Ithzaruul the Lich Lord, Anathema to the Empire

Role

Chapter 8

. Balator, home of the eternally down-trodden and bitter. I,
too, once called it "home," though the words were spat from my
insolent mouth. I was brought up in the orphanage; a place of
young outcasts and pre-teen victims of various offenses, almost
all of which included the slaying of our parents. According to
Jaragh, who decided to tell me the tale in the hopes of
instilling some kind of horror within me about the nature of my
father's people, my mother strayed too close to a cave as she
foraged near the cottage where she lived. A drow took it upon
himself to take advantage of her foolishness and raped her. It
sounds fiendishly simple and commonplace in this harsh, chaotic
world that we are forced to dwell in, but consider the mind of
the typical male drow; their lives are dominated by the women of
the race. In many ways they grow to despise the powerful
seductresses whom they are bound to, and so when they are able to
partake of the meek, soft-bodied, common human female, they
release their hatred in a primal, furious act of lust. My mother was
brutalized until she fell unconscious, and when she awoke in the
care of her neighboring villagers more than a week later, she
felt something terrible...me.

. As the lives of the drow are very long compared to a
human's, so too are the pregnancies of drowish women. To put it
simply, the drow are more advanced and thus take longer to fully
develop. For nineteen months my mother watched as her belly grew,
wondering all the while what evil festered within, and what she
had done to deserve it. Her anguish ended as I was born, when a
nineteen-month-old curse, placed by my loving father, caused her
to bleed-out unnaturally. I suppose it was fortunate for me that
the villagers did not believe that a newborn soul could be
wicked and cursed (they didn't know much about the drow). But,
even so, they could not stand the sight of me, knowing what I
was. That is how I ended up in Balator, and how only one man,
Jaragh, now knows the story.

. They preach against the use of magic in Balator. The people
there have long been fearful of it, and rightfully so. While we
were young and impressionable (most of us) we were told of the
terrible havoc that the sorcerers of old had unleashed upon the
world. We were told that Ordasen's wrath would be upon our heads
if we ever dared to steal the power of the Gods for ourselves. I
don't know about the rest of the children, and looking back I
suppose it must have been the result of my villainous heritage,
but the more they told us how terrible it was, the more I wanted
it. Above all other magics, mortals fear those who tamper with
the dead, and to me that sounded irresistably fascinating.

Immortal Comments

Wed Jun 1 08:42:11 2005 by 'Drokalanatym' at level 51 (435 hrs):
much more as uncaballed.

Wed Jun 1 16:47:40 2005 by 'Eshval' at level 51 (435 hrs):
Informed there would be no place within the Fold for him.

Mon Jun 6 16:14:27 2005 by 'Khasotholas' at level 51 (453 hrs):
This guy is very skilled.

Sat Jun 11 01:26:13 2005 by 'Shokai' at level 51 (469 hrs):
had a fun chat with him where in I got to use the phrase 'silly lich'....bonus points because I didn't have to kill the cocky bastard. Well played on his part...did I mention cocky bastard? Oh, good.

Sat Jun 11 09:22:06 2005 by 'Lyristeon' at level 51 (471 hrs):
Just as he had gotten powerful, stopped acting cowardly, he deletes. I would have liked to have seen him act alone a bit more than he did.

Role

Chapter 7

. I took a gamble, not long ago. I hunted down a woman who had dared to
make an attempt on my life, and killed her within Voralian City. Of course,
I knew it was a violation of Imperial Law, and my only shield against being
named Anathema by the Father of Anger was my twisting of Imperial Law, so
that I might appear to have made an understandable mistake. The Father, being
what he is, surely knew of my deceit, and perhaps saw something worth salvaging
when he offered me the choice between becoming a mere Bloodoath, or an Anathema.
My plans are far from fulfilled, and so I would have been a fool to accept the
path of the hunted. Now I am at the bottom once again, but the other Oaths, and
even those above me in position know not to trifle with me. They know I will
rise again.

. One thing I have learned by this event is that the Gods do not trust the
mortal leadership of the Empire to handle their own business. That tells me that I
must be more cautious than ever, and also that there is room to build on that
mistrust. Such knowledge is a dangerous weapon, and I will use it if need be. Though
I am not in the best of favor with the Father, he surely knows that I have stood up
for his name, as well as the Dark Dream's, when so many other citizens forsook them
to praise only one...Khasotholas. But would my respect for all worthy Gods be
enough to protect me if ever a word were uttered about the one whom I truly
hearken to? No, I think not. It is why the name of the Hydra must never come
from my mouth. To the Empire I will be seen as merely respectful of the Gods,
not as someone who is beholden to any of them.

. I did not always think of the Hydra as my patron. He was one of many Gods whose
philosophies had caught my eye. Admitedly, no other set of beliefs rang so true
with me as his did, but I kept it to myself, and tried not to give that revelation
much weight...I ignored it. I can no longer suppress this basic truth about myself
for fear of what might happen if it were discovered.

. Heresy is nothing new, and those with heretical views have died horrible
deaths countless times in the past. The catalyst for creating such a disaster is a
loose tongue. Some fools just don't know when to shut up, and I don't intend to
follow in their steps. My faith in the Hydra will be between he and I, exclusively.

Role

Chapter 6

I admit that I was quite wary of speaking with the dead when the guildmaster
first mentioned that I was ready to learn how. For someone who has sent so many to
to the grave, the prospect of hearing their curses wasn't exactly thrilling. It
wasn't until it became unavoidable that I first spoke with the dead, for at the time
I was tracking an elusive assassin by the trail of bodies he had left in his wake...

And my world turned to chaos.

Perhaps it was my hesitance in dealing with the ritual, but I forgot a key
component in the spoken verse, which caused a disastrous effect. Immediately I
began to hear voices...a chorus of voices. Some seemed distant, while others were
so close that I found myself possessed by their voices at times, speaking to myself
as if I were another. The "voices" have even manifested themselves as hazy spirits
before my very eyes, though no one else can sense them. The first voice to speak
out was that of the orc whose spirit I had intended to speak with...

"Naugraul ik'thun gwar! Rawr gla ek'uth!"

The insane snarl of of the slain orc sent chills up and down my spine, especially
when I realized that it was I who had shouted his words while hovering over his
remains. Apparently orcs are as woefully stupid and narrow-minded in death as they
are in life, for the fool got it in his head that I was the one who had slashed his
throat from the shadows. Ever since then he has shouted insane curses at me in his
insane language, often appearing when I am in a good mood, as if to bring me down.
I still don't know his name, and all attempts to communicate have been poorly
received.

The second voice to speak to me was the assassin that I had been hunting originally
when I spoke to the orc's spirit. I rather enjoy his comments, since they are very
clever and humorous, and seem to happen during times of battle. Unfortunately, his
condescending tone can occasionally be turned towards me instead of my enemies,
especially if I am defeated, or forced to flee. His name is Armaz, and he is a human
of the eastern Hamsanian variety. He seems to be meticulous in nature, greedy, and
thirsty for blood. Quite to my relief, somewhere in his fatalistic philosphy about
life and death my act of killing him is not regarded as a sore issue. He simply views
it as his fate, as well as mine, and is quite unemotional about it. Because of that
I am particularly wary of him, for of all the spirits who visit me, he alone has the
cunning to be a threat, should he find some way to cause me harm.

The third spirit is one that I simply call "the lost one," which is manifested in
the form of a crawling baby whose desperate cries occassionally drift upon the wind.
I have only seen this one twice, and both times were as I wandered the Oryx Steppes.
Surely it is bound to that place somehow, but I know nothing more of it. When it has
appeared to me, I've noticed what look to be human bite marks upon its arms.

The fourth and final spirit, I am loathe to say it, can be none other than my own
dearly departed mother. Unlike the others, I was in no location of great significance
or in the act of some dark deed when she appeared. She came to me of her own accord,
and at first she said nothing, but weeped as she saw me. When she finally spoke she
told me who she was; she told

Role

Chapter 5

The prime of my life has been spent in the pursuit of the truths that are buried in
the spirit and the flesh, which can only be unlocked by mastering the dark arts. With
the recent ascension of the Dreadlord into the world of undeath, I have seen, first-
hand, the power that I seek and what it truly entails. But I find myself extremely
hesitant to put my life in the hands of the mad cleric for a chance at experiencing
the same glory. It does not make sense to subject a lifetime of discipline and
prosperity to the whim of an insane elf who might just as well kill me as help me.
No, there is little wisdom in that, and that path will not be mine.

I believe that I have not become a master of my craft - I am just now worthy of being
an apprentice. The first test, the test of time, has been passed. I have survived
despite the obstacles thrown in my way...despite the early failures. So, logic demands
that I find a suitable master to train me in the most sacred and elusive lore that
the dead keep. That master cannot be Makholvek. I must keep my distance from him, for
his wits are sharp and he pries into those who are near him, seeking to know them and
thus hold some measure of power over them. He cannot be given the chance to "know" me,
because it would prove disastrous. I have to dance on the edge of truth, and let him,
as well as everyone else, form their own inaccurate conclusions about me. If not the
Arborian cleric, and if not the Dreadlord, then who?

I must find a master who has nothing to lose by aiding a follower of the Hydra, and
who would not care even if he, or she, knew. Someone isolated from the world. Someone
ancient and out of touch with modern affairs, so that my knowledge might be welcome,
even if only for an amusement. The one who comes to mind lives alone in a shadowed
land, going by the name of Xoltrindar. Rumor has it that he is not insane, despite
existing for untold centuries...but he does not suffer the living, typically. I will
have to convince him otherwise, in my case.

Role

Chapter 4

Xoltrindar of Barovia,
I am but a mortal, ancient one, but I aspire to be more, as you
once did. I do not know what you desire in your existence, but
we stem from the same source, and so I believe I can relate to
you more than most who draw breath through living lungs. To
presume to "know" you is far too arrogant, and I am too old for
the arrogant games of youth. But I do seek to know you, and
understand all that you have come to learn. I can provide you
with knowledge of the world that is now...the world beyond the
shadows of Barovia. Many things have come to pass since you
walked the earth as a mortal, and these things might interest
you. I am willing to take that gamble. I am willing to do what-
ever it takes.

Ithzaruul of Hamsah Mu'tazz, Warlock of the Imperial Court

Role

Chapter 3

My plan to work around the Arborian High Priest changed drastically after I was
approached by the Pearl Lich, himself. We spoke at length about my future, and he
saw in me something that could be refined and used towards his own far-reaching
goals, which still remain unknown to me. At the time, however, I did confide in
him that I felt I would someday be marked as one of the Anathema for my religious
beliefs. This was something I had known for quite some time.

So, why not simply adopt a new faith? Because it would diminish me in so many ways.
I have always found strength in the philosophies of the Hydra, and have enjoyed
dancing the dangerous edge of truth and intrigue.

At the Pearl Lich's direction, I sought out the Arborian and earned enough of his
trust, or at least his curiousity, to be given a chance to gather the reagents for
my own Elixir of Death. After what must have been years of searching, I was able
to find everything that I needed, though the path was most difficult, and my health
suffered wounds that even undeath has not mended. After my Becoming I was faced with
the reality that no one could bear the horror of my presence enough to join me in
my travels, which secretly made me smile, though you would be hard pressed to know
what a lipless, faceless smile looks like. I had succeeded. A dark miracle had been
worked in me, and the world would know my name.

Role

Chapter 2

Kresh, a servant to me in the hierarchy of the undead, though my superior in the political
circles of the Empire, has earned a place of infamy in my long memory. From the moment that
I Became, the terrified mummy worked to hinder my progress within the Empire, and he did so
quite effectively. Despite having gained the support of the entire council in regards to
taking the mantle of the Dreadlord as my own, the Imperial Lords did not lift a finger,
though it was not for a lack of effort on my part. It became clear to me that the suspicions
I had harbored for most of my life were true; I would never achieve what I strived for within
the Empire, and it was most likely due to my philosophies, as well as my religious beliefs.
So, my last moments of what I have come to call "imperial servitude" came in the midst of a
battle at the Fortress of the Light, when Kresh, for the first time, noticed that I bore the
Unholy Blade of Zurcon into battle. Despite the fact that the influence of the blade could
only be resisted by the likes of the undead, and despite the fact that the fallen Emperor,
Makholvek, used the same blade (and followed the same religious beliefs as he), he demanded
that I destroy it. Considering what I knew to be true about my fate in the Empire, I felt it
was time to show Kresh his true place in the world. Merrily I thrashed his pathetically
frail body across the face of Thera, reveling in the power that this hate had given me.

It would appear, however, that Kresh's last legislative act had more power than I had
first thought, for the Scions, whom I have built a working relationship with over these
years of exile, refuse to accept me in their ranks. It does not make any kind of sense to me,
for our desires run parallel, even if we have stemmed from different beginnings. Must one's
life be decided in one's youth, or can a being be allowed to evolve? Are they so close-minded
that they cannot see the value of a life so richly lived and boldly pursued as mine? It is a
mystery, but I cannot...I will not accept their decision so easily. I've gained wisdom over
these many years, and though it has been a great many years since I was an apprentice, I must
remember that the first test given is often the test of determination. Is this such a test? I
am Anathema to the Empire, but I am so much more.

Role

Chapter 1

If I've learned anything it is that nothing is certain, and that the best laid plans can be
broken by the fickle whims of fate, chance, or whatever other name we try to label our
occurances of misfortune. Looking back at my life, and my undeath thus far, I see a clear
division; on one side are the failures, such as my exile from the Empire, the refusal of
the Chasm to cultivate what I offer, and the eternal silence of the Hydra, which seems to
be a clear sign of his disapproval. On the other hand, I've achieved undeath, which is a
glorious achievement, and I've crushed those who once troubled me. But these things are not
enough.

What is next, then? What will set me on the path to glory and legend?

In my efforts to be wise, as my Lord demands of those who walk his path, I've learned the
value of keeping alternatives open at all times. So, while my future with the Scions is
still unclear, I won't count on something fortunate to happen there. Instead, I shall
pursue the same desires that I have always had, embodied by my passion for all things
arcane and my understanding for the need to have order in this world. As a guide for this
new idea, I have looked to the ancient philosophies of the Masters of the Five Magics.
While I realize that my own Lord was directly involved with the destruction of their order,
I cannot dismiss the value of their ways. Perhaps the Pearl Lich will provide his thoughts
on the matter, which he has always been willing to do.

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