Dhurzoth Rivensky the Elemental Master

Role

Chapter 13

Hennik watched in quiet disbelief as his hunch-backed nephew quickly
manipulated each of the seven elemental tokens without a word. The boy had
affinity with each. Even water and lightning, which Hennik himself could not
sway apart from calling a few drops of water to moisten the inside of a water
skin, or a small crackle of a static charge to set one's feathers on end. But
nevermind his own shortcomings: a lucky spread of elemental affinity does not
a great invoker make. Did the awkward little duck WANT the training? NEED the
power for his own? Would he actually work for it? He motioned for the boy to
stop and scooped the tokens into a pocket in his robes.

He turned, took a light hammer in each hand from the shelf beside him, and
set them both down on the table in front of him, in front of two young
arials. "It... is time," he twittered in his high, shaky voice, " I have
chosen to take on an apprentice. You boys have both served me disgracefully
as messengers, errand-fliers, and reagent collectors. One of you shall,
nonetheless, have the opportunity to glimpse The Art, and the slimmest chance
to make something of yourself. The other dies and goes into the ash pile. The
choice is yours."

The old, gray arial chirped softly as he settled back into his high stool,
his wide, amethyst eyes maliciously holding the two underfed children before
him in their unblinking, pupilless gaze. The two apprentices, one black and
hunchbacked, the other green and lanky, stared at each other a long moment
before casting nervous glances down at their hammers...

Role

Chapter 12

Dhurzoth didn't sleep once that night. He tossed and turned on his threadbare
rug on the floor. He tried to keep his eyes away... but they always flickered
back to the ash pile by the hearth. Uncle Hennik (whom he was now to address
only as "Master") had picked up Chirrin's body as if it were weightless, had
sung the words to summon the fire... then dusted his hands off above the ash
pile. He hadn't liked Chirrin, but he knew they were no different: neither
had a father, neither got enough to eat with their mothers, both had worked
for Uncle Hennik for about six months.

The reason he lay on the floor as a living arial, and not as a pile of dust
was he had picked up the hammer in front of him. Chirrin hadn't. He'd just
stared dumbly at him and then at Uncle Hennik. Dhurzoth remembered looking to
Uncle Hennik, too. He remembered the gleam in his purple eye, the whispery
chirp like some kind of instruction, some kind of permission.

One becomes apprentice. One dies. The choice was easy. Dhurzoth swung his
hammer, clumsily crashing blows onto Chirrin's skull until his arm went limp.
He won the right to study, to learn of his uncle's secrets and power. He
would always remember that as his first victory. Much later he would realize,
not over the dimwit, Chirrin: but over pity, over obligation, over being held
back. It was his victory over the willingness to waste opportunities and
resources on those too weak to grasp them and make something meaningful.

Role

Chapter 11

For the first time in his life, Dhurzoth knew something resembling happiness.
Yes, he worked like a slave keeping his uncl... I mean Master Hennik's house,
laboratory, and office in order and stocked with food, reagents, and vellum.
But he also was studying The Art!!!! Here, at long last, was something
useful! Something that challenged and engaged his mind, some goal to work
toward and achieve besides eating dinner...

Dhurzoth had been one of four egs hatched to a destitute young arial. She
depended on the charity of her younger brother, one of the Royal Guards, and
then sent her children out to the Temple, Trade Road, and Palace way to beg
when her brother's pay didn't stretch far enough. Dhurzoth had felt lower
than trash when passerby would cuff him on the side of the head, when
passerby would spit at him or cackle about his hunched back. He'd come to
despise his mother and siblings that did nothing but complain of hunger.

His mother told him that he inherited his hunchback from his grandfather, a
crazy hedge wizard that had been eaten by a purple worm, or something.
Dhurzoth liked to think of his grandfather, of his great and powerful magics
sizzling the bastards that dared to sneer or snicker. This is the reason his
Uncle Hennik was convinced to take him in: perhaps a great mage could be made
of the obviously quick-witted boy. The hunchback beggar-child had few other
prospects.

PK Gank-O-Meter

Role

Chapter 10

For six long years, Dhurzoth studied. Other guildmasters had told him that
their other apprentices, especially the elves, never so voraciously devoured
new concepts and techniques as he did. Instead of being flattered, it fed a
grim bitterness within. Dhurzoth knew that his time was limited and precious:
Arials, of all people, surely do not live forever. He was driven not only by
his drive to succeed and excel, but by the merciless clock of nature.

Master Hennik observed that Dhurzoth took naturally to The Art, more readily
than any he had known. The boy's mind seemed to pick concepts apart into
their basic parts and master them, just as an elementalist disintegrates a
composite golem of stone, metal, and fire. He was quick to grasp concepts and
learned swiftly, it was almost a pleasure to witness the boy's ascent.

Role

Chapter 9

Dhurzoth despised the "hard-working" commoners crowding the streets, the
"wise" bureaucrats, the timid guildmasters he encountered in his travels
performing services for Master Hennik, or to study the paths of Water and
Lightning with other elementalists.

What did commoners do but clamor for gold and food, for protection from the
Blood Tribunal or the Fortress to fight the forces which challenged their
sheepish lifestyle, their turkey-like mindset? What did the bureaucrats and
nobles create of worth on their own? They're no more than thieves, sanctioned
to steal from the serfs, or impose tarrifs on merchants able to generate
revenue through hard work and shrewd trading, or levy taxes of gold or civic
service (like forcing invokers to reshape, repair, and move huge blocks of
stone to maintain city streets) on the guildmasters.

Dhurzoth was finally able to identify what disgusted him so about the world
surrounding him: the people of Thera are weak, frightened, and foolish, and
they leech upon the strong to give them life. They name them as rulers, then
run to them to have every decision made for them. They make laws to constrict
their actions, and make them pay the unconscionable price of serving "the
public good" for being great. Instead of exalting and emulating the Trainer
of Galadon, a man excelling in every mortal quality and able to impart the
knowledge to do so, they stick him in a shabby hovel, forced to cater to any
grubby "adventurer" with a pocketful of copper or a useless, shiny trinket.
Those that excel are punished by having their power sucked away, like by
parasites.

They wield and wear enchanted items, drink potions, recite scrolls they could
never possibly create, granting them magic they have not earned. They beg for
protection from the monsters, the outlaws, the confusing things of the world.
They pray inanely to gods that don't care. They cling to any tradition, any
passing idea or philosophy that grabs their rolling eyes with a flash or
sparkle.

Dhurzoth has nothing but contempt for charity, for the protection and support of
the weak, idle masses. He draws upon his own drive and inner power to earn a
place in the world.

This gross thievery, endemic weakness, this injustice will be stopped.

Role

Chapter 8

Dhurzoth Rivensky, rejected his family, his uncle, his people, his guild, his
gods, yea, all of Thera's claim to his life and service, since he would (in
time) be one of, if not the sole most powerful mage of his time. He owed them
nothing, and nor did any mage. Did they not pay for their power with gold,
years of their life, and other opportunities missed? Their power should
belong to none but themselves. Mages shouldn't waste their talent and lives
serving: whether teaching the children of idle nobles or protecting worthless
peasants. They should have exercise their vast gifts as they see fit, for
they have earned such.

His family? Merely the instrument by which Fate and Spirit had combined to
create his life. He owes more to the elements that compose his body and heed
his magical incantations more than two grubby arials humping.

His uncle? He has repaid with many errands, days of labor, spying and
memorizing rival guildmaster's spells. The creaky old arial would never have
learned of the Noxious Cloud if Dhurzoth hadn't stolen it. They were even, as
far as the younger was concernced.

Thera? Dhurzoth does not celebrate this world of weakness, misguided ideals,
and mediocrity. He will master the elemental arts. He shall have wealth and
power... his name will be known and feared.

*Currently, these last are the extent of the goals the young arial holds: he
is somewhat daunted by the idea of totally mastering the Art of Invocation,
but is irrevocably determined to do so. When that time comes, he will be
ready to face the greatest of challenges, attain the loftiest heights of
magic and power.

Role

Chapter 7

Many long hours of study and practice have passed, lonely hours with none but
his magic to keep him company. Dhurzoth has mastered all the introductory
spells of the guild. He has travelled to Khardrath's remote Planar Sanctum,
and through their genius work, has travelled to the very elemental planes
themselves! And as such a young arial of low rank! The thrill of stepping
through the portals... of the powerful magic washing over and through his
entire body... the raging, alien power, the endless expanse of the elemental
plains was a rush like none he'd ever known. He has seen and felt firsthand
the planes he links to, the very elements of the Prime plane. Dhurzoth knows
now that he has a fundamental understanding of the world that no commoner, no
warrior will ever be able to grasp: he can control the very stuff that the
universe is made of.

He has practiced his craft extensively on the mindless golems scattered about
the Sanctum, since their service is obsolete with the opening of the
elemental portals, but he yearns for insight into the stronger spells, for
the real power. He is confident in his ability to wield the magic, and so is
setting out to gain ranks in the guild.

He has also had the unique opportunity to test his spells on difficult
opponents: an elf and a felar so far. The thrill of vanquishing an enemy with
raw elemental magic is an experience Dhurzoth has found he savors
exquisitely: the mix of the rush of combat, making practical use of his
magic, and the demonstration of his superiority through victory all boosting
the young wizard's confidence.

Role

Chapter 6

The whipping desert winds kicked a spray of sand toward Dhurzoth's face. The
young arial quickly whispered the wall of wind and gave a flap of his wings,
and the sand swirled crazily away, buffeted by two windy forces. His large,
black eyes scanned the dunes for the black shape of the bear.

He had travelled with the young shapeshifter, Ikanu, a number of times. Both
were magi dedicated to gaining power, this much he knew, and so felt the
strange Barovian something of a peer.

However, the time for comaraderie was past. The shifter had been tasked
(Dhurzoth suspected by the newly-ascended Queen of the Scions, Mergulla) with
defeating him, and Dhurzoth was prepared to meet the challenge. He had seen
the shifter's power, the ferocity of his bear's claws, and had felt them as
Ikanu had attempted to take him unawares, while they both practiced their
Arts on the hapless monks of Moudrilar's Monestary. Dhurzoth had escaped that
back-stabbing assault, and now the two magi sought each other through the
swirling sands.

There is little to tell of the battle. Dhurzoth had time for one successful
spell, using stoneshatter to fragment the bear's stony veneer, and quickly
fell to the powerful claws. As his ghostly form sped through the streets of
Seantryn Modan and fluttered northward over the waters of the Aryth, his
heart burned within him. He had fallen. He and his magic had been shown weak,
inferior to the shifter's cheap transformation.

Dhurzoth now knew, though it was an honest competition, he should never have
accepted it. Their two guilds gained power differently: the shapeshifters up
front, the invoker as they invested time and effort into mastery of their
craft. He would not make the mistake of taking on a challenge too great for
his current skills and power. He will redouble his studies and focus on
learning more powerful spells as quickly as possible.

The sudden ascendance of the young immortal Mergulla holds ominous
ramifications for the young wizard, as well. A divine presence leading the
Scions may point to a new phase of their Prophecy taking form. He recognizes
the similarity between himself and Her... both innately desirous, both tied
to the elements. However, Dhurzoth is focused on using hard work instead of
trickery to attain mastery, recognition, wealth, respect, and fear.

Dhurzoth will prove himself. He will continue to study and practice, he will
explore and research to find magical sources of power and aid. He will learn
more of the Scions and their Prophecy, and how it may benefit him. After all,
shouldn't the most powerful mage in the lands take the seat of the
Chancellor?

Role

Chapter 5

He has now glimpsed the depths of the darkness lurking in the world: poring
over the tomes of lore in the Celestial Lyceum, he found much knowledge that
even Master Hennik had not known. A compendium of what might be all the
divine powers that have risen and faded in Thera's heavens, treatises on all
the different paths of magic, on the planes themselves, and most intriguing
to Dhurzoth, a detailed account of The Sundering: of Valguarnera's "finding"
of Jullias' Book of the Ritual, of his unravelling the secrets of the runes
and successful performance of the ritual, and the deaths of Poetry, Nepenthe,
Amaranthe, Holtzendorff and Ishmael.

He spoke with the High Herlad, Fyeereth, of the gifted elven invoker
Celenai's whereabouts: the fela said that the elf woke seldom, and entered
the Inn less. Dhurzoth had hoped to deceive the elf into giving him insights
into her research and work with the plane of Radiance (for many practical
reasons: a mage of Night would need protection, or a method of countering
such power, and may be able to reverse-engineer spells from the planes of
Shadow from it), though it seems the elf may have faded into obscurity.

Through more painstaking research within ancient tomes and canons of
forgotten magic, he found scattered fragments of rituals and spells dating so
far back, they could only be referring to the Shadow cabal of old! Though
incomplete and cryptic, Dhurzoth applied the full power of his mind,
researched and referenced every other source he could think of to connect it
all, and finally realized: he could, through complex manipulations of the
basic spell, infuse his nova spell with the destructive energy of the
Negative, the shadow planes instead of fire.

What more proof could be needed of his mastery, than his knowledge of such a
fearsome spell?

Role

Chapter 4

Dhurzoth has suffered more than a few setbacks: he has fallen in battle to a
mere thug, Tramby, and has met death in various places from powerful entities
in his compulsive search for magical knowledge and artifacts. He has fought
Villagers and Maran (or, their squires) alike, and has yet to utilize the
magic to leave them as charred piles of ash and bone shards.

This... has injured his Pride.

He has worked for so long, practicing his spells, reading through old,
innacurate, rambling books, only to meet defeat at the hands of some walker
human with a few knives and a penchant for dirty fighting. If he cannot
dispatch such rabble, how will anyone recognize him as a mighty wizard? How
will the Scions of Eternal Night and the Ccul'gra accept one who is weak in
battle, the true practical application of the magical arts?

How can he recognize it himself? Everything he has worked toward has been
buoyed by his belief in himself, in his innate magical gifts and power. His
pride has been sorely injured by these harsh proofs... but he is far from
shattered. Just recently he battled a Villager: many skirmishes with a
svirfnebli ranger, Lewgreh. Though neither claimed a victory, both fought
fiercely. Dhurzoth is learning to apply his magic from his more abstract
studies to the eminently practical. He will not give up. He knows he is
already great, and is still destined for greatness as a master mage with the
full powers of darkness called to his side.

To this end, with his perfection of his first three elemental shields, he now
feels worthy to pray to draw the attention of Lord Daevryn: when he was a
youthful apprentice wielding small bits of flame, he knew such paltry power
was inadequate proof, though his ambition burned hot as elemental fire within
him. He is an elder of the invoker's guild now, imbued with magical power and
much more life experience than the wide-eyed arial youth he was a few short
years ago.

He appreciates the story of Daevryn's ascent to godhood from mortal
beginnings, how he seized immortality, riches, and power for himself. He
likens it to his own story: a rise to greatness from humble beginnings. The
Lord of Ambition will surely smile on his own strivings against the teeming
Village, the sycophantic zealots of the Maran, the lackeys of the lich's
Empire in his quest for greatness.

Role

Chapter 3

Dhurzoth has visited Daevryn's opulent mansion more than a few times (not too
often, wishing to avoid appearing like some needy supplicant, and instead
appear as an equal in vision and spirit). He suspects that the cloud giant
majordomo, Hinnagen Malloy, resents his magical prowess and admittedly ugly
appearance, and has not relayed his messages to the Lord of the house.

Dhurzoth has leaned on his willpower to the point of breaking... but he shall
continue to wait. He will have an audience with Daevryn, and shall go forth
with either the god's blessing, or a renewed determination to prove himself
by exercising his dark magic.

After his latest visit to the extremely comfortable waiting-room, he left a
bottle of Kirin Gold (a poor offering from the winery of Voralian City, but
all the poor apprentice could afford at the time), a rough, uncut diamond he
found near Cragstone, and also this painstakingly-scribed scroll:

Lord Daevryn,

My name is Dhurzoth Rivensky, a young avian invoker of the thirty-first rank.

I am an arial of latent (yet ever-burgeoning) power, and endless ambition. As
far as I'm concerned, you are the only divinity worth the worship and
attention of we mortals with the drive to be the masters, the movers and
doers of Thera.

Your giant majordomo's crude demeanor makes me hesitant to leave this message
and small token with him, so I have left it upon this easy chair. Let this
small, uncut diamond be a promise from me to you, to grow and sieze the power
I seek, and to bring glory to us both.

Also, as a guest in your house, an offering of wine. The most expensive sold
in Voralian City, an underwhelming recommendation, I am aware.

Until we may have the pleasure of a personal meeting,
Dhurzoth Rivensky

Role

Chapter 2

Much has transpired, much has changed. Dhurzoth came boldly to the mouth of
The Chasm, seeking the Lords of the Eternal Night, or Queen Mergulla for
entrance into the elitist numbers of the Fold. The power that answered,
however, surprised the young invoker. He had been expecting to display his
knowledge and ability to the Archmage of Eternal Night or Mergulla herself.

Instead, a faint scream of countless tortured souls whispered to him there,
in the darkness. They spoke of the idea of the Eternal Night, and Dhurzoth's
aims. The voice revealed many things: that Mergulla, the newly-risen godling
was not what she seemed, that there was much his mortal eyes and ken did not
see yet. Dhurzoth stated his commitment, as the voice continued to pry, to
the fulfillment of the Prophecy, to this tradition of dark mages, his desire
to see the Eternal Night realized, and his own fierce commitment to gaining
knowledge and growing in personal power. One thing that was made quite clear
to him from the voice's dark whispers was that he must always make a clear
distinction between pursuing the cause, the prophecy, and his own aims. A
cause may call for those that follow it to sacrifice all, for a cause is
abstract, and cannot care for those that would follow it.

But a god... as the voice said, that is a foundation. All it asked was a
pledge of loyalty, a binding oath, and his immortal soul. Dhurzoth was more
than ready. Finally, a connection! A real promise of power! Many would have
faltered at the idea of bargaining with such profound currency, but Dhurzoth
was one of the few able to do so without hesitation.

And so it was sealed: slim tendrils of cold, dark mist enveloped him, pulling
forth pieces of his life essence. As the arial's wings halted in agony, he
dropped to the ground upon his knees, gakking and coughing with the blinding,
but brief pain. He drew a deep breath, and flapped his wings powerfully, rose
to his feet. The Nightwalker hissed a greeting to him, and the arial
descended into the rocky depths.

Role

Chapter 1

Dhurzoth has fought the Fortress zealots and the Village's barbarians often.
With only the protection of his own shields and his amber wand, the results
have been brief and painful. He know he must redouble his efforts to search
out his protective wards to be of any use against their hordes.

One such incident highlights his frustration, and building rage: a young
Maran paladin and shaman, Araevin and Eolin, came to assault the Nightwalker
and Archmage, spoiling for a fight with Dhurzoth. He came and buffetted the
elf and storm giant to and fro, though could not earn anything resembling a
decisive victory, for the two would easily heal themselves as Dhurzoth
retreated below to reapply spells or heal himself, and he could not pump
enough damage into either of the heavily protected priests.

As he sat within the darkness, resting his battered body and mind, he
recalled seeing (out of the corner of his eye, as he fought the maddened
zealots) a shard, falling from the heavens, and feeling a twinge of pain and
anguish EXACTLY like the voice that he had bargained with, and been bound to.
After learning that it was not Beroxxus that he had dealt with, he had
resolved to search out clues regarding his new... benefactor's identity.

But, he was far too late. Mizheng, the useless ranger of the Chasm, found the
first strange piece of debris from the upper reaches: an amulet shaped like
an anvil. The ranger could not figure out it's meaning or purpose, wore it,
and it crumbled to ash. The hated villager svirfnebli, Bartis, found the
other: a silver amulet in the shape of a hammer. Dhurzoth is resolved to
murder the svirf and sieze the amulet for himself, that perhaps he may gain
some insight into the identity or aims of his whisperer, or perhaps use it to
curry more favor or power.

Immortal Comments

PK Statistics

Skill List

Title History

PK Wins

PK Deaths

Leveling History

Timeline

Mob Deaths

Edges