Modasien Nel-Zashen the Fist of Darkness, Imperial Dread Lord

Role

Chapter 10

My research has advanced in leaps and bounds in some areas and remains
terribly static in others. My understanding of the soul and validation for
my theories therein are refined week by week. I possess only hypothesis
still concerning the interest the fiends of Cocytus have invested within
those of my guild; and I shall not put such to paper. I do not know how far
their reach is, and I dare not play my hand until I am certain.

However, though I searched high and low, no reference to the Death Knights
could I find, not even in the Eternal Library beneath the gaze of Neferefre.
I began to believe that the knowledge may be hidden far beyond my reach
until I complete my training.

I suppose this is one lesson I have not learned. It was pure fancy that
took me across the hall to the wing of the library looked over by the
paladin. I did not expect to find anything to facilitate my search there,
for the library seems to be sectioned between those who favour the high
craft and those who do not.

In this, I was wrong. No doubt this Antaluvion of the fortress would be
turning in his grave to know it, but a single line of his text (a
facinating work on this plane of Shadow) sited another work. One within the
Chasm of the Scions. One concerning the death knights.

Twice fold my enemies facilitate my research into that most obscure field
of my studies, and if accurate, this text truely expands my understanding
to a vast degree. Yet my work is not done in this preliminary phase. I
cannot take a single text as factual. I must find another penned by a
different author, so that a reasonable comparrison may be made.

The search continues; but for the first time: I feel closer.

Role

Chapter 9

The Underdark was not like I remember.

I had not set foot in it since my departure. That seems a long time ago,
now. Three centuries. They say distance makes the heart grow fonder.

What nonsense.

As I walked the dark passageways where I grew up, dodging cavefishers and
horrors, as I stepped into Teth Azeleth and gazed upon the heart of my
people's power; I could not muster fondness at all.

IT just all seems so small, now.

Is this the best we can do? The best the greatest men and women born into
darkness can achieve?

Is this what my house destroyed themselves for? The chance to rule this
sliver of the whole?

I was going to go home. Triumphant in those few days after Baalduru too
turned his attention to me. Raised up from the depths of impotent
frustration to sit at the high table, over the former dread lord by a true
lord of undeath.

They would have listened to me, this time. A balm to soothe my worries
about the empire and the apathy that had poisoned the council. A moment
before the work began to repair what the emperor-turned-anathema had broken.

What had it been in the beginning that had set me on my path out of
mediocrity?

Ambition.

I did not go home.

Let them hear of Modasien Nel-Zashen in the years to come. Let them wonder.
Let them remember.

They can come to me, this time.

Role

Chapter 8

I have progressed far in my experiments of late. More and more becomes
clear, though such creates only more questions.

Perhaps the single biggest breakthrough was that moment within the Gnoll
stronghold, when Ninauurm turned his black gaze to me in truth. When
knowledge was gifted unto me by dark mandate, and the promise of unholy
fire was placed in my future.

This did not help me understand the soul any more than any other experiment
to date. Indeed, it was mostly startling more than anything; but I have
grown...

(The text trails off here a moment, as if the writer's pen had
uncharacteristically drifted before restarting further down the page.)

Uneasy.

The question is why?

Why do the lords of Cocytus grant those who harvest the souls of the living
their infernal blessings? Why do they watch us above other mortals? What is
their vested interest? Those of my guild often cut a bloody road through
the living; but we are not alone in that. Death and destruction cannot be
all, for though it pains me to acknowledge it, one cannot reject facts
simply because they are unpleasant. There are others who wash the land in
blood, and there are others that topple kingdoms and armies.

So why?

There are few of the true people beyond the Underdark. The former High
Priest was one such, and an elder whose council I grew to greatly value in
the short time I knew him. Yet he is gone, now. The arcane I vested my
faith in cast it aside and became anathema. The Dread Lord is scarce, and I
do not know that he would understand, having surpassed mortality regardless.
We are now at war with the Spire, and so Kira is no longer a viable option.
She will lust for that which I have harvested, and I cannot give her an
opening, no matter how small.

Yet lowly humans and halfbreeds lack the mental capacity to comprehend such
things. Useful in their own way, but for their force of arm rather than
thought. So I found myself talking with young Faemii. A terribly wayward
member of the true people, but with the clarity of thought and vision only
we and the undead possess. It was a pleasantly academic discussion, but I
do believe she chilled me more than any enchanted blade ever has. I do not
believe she even realised it. She talked of a price for all things. Logical.
Nothing is free.

So thus the question evolves and clarifies.

Why do the Lords of Cocytus grant their blessings; and what is the price
they shall exact in time?

And how do I ensure that I do not pay it?

Role

Chapter 7

In the scouring of the world for subjects that is required to continue my
experiments, I have had no small exposure to the various theological groups
that make themselves known. I have never been particularly interested in
religion; it is of no value to my research, or so was my assumption. Yet
idle conversation produced quite the enlightening comment: who would know
more of the nature of the mortal soul than one who has transcended it? I
believe I was too hasty to dismiss such.

Some faiths are overt. The priests of the Vitiatic faith make no secret of
their beliefs. A rather wide spread religion, and quite pervasive among the
Empire's upper eschelons. The faith is certainly facinating and suggests
some rather ominous things about the nature of the self; but I always feel
I am about to find myself in a brawl whenever there are too many of them
together.

I was also invited to join a Cult by this rather vindictive female who is
serving as Chancellor. She promised me the secrets to the soul, but only
after enquiring upon what the topic of my research was. Naturally, a cult
having the knowledge that I seek would be far too convenient, and I have no
desire to be indoctrinated by the leader of the scions and find myself an
anathema. This one I feel can safely be discarded.

Perhaps most strangely of all, after my teleportation magic cast me across
the land to escape a rather vocal and crass dwarf of the berserker variety,
I found myself in a ruined temple deep beneath the earth. I stumbled across
a female who spoke of her Lord Zurcon; I departed post haste, as this name
is known to me. There are some entities that only fools and madmen bargain
with, and I am neither one of these or desperate enough to seek knowledge
from such a black pact.

Yet for all these theocratic cults, priesthoods and cabals, I find myself
ever drawn back to considering the Eternal Library. The witch that is said
to be its curator surely must have a great appreciation for knowledge, and
all public account suggests as much. It is rather the optimal choice as I
strive in my quest for the deep mysteries. Alas. It is not so simple.

The second law of the sect is quite specific. I even agree with it. Certain
knowledge is only valuable so long as others do not know you possess it;
but it does rather preclude the ability to detail my findings in a public
manner. This will require further thought, though I believe it is a
worthwhile use of my considerable mind. Perhaps I can devise an adequate
resolution to the dilemma.

Role

Chapter 6

Much has happened since I took oath to the empire. Little of it is of
import before the time when my experiments could begin in urnest, so unless
I later draw significance from one of said prior events I shall not concern
myself with them.

My studies into the soul progress well. I have ran several experiments
involving the severing of parts of the soul from a subject; these have both
proved enlightening and baffling. There is a paradox of belief here that is
hard to shake: the soul survives even after death. The soul passes beyond
to the inferno or azure fields. No amount of trauma to the body changes
this fact. I would almost believe that this must in fact be a lie, if there
were not records of those intrepid souls who once descended into the
infernal depths and witnessed the souls of the damned with their own eyes.
It is possible all of them lie, but improbable.

Yet this spell can cleave pieces of the soul away. How? Is it truely
permanent? Is the soul divided as one would rip a page from a book, or
simply scattered like the pieces of a puzzle? This is what I will direct my
next experiments towards determining; I believe it to be key.

I visited a great library within the mountains south of Galadon. There was
much to be read there, and much yet to read. There was a particularly
interesting theory upon how one would place a soul back into a living body,
penned by one of the undead. It heartens me that there are others that have
come before with a similar line of thought to my own, though I believe the
direction the author took in its application was horribly misplaced.
Perhaps it could be wielded against one's enemies, returning one of the
undead to a mortal body, but it seems convoluted. Another read may be in
order.

Undeath is forefront in my mind once more as the dread lord has began the
ritual of undeath. This is not a situation I can particularly lose in. If
he succeeds--which I do not believe he will given historical precedent--I
will have one of the undead nearby to study at great length. It is not one
of the true lords of the undead, but it is still something few scholars
will ever have the opportunity to observe: and I must assume the underlying
principles are similar.

Naturally, if he fails, I am well placed to take his position. Such will
come with many benefits to my research, though I will avoid speculating
until the current dread lord's fate is known.

Role

Chapter 5

Modasien is from a House which basically destroyed itself trying to get a
Lich (which they believed would give them supremacy over the other Houses
of the Underdark). They reached a point where they were almost just going
through the motions: the House is basically doomed even if noone admits it.
Modasien suffers from an eye condition which made reading the traditional
necromantic learning materials difficult, so started reading other books
instead: this lead him to be facinated with the mechanics of the soul.
After finding a one line reference to the Death Knights in a passage
concerning the unholy blessing, he is convinced (in all the eternal wisdom
of youth) that understanding the soul is the key to solving his House's
misfortune. After his ideas were rejected by the elders of the House, he
departed the Underdark to pursue them on his own.


Additional points:

- Modasien has a facination with the soul bordering upon obsession. This is
born out of his childhood where he could not study the anatomy books due to
an eye condition, which made him an exceptionally lackluster student of
Necromancy before he discarded that path of study. It is why he is studying
to be an Anti Paladin, as well.

- Modasien wants to learn more of the Death Knights, though this will come
later as he believes he must study the soul in great depth before pursuing
what he considers a higher mystery.

- Joined the Empire as per above to: learn more about the oath and how it
manipulates the soul, to gain access to the trove of knowledge he assumes
the Black Sect possesses, and because he is amazed they have a Lich god.

- He also has an unconscious comparrison between his House and the Empire:
both have fallen from grace, though the Empire is actively trying to raise
itself back up which he feels his House is not.

- Has a complicated relationship with Necromancers. Has a great deal of
respect to those that succeed in the becoming due to his upbringing, but
has a bitterness that might manifest concerning still living ones if they
criticise his aspiration (or if he feels they are dismissive of his
research).

- Will seek the Eternal Library in time, unless something majorly derails
the plan.

Role

Chapter 4

(The letter is held in a dismembered hand, the rest of the courier being
dragged away into the darkness by a hook horror, even as blood ruins any
hope of the missive ever being read as it mixes with the ink.)

Elders,

I send this with a courier from Galadon, the Overlander city where I have
taken up residence. I maintain that my hypothesis was not flawed as you
described: the soul is the key and the key is the soul. My studies, though
early, only reinforce this belief.

I shall inform you when I have greater knowledge to impart concerning my
discoveries, but I felt it prudent to inform you that I have sworn an oath
to this Overlander Empire that so many of the highborn of Teth-Azeleth
speak of. My reasons will become clear in time, and I shall send an update
when such occurs. I shall not name myself as one of the House until such a
time as I can do so proudly.

May Nel-Zashen rise again,
Modasien

Role

Chapter 3

Modasien was furious.

He'd taken his theories to the elders. He'd waxed about the importance of
the soul. About how it was the key. What more was a Lich but a black soul
bound to accursed bones? What use were anatomy and studies of the body when
the true secrets, the true keys to indelible wisdom were to be found within
the immaterial?

They'd kicked him out before he had even got half way through his lecture.
They were so sure that if they only kept trying, they would succeed. A
cynical part of Modasien whispered that perhaps they had to believe that.
It would be terrible if they'd destroyed the House walking off a clif where
they thought there had been a bridge.

Modasien collapsed into the chair in his small room. More a cell than a
living space, the small table had a single book which yet rested upon it.
He had returned the rest, but this one...

He took it up, running his fingers almost reverently across the cover. Why
hadn't they listened? He -knew- he was right. Why did they believe their
age let them dismiss him so? Wasn't it time to try something new?

The book fell open to the chapter on the Unholy Blessing he'd studied many
times, but it was to the final paragraph of the passage that his narrowed
eyes drew themselves to.

'Perhaps no wielders of this unholiest of arts is more feared than those
who are dubbed the Death Knights. Through a means unknown to me, these
ancient sorcerers have transcended mortality to assume a form similar yet
different to those Lord's of the Undead we name the Lich.'

He snapped the book closed.

He'd show them. He'd show them all.

There is no day or night within the dark tunnels beneath Thera; but as the
sun set in the land above, Modasien set out to the surface.

Role

Chapter 2

Modasien was born into House Nel-Zashen and would have almost certainly
followed the path that had claimed almost 80% of the Houses's population
since the first attempts began. It was almost formulaic, by this point.
Study. Internalise. Attempt a transformation. Hold a funeral if the
individual had been considered capable, or if they'd produced an heir to
carry on the process.

Both of his parents fell prey to the House's obsession when he was young,
even by the standards of humans. He knew little of them, and they were
rather unremarkable regardless. One of the many problems with
systematically culling your own population however is that you do not
produce many capable teachers in the longterm. For this reason, the bulk of
the learning done by the young of House Nel-Zashen was from written records.

There was just one problem where Modasien was concerned.

He couldn't read the anatomy books.

It was no end of frustration for the young drow. When he held them far away,
he could read them just fine, but if they were close to his face the
letters blurred and became a tangled mess. The complex diagrams with their
small labels for different parts of the body were a completely lost cause.
It was a small thing, in the grander scheme; but it meant that the young
Modasien turned to other books. Theories of the Soul and Concepts of the
Immaterial were wordy, but the letters were not so small and he could make
them out if he squinted when his arms grew tired.

So did his path begin to diverge.

Role

Chapter 1

House Nel-Zashen did not produce the greatest warriors.

It did not produce the greatest sorcerers either.

It frankly did not produce the greatest anything, other than perhaps the
greatest number of mortalities.

It could not even truely be called a House. Perhaps once upon a time.

Because House Nel-Zashen had a singular obsession. One they had thrown away
everything else for in the chasing of, so much so that they would hardly
even be known by even the lowest of the political elite in Teth-Azeleth.
Just one more House that had devoured itself in some ultimately futile
quest and been consigned to some distant corner of the Underdark. Out of
sight. Out of mind.

House Nel-Zashen were necromancers one and all; and they hungered to
produce an exemplar of the craft, a simple fancy of many centuries past,
but an undertaking that had consumed them.

House Nel-Zashen wished to claim a Lich among their number; and it was a
desire which had spelled their doom.

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