This journal is found within a false bottom of her storage chest, within her room at Serena Tower. It is written in an Ancient dialect of Espruar, and encoded as well. There is no indication of any cipher within the work.

My earliest memories are not of my parents, but Yalathanil Symbaern.

Yalathanil, the Patriarch of my House, is one of the oldest practitioners of the Art upon the Isle. It is whispered by many that he is over a thousand years old. I do not doubt the rumors, the Seldarine obviously favored him.

Kind, patient, and wise. I spent the majority of my time with him. He taught me of the Art. He taught me of the Weave. But most importantly, he taught me about the history of the People.

Myth Drannor. The City of Song. It was his former home. He spoke of it fondly, with a longing that suprised me. To most of the People, the Isle was paradise. A piece of Arvandor, drawn through the planes by the Great Sundering of Faerun.

I could not understand why he spoke of living amongst the N'Tel'Quessir as a favorable situation. All of my childhood peers spoke of the N'Tel'Quessir as the lesser races. Inferior in every way to the People. Yalathanil would always patiently explain to me that they had twisted the meaning of the word 'lesser'. It was not originally meant to indicate that they were inferior, only that they were 'lesser-lived'.

He told me tales of heroism amongst the N'Tel'Quessir, of Elminster Aumar, the Nameless Chosen, Demron and Mentor Wintercloak. I paid very little attention to them. Why should I bother learning of the N'Tel'Quessir? It is not as if I will ever interact with them upon the Isle.

What I did pay attention to, were his tales of Ar'Tel'Quessir rule. Of the Coronals, and the Council that came before. Judicious men and women of faith in the Seldarine that inspired absolute loyalty amongst the People. The Greys bowed before them, the Greens were in awe of them.

Why then, did the Seldarine choose a Grey, to lead us upon the Isle? The Greys are silly, flighty, and closest to being N'Tel'Quessir of all of the People. They could not possibly take the responsibilities of rule seriously. The only answer is, is that the King, Zaor Moonflower, and the Queen, Amlaruil Moonflower, were not in fact chosen by the Seldarine.

It is a flawed system. The drawing of a blade indicates worth in the eyes of the Seldarine. Failure is penalized with death. The Moonblades have chosen only greys, Greys! Why would Greys hold more inherent worth than the Ar'Tel'Quessir? My only answer was that it was a Grey who crafted the blades, with the intent of usurping Ar'Tel'Quessir rule in the millenia that followed.

I am right. The system is wrong. Yalathanil only shook his head and patiently explained that it is the will of the Seldarine, but I know better. I know the truth. He has been deceived by the Greys, like the rest of them.

The Father does not often interfere in mortal affairs, so I made it my place to act in his place, to correct this injustice.

My childhood friends in House Nimesin, put me into contact with one of the Elders of their House, Kymil. At first, I was skeptical that he could deliver what he promised, but then I heard of King Zaor's demise. He did not take credit for it, for obvious reasons, but it was whispered of his role within my circle of friends as a closely kept secret.

I was filled with hope, that one day, the right of rule would be restored to the true shepherds of the People.

How could it have all gone wrong? How could the Father have forsaken me?

Kymil's role in the murder of King Zaor was eventually discovered by the Harpers, and he was imprisoned.

That did not last very long. Once he escaped, he acted in secret. My circle of friends was one of the first he contacted. My role was to be a difficult one. I was to convince some holdouts under the command of the Zulkir of Divination in Thay to commit to our cause. He provided me with the means to contact the Thayans from afar. While the Zulkir herself would not even speak to me, considering it beneath her to speak to a lackey of Kymil's, some more minor Red Wizards of Thay suprised me

They were calm, supremely confident in their abilities, and had an air of nobility about them. Their abilities in the Art far surpassed my own, and most of them had only lived for half of my lifespan. How could this be possible? They intrigued me and created a world in which there was a possibility that Yalathanil may have been correct. Perhaps all N'Tel'Quessir may in fact be worth dealing with.

Unsuprisingly, they were rare examples of their kind. But I am jumping ahead, I did not encounter any other N'Tel'Quessir until later.

They committed. It was no great feat of diplomacy. The Red Wizards of Thay turned out to be just as greedy as I had surmised the N'Tel'Quessir would be. They were concerned with sacking the Isle of its magical artifacts. I didn't care. A few petty trinkets, and the presence of barbarians for a short time frame. It was a small price to pay to usurp the Greys.

Our time was at hand.

I questioned Kymil's use of the Dhaerow at first, but he rationalized that the appearance of our ancient foes would cause the Lion's share of the Isle's military to be focused on eliminating them, which would save the lives of the Ar'Tel'Quessir involved in the rebellion. I marvelled at his military expertise.

Then Ithyak-Ortheel appeared. The demonic Elf-Eater of legend.

Sometimes I wake up in the midst of my reverie, sweating, my mind resounding with the dying screams of those caught within its tentacled maws.

Its presence alone caused me to question the righteousness of our cause.

I showed weakness then. I doubted our cause. Kymil would have been patient with me. My own friends though, were not. I was knocked out, for my own protection.

I woke up in chains. Our rebellion had been defeated, I was to face the Queen for judgement. Kymil had escaped, the Queen herself had teleported away the entire fleet of our Thayan allies. How could everything have gone so horribly wrong?

Yalathanil was there when I was judged. I did not even hear the Queen as she passed the sentence of exile. His disappointed gaze. His silence. It was deafening in its own judgement.

I had not shed tears for decades. It is a childish gesture, unbefitting of an Ar'Tel'Quessir. As I looked at Yalathanil, I realized that I was sobbing.

I wanted him, of all the People, to understand that I only did what I thought was right. 'Knew' was right. I wanted to explain myself to him, to make him understand.

I wasn't given the chance. One moment I was upon the Isle, the next I was a disheveled mess a few miles outside of an N'Tel'Quessir settlement.

I won't dignify this journal with writing of the years it took for me to scrape together enough coins, degrading myself in front of the N'Tel'Quessir, in order to purchase a new Spellbook, and provisions for a journey to the ruins of Aryvandaar.

Surely answers would be found, amongst the ghosts of the Vyshaan.

A mistake. A mistranslation.

That is all took. The wrong keyword caused the portal in those ruins to activate its trap, sending me into the lightless and grim Underdark.

When I had first heard the stories of how the Father cursed the Dhaerow into banishment in this hellish place, I had thought that their punishment was too lenient. I was wrong.

If I had wandered the Underdark aimlessly, I would have likely perished within minutes of my arrival. I was fortunate enough to have landed in a cavern near Sanctuary.

It is a remarkable city, in its own way. Former slaves and other various bestial specimens of N'Tel'Quessir surviving within the cess-pool that is the Underdark. I had thought that my situation had only grown worse, than when I was degrading myself amongst the N'Tel'Quessir upon the surface in that abominable settlement.

Fortunately, I was wrong. I encountered an Agent of the Spellguard in the Canal Ward while I was admiring one of the animatrons. I was told of how I might serve in the Order, and attain a position of prestige and power, to distinguish myself once more.

The Order, must have been what Yalathanil had longed for when he spoke of living amongst the N'Tel'Quessir. N'Tel'Quessir who I could treat as equals. Intelligent men and women, who will go to any lengths to protect Sanctuary, from itself.

Here I could create the ideal society I had failed to foster upon the surface. There are not enough Tel'Quessir that we might seize even a modicum of power within Sanctuary for our race alone. I decided to be practical, and work alongside the Order to achieve this society, in the Underdark. An Order of wolves, to lead the sheep amongst the N'Tel'Quessir. The erudite, leading the ignorant.

Kymil would laugh at the absurdity of it all. Not the Isle, but the Underdark. Not the Ar'Tel'Quessir, but the N'Tel'Quessir. He would think that I have gone mad. Once I had considered all N'Tel'Quessir unworthy of standing in my mere presence. Now I considered the mages amongst the Order, in particular the Operatives, Officer Barkely, and Commander Stephanos Simms not only my equals, but my betters.

The Order is all I have left. Sanctuary is all I have left. I will not fail again.