Description
Before you is the withered, decrepit form of an elderly dark elf. The toll of
years perhaps pressing down on his form, making him permanently hunched over
in an awkward painful-looking position. Several long greasy strands of bone
white hair escape the dark hood of his cloak, and make their way down well
below his waist- almost as if a spider had begun to weave its silken clumpy
strands from the top of a bare skull and then given up in lieu of more
worthful endeavors. The dark skin on his face and neck which does not
completely absorb the light is abnormally dry and cracked, and appears to
have been abused even beyond any number of years a living being should be
able to endure. Similarly, his exposed hands appear as dark skeletal matter
rather than living flesh. However, his movements remain unnaturally deft and
graceful- undoubtedly the affect of some sort of dark magic. The only thing
not utterly repulsive about this creature is the aurulent glimmer of shiny
glaring teeth.
Role
Emergence
Added Thu Mar 2 15:13:14 2006 at level 1:
The surface world is full of so much prospect... underneath the earth cunning
and guile must be used to obtain one's desires... yet out here on the
surface.. on the surface, there are blind fools holding riches beyond what
I've ever seen. Ha! to be blind in such open space and white light proves
wisdom and logic must not reign supreme out here... Someone with my knowledge
surely will find a way to pry the riches from these dimwitted surface
dwellers....
Strange Sickness.
Added Mon Sep 11 23:19:12 2006 at level 51:
Standing in the cold night of the forest, cloaked behind the dimensions most
would consider their reality, Nihkorzhebus prepares himself for battle. Oh,
this will not hurt too much, he thinks- flashing a gold-toothed grin from
behind his veil of altered time and space. Just a few moments of focus here,
and he'll add one more item to his collection...
However, this time, something unexpected happens. His form begins to shake
and shiver, as his mind temporarily becomes unable to direct his mental
forces into his muscles. Suddenly ripped back into reality, he comes to,
realizing he is standing in the midst of several foes, completely unprepared,
and for one of the first times in his nearly 300 years of remembrance-
confused and a bit, well, concerned...
Although escaping with his life, his sickness continues to afflict him.
Nihkorzhebus is becoming increasingly paranoid at how something unknown and
out of his control could be able to take such hold on him. Feelings of doubt
begin to creep into his mind... "Had I made more allies in my youth, perhaps
someone could heal me- or at least perhaps point me to someone or something
which could help. Ah, perhaps the Herald. He knows things. And He knows
people who might know things. Yes, perhaps the tales from the inns and bars
have something to do with this..."
Though, he does not let anyone know of either his sickness or his paranoia.
That would be bad...
Musings of a middle-aged Drow
Added Fri Nov 10 19:48:21 2006 at level 51:
I have encountered a female drow, and she intrigues me. Her youthful, dark
vigor reminds me of myself in my own youth...
=======================================================
...Almost half a millennium I have spent up here on the surface. Things are
starting to bore. I have possessed everything I wish. At one time or another,
at least. What is permanent? I am steadfast and longer lasting than these
surface dwellers who put their stock in ideals and creeds. I have survived
much. Longer than any other drow I have heard of who has chosen the surface
as their grounds. I am not permanent. I am not undying. But close. I have
strength left in me which young orcs would drool over and trees full of elves
would coin their song of swans- should they be so ignorantly blind to its
perfect, dark origin. Yes, as the darkness has provided, our race has evolved
quite adeptly in our ability to work alone.
Hrrm, more gold would be nice. I could use more things for my endeavors, this
is for certain.
But I have observed as much as I've taken.
I have seen people one tenth my age walking around with their heads up high,
thinking they are on top of the world. Ha! They'll die to their own
arrogance, ignorance, and, perhaps, my magic. Should chaos land me on their
unwitting form. If they are only so lucky.
Young ones...have they weathered the demon-storms of the infernos, or stolen
coin from the keepers of dragons? Have they slayed the leaders of clans of
men? Have they outlasted sicknesses which turned worlds upon end and brought
new meaning to chaos itself? Have they yet avoided swarms of enemies whose
only existence is to keep them from what is theirs, without so much as
blinking an eye?
Fortress? Ha. Has their creed rid the likes of me from -their- so called
world? Not even close. Futile, even a gnome looking into the Fortress's light
through their wiry spectacles of dull drab gray can not see a spark coming
from the "shining" halls of light. A failed attempt for all time.
Barbarians of the Village? Hrrm. They are strong, this is for certain. Yet
each one of them shall fall like the autumn leaves of their own existence in
their due season. And of their own accord. Time is humorous like this. And
she will kill them quicker than I even care to bother. A fast burning candle
blinds the eyes as the light of the surface, if stared upon. But as the wax
melts, it collects into inert pools of cool, supple meaninglessness soon
enough. And the chaos magicks shall drink.
Empire? Order is a farce. Humorous how an entity with such orderly intentions
could engender such a headless beast of chaos. But they deal in real coin,
and their promises are usually true.
Nexus? A joke. A facade, a straw effigy for those whose simple minds seek
purpose to hide behind. And as predictable as something so tragically
unmoving. We all need something. It is their need to revel in their
organization of purposeless beings which brings them their empty resolve.
That is all it is.
Outlanders... well, these are some interesting creatures, indeed- as perfect
for my own needs as the surface can provide. Just as the rain and wind drives
insects into the web, they force the structured and ordered beings blindly
into death and chaos. Leaving resources to those who wish to o
Old Illusion
Added Mon Apr 2 13:39:57 2007 at level 51:
There is not much time left for sleep. Sleep will come soon...
However, Nihkorzhebus -did- sleep. And he dreamt. Or perhaps it was not a
dream at all, but some form of insanity brought on by an old brain, slightly
misfiring in all the right ways. The sort of clever old trick the weary mind
creates in its last feeble attempts to placate any apprehensions of the
coming end. A trick that persuades its owner (servant) that all their
collective past actions were worthful and at the same time deceives one's
soul into thinking their life is bigger than it was- and that they will
uniquely avoid falling into a meaningless pile of dust like everything else
which loses breath...
In this (dream) Nihkorzhebus walks proudly down the darkly gilded halls of
some great corner of the Underdark too secret for most to have ever set foot
upon. The pain in his joints which was harvested from the deadly elixir of
old age combined with almost seven hundred years of magick's misuse on the
body is gone. Instead, a sense of well being and pride forces the edges of
his lips into a slight upwards curl, exposing a fresh set of gleaming gold
teeth. Here, rather than searching sunlit landscapes (like corpses) for
riches, he merely imagines whatever he wishes, and one of his ethereal
servants deliver it at his feet. Ahh, the servants. It is a good thing I
remembered to collect those servants while I was up there, he muses... the
thought of that glistening web of death collecting a piece of each fallen
prey to serve him in this place (dream) forces his mouth this time into a
full-fledged grin, accompanied by an elated hissing sound some might call
laughter... his elation is now accompanied by the image of endless tunnels
and caverns- all constantly building and growing and being adorned with gold
and treasures as fast as he can imagine it... and so on, and so on...
... and this is how Nihkorzhebus Bol'Belaern, Son of None, believes his days
(nights) up on this thin tapestry of feeble minds, empty threats, and modest
riches will end. And this, he believes (Oh, what a glorious trick his mind
has played), is how he imagines his real life will begin.