I went to the trouble of formatting this so that it would be a
smooth read. This is much better than what is shown on Drezen's
Premium Battlefield post, as quite a bit of that got clipped.
Enjoy.
 
 
Glimpsing the Future Grim
 
 In a clinging darkness, within the bowels of the black earth, a sharp
 "clickety-clack" sets the teeth of sightless horrors on edge as an ancient
 duergar works a chisel upon a wall of stone. Angered as they are by the
 raucous, they dare not try to silence it, for even they can sense the
 deeper shadows surrounding and entwining the intrusive creature. Twisting
 and writhing, they inspire a bestial terror in the miniscule minds of
 this place's inhabitants, though the duergar seems to take no notice of
 them. For him there is only the hammer, the chisel, and the stone.
 
 Having only just begun his work, there is little yet scribed upon the walls,
 and it is impossible not to notice the broad plaque of mithril over the
 archway under which he stands - it remains blank, awaiting the finishing
 touches of the chisel once the current project has been completed. Inside the
 chamber piles of gold and jewels from the far-flung empires of the realm
 have been gathered. Blades of unspeakable craftsmanship, bearing diabolical
 runes, rest in custom-carved recesses within the walls. Names and dates,
 etched in the Skozzak dialect of the clans of the North, decorate the spaces
 between the weapons, and appear to be a record of some kind.
 
 The ancient duergar makes a final, resounding strike, allowing his hammer to
 fall especially hard as he finalizes his work upon the eastern wall of
 this expansive chamber. Out of habit he wedges the chisel under his arm, handle
 sticking out, and taps the hammer against his hand as he surveys his work,
 creating a dull thud reminiscent of cobblestones colliding. Satisfied with
 what he has created, he turns and hobbles towards the entryway, causing the
 eerie light of the massive, glowing bloodstone set at the apex of the chamber
 to boil with unnatural shadows - shadows not cast by anyone or anything, yet
 cast nonetheless.
 
 As he unfolds a small step-ladder and climbs up it to begin working upon the
 plaque, the masterpiece he had been focused on can finally be seen. Rock turned 
 to life by the hands of a master, it tells the tale of his beginnings in this
 world through amazing depictions and vivid, concise wording. A particularly
 insightful panel of this vast work speaks volumes of the one who created it...
 
 
 
 ==============================================================================
 |                                                                            |
 |                                                                            |
 |                                                                            |
 |        Would it surprise you to know that I came from common stock?        |
 |        Common though my blood may be, my will is not, for unlike so        |
 |        many lost Skozzaks, I rejected the traditions which have            |
 |        been cherished for ages untold. Though the Skazzoks fiercely        |
 |        guarded their belief that they were of Jullias' blood, I            |
 |        considered those who touted this ancient tradition as mere          |
 |        fools who clung to the hope of the Warder's favor as a child        |
 |        might cling to notions borne of dreams alone. They expected         |
 |        what? Rewards for unfounded dedication to a sleeping God? It        |
 |        was foolishness, and I knew that my own ambitions could only        |
 |        be realized through my efforts alone.                               |
 |                                                                            |
 |                         ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^                         |
 |                                                                            |
 |        I found the echo of my soul in the gospel preached by an            |
 |        annointed priest of the Lord of the Earth, Daevryn. It was          |
 |        through His divine word that I liberated myself from the            |
 |        Skozzak pack mentality, abandoning the clan and seeking a           |
 |        destiny forged by my hands, not by the circumstances of my          |
 |        birth. With wits and steel is a legacy made.                        |
 |                                                                            |
 |                         ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^                         |
 |                                                                            |
 |        The depths I left behind, for the bold always ventured to           |
 |        surface, where all things are a test - a trial under the            |
 |        searing Eye of Shokai in the sky. With only a crude blade of        |
 |        ill-forged iron and the clothes on my back, I sought out            |
 |        challenges of the mind and body, feeding my desire to grow          |
 |        stronger and wiser. Always, I lusted after secrets and              |
 |        had not a care for those who forsook my study of all things         |
 |        demonic, for I knew these forbidden insights would lead me          |
 |        to everlasting glory. To what purpose was I going to put my         |
 |        knowledge and strength? I did not know then, and it did not         |
 |        matter, because the journey itself was what honed me, but           |
 |        the destination would soon be revealed in the darkest of            |
 |        darks.                                                              |
 |                                                                            |
 |                                                                            |
 ==============================================================================
 
 
 Another final, resounding strike echoes through the blood-lit blackness, and
 again the duergar pauses to consider his work while thumping the hammer against
 a palm of stone.
 
 At last he stops, and for the first time the deafening silence of the earth
 suffuses the stale, dusty air. With unexpected suddenness, he speaks the passage
 now inscribed forever in the mithril, evoking a strange power to watch over this
 place, and causing the silence that was once so deafening to hum with an unseen
 force...
 
 ==============================================================================
 |                                                                            |
 |                <Here lies Drezen Maln'Akar, Skozzak-Born>                  |
 |                                                                            |
 |                               ^^^^^^^^^^^^                                 |
 |                                                                            |
 |                     <He took all that could be had>                        |
 |                                                                            |
 |         <It was not enough, so he dared take what was not offered>         |
 |                                                                            |
 |                  <For his boldness some revered him>                       |
 |                                                                            |
 |             <For his ambition even more grew to fear him>                  |
 |                                                                            |
 |               <Pity the world should he ever rise again>                   |
 |                                                                            |
 ==============================================================================
 
 At the bottom of the ominous epitaph is a series of harsh, blocky, and distinctly
 duergar runes which translates roughly to "The warlord will rise to take his crown
 upon the Last Sunset."
 
 
Memoirs, Chapter One
 
 Resting atop a raised platform near the northern wall, upon what appears to be
 a place designated for a sarcophagus, is a time-worn journal bound in leather.
 Though the pages rustle with the brittle rasp of sun-dried snake skin, they do
 not tear or tatter as they are turned. The rythmic clanging of the hammer and
 chisel induce an unexpected, if not unwelcome trance as the yellowed parchment
 reveals the first entry ever made by the ancient duergar. The style of the
 script is shockingly crude and the diction is reminiscent of a hostile youth's,
 which deviates greatly from the general aire of the material now being engraved
 permanently into the walls of the chamber. The accounts upon the first few pages
 are hard to read and rife with spelling and grammatical errors. Strangely, the
 veryfirst page seems to have been ripped out, and upon the inside of the cover
 there is a broad black mark; below it is a rune which must signify ownership by
 the duergar.
 
 ______________________________________________________________________________
 |                                                                            |
 |  (Day uv tha Sun - 19 - Long Shados - 52 yeers)                            |
 |                                                                            |                                                                            | 
 |        been a *ard couple o years. Things aint so easy without my ####e    |
 |  shu*v-- shuvlin b**das ta help with raids. i go*e hungry most nights      |
 |    s*ns then, but got me sum new peepol now. We been raidin up an          |
 |      down the <unintelligible word> weald road but they g*tt*n w*se.       |
 |     Lost Tr**han tunyt- niht--- ##***##*## tu moons back. Trethan          |
 |   was a dum ####e. I sed LO*K BOY, THAS A WIZAD!! but he went up           |
 |    riyt bold-lik ta his face an h*ld up his boot knife ta tha mans         |
 |     mageelookin nose. Then he says GIVE OVA Y** COINS ER T*IS KNI*E'LL     |
 |     BE IN Y*R A*SE! Fun*y thing, the tall fella l*ffed, sed sumthin like   |
 |     'sausbra' an then Trethan fell down all green-like in his fase.        |
 |  But mister quiktung mage boy didna s*e me so I snooked up an lopt         |
 |     awf his smart hed. Trethan was cr**lin aroun dyin, so i let *im.       |
 |    Funny f**la, but i liked his boots betta than em. Th* rest of us        |
 |     fleesd the wizad. Gess his name was 'Gentraz' cause it was wrote       |
 |     a*l prety insid this book. Luckee me cause this thing look* real       |
 |      new. also got a sc**ll he was havin th*t made my eys all weird, then  |
 |     my hed hurt, but all a suden I kinda new how to wr*t* lik tha wizad    |
 |       cause i think it was some kinda memry he had made the page tell me.  |
 |     Suren it was for sumwon else, but i kno* it now. if i can rememba...   |
 |                                                                            |
 |             "thengs are movin forwad as planed Chanselor. dagd*n will      |
 |              hide us un**l we are reddy to strik th* ***tress o Lyt**"     |
 |                                                                            |
 |     now i aint dum by no stre**h, an I know what a Chanselor is. they      |
 |    deelin with th shados and sed to be only a mith. Like Kor who s'posed   |
 |    ta eet yer guts ifn yu-yuu---  yue talk when dwarfs be askin questons   |
 |  hardlike. Neva sq*eel, ma sed, or Kor 'll eat yuw wen th dwarfs be done!! |
 |       but i noe now that them shado talkas are real...im gonna find out.   |
 |                                                                            |
 |                                                                            |
 | (At the bottom of the page is a child-like rendition of a man bearing an   |
 | utterly shocked expression as vomit "spews" from his mouth and tears of    |
 | blood roll down his face. The name "Trethan" is written crookedly above    |
 | the face, and below is more crude script, reading "YUE NEVA DESERVD THEM   |
 | BOOTS DUM ####E!! HAHA HAHAHAHA HAHAHA HAHAHA!!!!!!" Below is a small      |
 | drawing of a pair of shining boots with wings attached to them, complete   |
 | with majestic rays around them, indicating their obvious greatness.)       |
 |                                                                            |
 |____________________________________________________________________________|
 
 Thankfully, and miraculously, the entries seem to rapidly improve in clarity and
 tone, becoming far more insightful with the passing of time.
 
 
The Black Blood of the Earth
 
 Considerable time has passed since the old duergar began his work on the earthen
 walls of the chamber, and for now he seems satisfied. He climbs down from from
 the ladder upon which he had been standing while affixing carved slabs of dull,
 pitch-black stone upon the ceiling. Upon them are amazingly accurate portraits
 of the night sky, with each star represented by brilliant diamonds of varying
 shades and subtle hues. Slowly, he makes his way out of the chamber, taking a
 moment to gaze upon a crumbling, tattered pair of boots that look to be extremely
 old. Chuckling to himself as he reminisces about an old memory, he pulls a thick
 cigar out of the recesses of his clothing and holds a cupped palm towards the end.
 With no apparent source, a tiny flame springs to life in his hand and lights the
 cigar. He closes his fingers around the flame and makes a slight rubbing motion
 against his palm, leaving only a trace of smoke. His shadow seems to linger in
 the weak red light of the chamber for a while too long to be natural before
 rejoining its master in the black tunnel beyond.
 
 He walks for a long while, enjoying the motions of smoking the cigar with a
 patience known only to the elderly. After a time a swishing, liquid sound can
 be heard coming from up ahead in the darkness. He seems unfazed as he walks
 towards it. Minutes later the swishing fades into gurgling and splashing that
 sounds similar to water, but somehow thicker...heavier. He stops, takes one last
 puff on the stogy in his fingers, and then mashes the rest against his palm
 until not a single spark remains. A blackness abruptly returns to rule the
 tunnel and strange, alien whispers begin to snake through the stale air like
 a tide of vipers...
 
 "Khab'ek!"
 
 A brilliant orb of sizzling white light suddenly snaps into being - a thing which
 no duergar in his right mind would want to be present for. But, curiously, this one
 is wearing a thick pair of tinted goggles that he must have donned in the darkness,
 and now stands with a triumphant grin as the shadows are repulsed.
 
 "Yeh test me even now? Yeh know who the boss is, fellas. Don't be makin' me get
 the urge ta show yeh the ropes again."
 
 A plaintive wail echoes from the darkness, and seeming satisfied, Drezen turns
 his attention to the roiling river of what can only be described as "black blood"
 that flows wildly through the earth. He walks along the bank of the river until
 he comes to a place where the liquid is calm. With a bit of effort he kneels,
 casting long shadows from the now distant orb of light, and looks at his dim
 reflection peering back at him. He looks weary for a moment as the obviousness
 of his age hits him, but after a moment he looks as stolid as ever.
 
 Memories that only he can see seem to flicker to life in the black murk, reminding
 him of conquests and tribulations long past, as well as those trials still at work
 up above the shelter of this labyrinth. He comes here often in order to reflect on
 his life, which he believes is a practice that he believes necessary in order to
 remain in his God's favor, for Daevryn always questions the hearts of men; Did you
 honor my teachings? Did you survive the trials I set before you, only to become
 weakened by the effort later? My chosen are made not of the weak lime and chalk,
 but granite and iron, and they do not weaken in a gale - they break the gale. Do
 you bend and break when the wind grows strong, Drezen? Did you crush those who
 sought to prove themselves greater than you, or did you fail yourself, and so fail
 me?
 
 With each perceived question the old duergar answered with half-heard mumbles that
 he had uttered a thousand times before, the audible words only a vague echo of the
 hearty shout his soul cried out in response. This is how he communes with his the
 unyielding Lord of the Earth, strengthening his faith and revitalizing his resolve.
 He closes his eyes after a while and, suddenly, dips his hands into the turbulent
 liquid and pulls them back, cupping handfuls of the substance. For the first time
 an utterly malevolent expression covers his face, revealing the wicked heart within
 as he shouts into the darkness...
 
 "Hell is in this heart, an' Hell I bring ta all who stand in m'way! Time be damned,
 for I'll rise even from th'grave ta take this world!!"
 
 A flame once again bursts into life in his soaking hands, and immediately erupts
 into a blaze. Focusing intently, and somehow unfazed by the fire upon his flesh,
 he hurls the flaming liquid back into the river. The river erupts in a conflagration
 great enough to warm Cocytus.
 
 "Burn th'very veins of th'earth. Burn until I say yeh stop!"
 
 With that, he turns and heads back into the darkness, dusting off his blackened
 but undamaged hands.
 
 
Memoirs, Chapter Two
 
 The nearly illegible writing within the journal has improved by leaps and bounds
 within a short span of pages. Much of the previous entries described acts of
 violence and vengeance against Drezen's enemies. Of particular note was a passage
 detailing the destruction of a pair of would-be assassins; next to the paragraph
 is an accurate rendition of the legendary Battle Axe of Rah, which is apparently
 a trophy from that battle. In the margins and upon the backs of every entry
 are words repeated over and over, as well as alphabets in the common tongue.
 They look to be writing exercises.
 
 The word "Shooloo" draws attention to the following passage...
 
 ______________________________________________________________________________
 |                                                                            |
 |  (Day of Freedom - Long Shadows - 64)                                      |
 |                                                                            |
 |                                                                            |
 |        At my Lord's mansion I met the Shooloo himself, a man...but not     |
 |     a man. I don't know what it was, but I think it had teats like a       |
 |     woman, yet still looked too manly. Anyway, once I got past that...     |
 |     <duergar rune for "strangeness"> there was much to be learned from     |
 |     her...er, him...whatever. He told me how to impress the Lord, and      |
 |     get his attention. He said, after learning a thing or two about what   |
 |     drives me, "Slay ten of those who walk in the Light by the thirtieth   |
 |     rank of your guild," and so I got on it. I was plannin' to do plenty   |
 |     of killing anyway, but this is a fine goal, and one that'll be a       |
 |     challenge.                                                             |
 |                                                                            |
 |                                                                            |
 | (A list of names has been written at the bottom of the page, with some     |
 | brief notes attached to each, such as "elven magi - transmutation - girly,"|
 | "stormish warrior - axes - big scar on cheek." It looks to be a hit list.) |
 |                                                                            |
 |____________________________________________________________________________|
 
 
Ambitions
 
 ==================================================================================
 
 Drezen has realized his dream to become one of the Chosen who will rule over
 the world when the Prophecy of the Eternal Night comes to fruition. Not
 surprisingly, he was given a cold reception from the few elder magi who still
 hold to the infernal pact. But, if they had seemed needy or desperate for the
 power he could bring to their lot, he would have sensed the weakness and set
 out to have them assassinated. As it stands, he's pleased with the strength
 that has been demonstrated, and he has certainly made a point to try their
 patience with his bold duergish manner.
 
 Having failed to be admitted into the guild of dark knights after leaving the
 Skozzak territories, Drezen deemed them as foolish not to see his potential,
 keeping his priceless warrior pride in tact. At that point he joined the guild
 of warriors in order to develop his strengths, for even though he was considered
 too old and inept in the arcane arts to be dubbed an anti-paladin, he was always
 good with steel. Drezen has since gained some small measure of fame by making
 sure to leave his defeated foes with an autograph of his name. He does this for
 several reasons: Firstly, to forge his own legacy so that he might rise to
 dominance. Secondly, to dishearten his foes further, for he knows how to wage
 a war against the heart as well as the body. Lastly, because he does not hide
 his alliance with the shadows, he wishes his name to be whispered in fear so
 that the Ccul'gra will respect him and reward him accordingly.
 
 The relevance of Drezen's behavior is that it guides him ambitiously towards
 the top. He knows that the mantle of Chancellorship is most often reserved for
 magi, but as to the position of Advisor, he believes he is the best suited.
 The obvious weakness he has seen is a lack of martial superiority in the Fold.
 That's to be expected in a coven full of sorcerers, but since he is there now,
 he believes it is his place to deal with all those who would pit their blades
 against the Chosen.
 
 Besides, he considers himself a student of magic, though his own stubborn pride
 keeps him from seeking out any tutelage, for he knows he can do it himself. Of
 course, he never admits to himself that it might take a lifetime to learn how to
 do more than make a simple cantrip or two.
 
 ==================================================================================
 
 
Memoirs, Chapter Three
 
 The margins of the pages containing the next passage have been completely
 filled with archaic runes and phrases. Much of it is repetition, as if the
 author were impressing the spells as much as possible into his mind. The
 actual entry is written in a sharp, blocky, yet rigidly structured hand, as
 though the characters were duergish conformed to the common tongue.
 
 Unfortunately, some signs of the journal's age are evident, as the bottom of
 the page seems to have been mangled.
 
 
 ______________________________________________________________________________
 |                                                                            |
 |                                                                            |
 |  (Day of the Bull - Spring - 146)                                          |
 |                                                                            |
 |                                                                            |
 |        They'd never believe me back home. They'd never believe that I      |
 |     can command the might of an entire clan of witches and warlocks to     |
 |     use their power as I see fit. They aren't always so willing, but       |
 |     they bend when I say "bend," and some even break when I say "break."   |
 |     It was Victoria, the ill-named daughter of the Drow who chose me as    |
 |     her Advisor and Taskmaster. She, herself, was chosen by forces now     |
 |     wholly un-named, to be the Chancellor. About that...the Nightborn,     |
 |     having slipped into torpor, perhaps never to awaken again, has left    |
 |     a void in the realm of the Divine. Her power could, perhaps, be        |
 |     seized. I have only scratched the surface of the arcane, having        |
 |     learned of a few useful spells, but with time I might come to learn    |
 |     of magic strong enough to siphon Her essence.                          |
 |                                                                            |
 |        While I'm pouring my thoughts onto you, once again, my trusty       |
 |     little journal, let me write of Zesam, the Shooloo, once more. I       |
 |     think that perhaps, in its jealousy for the favor of the Lord of the   |
 |     Earth, this creature has long sought to drive me into ruin by ever-    |
 |     prodding me, as it were, towards the edge of various cliffs. By        |
 |     "cliffs," I mean its goal-setting that it constantly tries to do for   |
 |     me. I followed the Shooloo's designs for a long time, seeking to       |
 |     impress the Lord through it, but I think that it has, in fact, been    |
 |     a hinderance, for He has never touched my life in a tangible way,      |
 |     save for his teachings. Mayhaps I have been led astray so that the     |
 |     Shooloo, who must be wary of me, can keep whatever glory the Lord      |
 |     can bestow for itself. No more. I have done more than any kin of mine  |
 |     in a tousand years, and I am just beginning. You offer illusion and    |
 |     misdirection, but I see through your smoke and mirrors, Zesam. Yes,    |
 |     I see through them.                                                    |
 |                                        _           /\                      |
 |        The time has come for me to dis/ '-^-./\___/  \th/'-  ,--,/\/\/'--,/
 | ______/\_______      ________________/                \/   \/               
 |/               \__/\/
 
 
 
Keeping the Hate Alive
 
 This part of the journal breaks from the dated entries which have become familiar,
 detailing plans for what looks to be a statue of a dwarf and a wolf. The former
 being none other than Thror Hammersong, with the latter, of course, being his
 hated enemy, Serafim. The duergar made sure to indicate the dimensions of the
 creation, which are truly collossal. The scene, though grim, looks like any other
 mundane work of art until the next page hints at something called "The Reckoning
 Time," and contains several fragments of a sorcerous rite that looks to have been
 worked upon the statue itself. Bits and pieces of the various spells have been
 left out on purpose, perhaps to keep the exact details lost to history. But, at
 a glance the intent is obviously malicious, and the following comment reinforces
 that notion:
 
 "We beat them on the field of battle, now we strike at the heart and soul."
 
 In a typical attempt by the duergar to fill every last blank space of this journal,
 the bottom half of the final page concerning the statue turns to another matter,
 briefly indicating a desire to see the Fortress of Light razed. He points out that
 he could "kill two birds with one stone," whatever that means, by setting fire to
 the foliage just outside the stronghold and then salting the earth. Overall, the
 tone of the passage is more hateful than usual.