What might have been a world devastating force became the idle plaything of a childlike, simplistic race of swamp dwellers.

Should the sporconids ever once again realize what they have in their hands, and find a way to apply it fully, all of Norrath might be on their knees before them. Fortunately, they would need an intellect magnitudes greater then their own to do so.

Seeress Ealaynya Ithis’s Holy Calling

Back when the gods had been silent for ages and the suffering of people of Norrath huddled together for refuge, faith seemed destined to die.

It was during this time that a young child by the name of Ealaynya Ithis started to exhibit clairvoyance and experience prophetic dreams. Even the most skeptical villagers were convinced when young Ealaynya led hunters to a crying child, having been lost for nearly a week.

She began to lead the village gatherers to hard found resources. Her retelling of her visions comforted them at the fireside. She had earned the praise of her village and brought a glimmer of faith to their forsaken lives. How could they keep such a child’s gift to their selves? She was like the harbringer of faith within this realm. Qeynos would be her pulpt!

They abandoned their village for the city of Qeynos. There they discovered the once grand Temple of Life, nearly abandoned.

The temple that awaited Ealaynya paled in comparison to the one she had beheld in her visions. Only a few acolytes of the Prime Healer remained andthe temple rested in near ruins. The beauty of the pool of Jahnda that once heald the majestic koalindl, fish from the plane of Tranquility, was now dingy and empty of life. The acolytes would not listen to the villagers’ claims, dismissing them as beggars looking for refuge in their sacred hall.

As the villagers and the acolytes argued, Ealaynya walked silently to that carts that held her few belongings. She rummaged through and reached far into a niche, having to stand on her toes to reach her prize. Her hands slowly emerged from the darkness grasping a glass bowl.

Within the bowl was a small, colorful fish. It had been a year ago that alone; she had found her way to a tiny pond in which a single, colorful fish swam within the clear, warm water. She carried the fish back to the village and fed it a morsel of bread everyday, until this day.

Ealaynya walked to the edge of the murky water of the once grand Pool of Jahnda. She began to pour the contents of the fish bowl slowly into the pool. The stream of water hit the film and broke the plane of algae on the pool’s surface.

Upon hearing this, the acolytes ran toward her screaming for her to cease her blasphemous action. Ealaynya was deaf to their cries. As they neared her the tiny, colorful fish was carried through the stream of water and swam into the blackness of the pool.

The acolytes grabbed the girl’s arms and were about to hand her some retribution for her deed when tehy were distracted by something miraculous!

Looking to the pool all present gazed as the cloudy water began to clear around the fish. This circle of pristine wtaer radiated out from the fish dissolving all that was foul within this sacred pool. The Pool of Jahnda was returned to its glory and a single fish, a koalindl, swam within its life giving water!

Ealaynya rejuvenated the temple and its acolytes. The cleansing of the pool was the beginning of the girl’s life amongst by the acolytes, and the villagers had become their new congregation. Ealaynya began to have new visions and share them with the temple.

Through her visions they came to realize they were to unify the faith of the gods of light. They renamed their order the Celestial Watch.

They began to preach to the people and aid those in need. Small crusades lead them into the wilds to perform benevolent actions as they used to ages before the gods were silenced.

Seasons passed and eventually Ealaynya grew into a beautiful woman and the spiritual leader of the Celestial Watch. She became the Seeress Ealaynya Ithis, a beacon of faith, Shepherd of the Celestial Watch.

But she was destined to become more than simply a shepherd. As gods of old have reappeared Seeress Ealaynya has continued to see her visions and prophecies come true. She reassured those that expressed fear of grief over the Prime Healer’s absence that all is part of a grand plan.

“It is not our place to question the widowm of fate, nor that of the Prime Healer. The darkest of night is when the light is most welcome!”

If there was any question about her faith in a grand plan it was dismissed on the day the Temple of Life disappeared!

In the blink of an eye, all who were within the holy temple, save Seeress Ealaynya, now found themselves outside, watching awestruck as it increased its rotation speed and disappeared. There at the edge of the Pool of Jahnda they camped, in prayer and meditation waiting.

A day later, the Temple of Life reappeared with the same ease with which it had left. When its rotation speed slowed, the portal reappeared to allow entry and exit from the floating temple. But no priest, priestess, nor acolyte would enter. They knew they were witness to something of legend, something truly miraculous! They awaited a sign from their Holy Seeress that they could once again, enter the site.

Seeress Ealaynya Ithis emerged from the temple washed in light! She consoled those distraught, and praised all for their faith, stating that she had touched The Holy, and been within the presence of The Prime Healer!

She was blessed, and now so was all of Norrath, for Rodcet Nife’s Prophet walks amongst us!

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One of the (many) tome quests in the game, this one I’d yet to see before since I always out leveled the zone, the quest starter is a no-trade item (sighs they need to change that in my opinion).

“The Great Flood,” a personal observation by a nameless traveller. The pages were apparently compiled based on his (or her) journal.

The route through the Blackburrow of the gnolls from Everfrost is dark, twisting and deep. I have quite often gotten lost as I do not use any source of light. That would reveal my presence to the cursed gnolls. My business is my own, taking me through these dark passages every fortnight.

My home is Halas of the North. My business takes me to Qeynos Hills and for that reason alone, I must suffer the treck through the stench of the gnoll pits. Sometimes I will send ahead my pet wolf Silkie to find sport in the darkness. She enjoys the exercise, for the gnolls cannot outrun her. I can follow their cries and need not use any of the dark methods I have learned to see in the dark.

On this journey, Silkie and I found the snows melting by day and freezing at night. Daggers of ice hung from the rocky outcroppings, sometimes breaking off and shattering on the ground below with a loud crack. Her tail between her legs, her ears darting back and forth, Silkie panted and paced, uneasy. Her troubled behavior made me uneasy as well.

At the entrance to the tunnels, we found the gnoll guards had abandoned their posts, leaving behind nothing but the cold embers of their watch fires. There used to be snow at this level, but there was not. The ground was moist with melting snow. Silkie refused to enter the tunnel until I threatened her. Then she scuttled ahead sideways, like a crab, trying to see both ahead of us and behind.

Down we went on our usual route, encountering nothing. The tunnels were silent, but for the constant drip-drip-drip of water in the dark. As we emerged from one narrow tunnel into a wider space, Silkie whimpered and whined, her misery echoing around the chamber. “Be still!” I commanded her. She fell silent and I was aware that the entire world had gone silent as well.

Suddenly came a large rending sound that shook the marrow of the mountains and threw me and Silkie to the ground. She scrambled to her feet and ran howling away through the darkness. I lay pressed against the rocky ground, hugging it as though I could stop its convulsions. Finally, it grew still. “Silkie!” I called into the silence. She did not answer.

No, Silkie did not come at my call, though I could sitll hear her terrified, high-pitched whimper echoing. Then she fell silent and I heard something else — a roar that I have never heard in those tunnels before. It reminded me of the scream the snow makes as it tumbles down a mountainside on a sleigh of ice. A roar covered in velvet.

I too scrambled to my feet, but with the unseen roar echoing through the chamber, I could not know which way to turn. I began my enchantment, though my teeth chattered. A heavy wind rushed into the chamber, bringing with it the smell of generations of foul gnolls from somewhere deep in the Blackburrow. It broke my concentration and my spell dissipated before I could cast.

And then the water surrounded me. It tumbled over me and over like a pebble on the sea shore. I could not tell what was skyward and which way led to death in its depths. The waters rushed onward, as frantic as I to find an outlet. After an eternity, the waters threw me onto an unseen ledge near the roof of the cavern before swirling away.

Though I lay on the ledge for days, the water did not drain. I was finally able to cast my light-giving spell and saw the ruins of the cavern below. My thoughts lay on my certain death and I was bitter and angry to die like a gnoll and not with honor inbattle. I would not die unsung. You who read this, know that the world was shaken and I survived. For a little while.