pools of Night neath mane of Dark observe as legions to him hark. From every race they come to serve United by his charm and verve.

Ddarkness in the gaze no doubt, that puts men’s pretenses to rout Into their core like daggers slide Their vice exposed, no place to hide.

The wretched snivelling souls laid bare beneath the layered lies unfair. This man who sees so deep and far Most men are mud drawn to his star.

He lets us rise above our ills, Surrender to a nobler will. The march of glory shall at last Let us taste of greatness vast.

In his intent you shall find causes great to strive behind In the forge of future deeds, he’ll guide you into what you need.

Become a sword within his fist A loyal blade that’s due to twist in the bowels of his foes , revelling in their death throes.

Montezzi. An interesting little tyrant with a strong polite streak toward woman. Those who fault him for what he is are silly. We are all just little bags of vice, and he is more accepting than most of this.

This wayward ships found arid shores Harsh and grim and bleak Smoky fires and fitful pyres Lights restless baneful, weak.

Casts in shadow this black town Sad and cold and grim Faces pinched and pale of freaks Cavalcades of damned and dimmed.

Gloomy byways blackened streets dirt and grime and filth The carcasses of murdured Dreams Backalleys, ditches fill.

Yet blessed be the running winds fast and strong and sure that brought me to this devil’s hell reeking with ordure.

Paradise in your embrace warm and sure and real the answers in your angel face to darknesses I feel.

Unfettered light now kindled where Brave and kind and bright You tread, your mane of shining hair like foxfire in this night.

This wayward ships found arid shores harsh and grim and bleak Yet Angel mans a lighthouse for Merin, twisted freak.

A golden feather carefully kept between two shards of glass acts as a bookmark to this page

You thought she’d make an easy hit, Weak and sweetfaced little twit, Thought to use her to make you feel As if you’re man and not a heel

Got to exult yourself as lord At her expense, with threat’ning sword In your mind you see again scenes that play of you her bane.

You thought she’d make an easy hit but one piece here doesn’t fit In your vicious little schemes Has a friend worse than any dream.

I’m a bonecracker, I’m a skullsmasher I’m a mind crusher and a nosecrasher I’m a flankattacker and backstabber Can ambush you and play throatgrabber

Every little pain done to her tenfold I’ll give back, increasing coppers to gold Your fortunes in hurt will swell until You’re lying in the dirt broken and still.

Consider this your warning friend I can twist your neck and bend and bend Your yellow spine until it snaps Can peel your skin in bloody flaps

Next time you look at her sweet face and think your feet are her right place Best take your hand and have a feel Of your bones whose health I’ll steal.

He forced her to come to a battle with a dragon, forced her to make him wands, knocked her down and fed her blood to his mirror. A hurt done to her is a hurt done to me. I'll pray to Shar to help me hide this grudge that it may not undo us. I wanted to butcher one of his followers for revenge, but Senestia forbade it. Maybe I still will. In the back of my mind I wonder if I'll have to follow the path of the Scholar in order to gain the power to protect her.

Rendered lifeless barren chill The noble face gone cold and still the mustaches groomed with careful pride disordered, bloodied by Death's ride.

The warrior rests his fights are done Battles so many, this final one Put sword to rest and arms reposed Soul restward now, I do suppose.

Edmund fell to the beholders. A grim reminder that I would've done so all the more easily. Dragons lurk in the darkness, and Merin must tread with care among these beasts, mindful always things are out there that can shred her with no effort.

splotches of tears and vomit smudge disorderly, barely legible letters

Dead . . . why'd she have to . . . go and be the hero . . . what is left for Merin now . . .? nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, noth

the Prince is fallen

I thought his mirror could ease my sorrows - but another sort of help he offered -

He told me before

Spellguard sent Senestia to her death

to plant Montezzi cloaks

to start a war between drow and montezzi

So she dies in a political game

I love you Prince. Rest well Prince. You have saved me.

Lady Loss, fill me with hate and vengeance . . . so it doesn't hurt anymore

Who remembers who Senestia was now? Nobody.

Who cares about the spellguard spider being fed human flesh and killing so many? Nobody. As long as they are kept safe to pace out the meaningless rythyms of their pathetic existances, they do not care.

Through their apathy and silence, they support the Spellguard, and every unknown atrocity it has ever committed.

The Spellguard will win, not because of its magic or its animatrons that are more than the equal of Sanctuary's best warriors. It will always win because people are willing to forget.

The spellguard wins. You win, spellguard. You will continue doing whatever you wish, and we will continue obligingly forgetting it all.

We can't beat you. You are woven into the very fabric of the human soul and its craven need to turn a blind eye to the wrongs of what protects it.

The Lord of Elemental Evil That which Lurks Lord of Slime

What does slime do? It erodes. It breaks down what was complex into simplicity. The Powerful structure of Treansyr, hub of misery for countless thousand slaves, home of political games to shame those of the spellguard and councillors, is being Eroded by the forces of That Which Lurks. The crusade does not stop with Treansyr.

Thank the gods. Even if it is unlikely I will live to see the day, I will know it is coming, and smile as I die.

Erosion. It is beautiful. I dream of them all . . . their lies, their arrogance, their willingness to throw away the lives of others like property . . . I dream of them all eroding. And they will. They will.