Concerning the Darkfenne
A published letter from The Wanderings of Amadseer the Cursed
I am no fan of the Darkfenne. I say this now, after three months of living off beetles and purple algae, sleeping in the uppermost branches of the Wraithgloam trees with a protective Block spell guarding me from the biting of mosquitos. This swamp is no place for the living, the breathing, or those who would like to stay that way.
I search still for the Necromancer Dor-Ghulset, who was once a wizard of Sortilege not unlike myself. That was long ago, during the Leafcutter Wars, and decades before his decision to sequester himself in this damnable mire. Now, if the rumors hold true, he’s set up shop on one of the floating glades that drift mindlessly through the heart of Darkfenne.
I feel compelled to speak more of the Darkfenne, what I know of it, what I’ve read, what I’ve experienced first hand.
First, what every student and street urchin who’s ever listened to a story knows: the Darkfenne is not a natural place. It wasn’t created exactly — and its not alive in the strictest sense of the word — but it has a beginning, and it has been growing each year, reaching out toward the unspoiled lands of the north and south with a pestilential persistence that seems all too human.
Quick history lessons: the seeds of corruption were planted during the final backlash of mage warfare between the first human empire of Frelhal and the ambitious and power-mad kingdom of Sen Ahreal. The resulting wave of magical devastation that was unleashed across Etheria torn apart mountains and created new ones, wiped out entire villages, and caused things to grow that should never even see the light of day. In “mage speak”, the backlash gave birth to a new strain of Voltaric essence — one that quickly braided itself around the principles of our mundane world, and began to change it.
In some places, like the crystal wells of the Underealm that stretches beneath the cities of Salenia, this new magic nature was more or less a benevolent addition. But in the war-ravaged glens that were once the capital of Frelhal and which are now the heart of the Darkfenne, this new Voltaric undercurrent breathed life into dark and twisted vegetations and inky black waters.
It was only a matter of time before scholars and mages began exploring the powers of the region in earnest, bending and adapting its wild magics to their will. When they did, even more abominations were created. Most were quickly destroyed in fear and revulsion, but some survived, and others even found a way to thrive in the Darkfenne. The [mwcard=MW1C09]hydra [/mwcard] is one such creature, but far from the only one. Even the [mwcard=MW1C08]bats [/mwcard] here, prolithic as they are, were once used for magical experiments. No small wonder then that they navigate the dark with two banks of glowing red eyes, where their cousins of other locales have only a single pair.
In my humble opinion, the Voltaric energies that linger here affect the thoughts of those who make their homes here as well, few as they are. I have met the occasional Warlock and Beastmaster, and a handful of Necromancers, both white and gray as I have searched for Dor-Ghulset. Living in conditions like these hones a man’s personality to be hard and distant, but I found all of these whom I have met to be more than unsocial. They seem to have a predatory gait, and a demeanor that reminds me of a coiled snake, ready to strike.
Still, with the proper “persuasion” all have pointed me in this direction, toward the old ruins of the once great kingdom of Frelhal, the supposed home of Dor-Ghulset. Perhaps he can help me to remove this curse that seems to cover me like a [mwcard=DNQ01]Cloak of Shadows [/mwcard].
Which is to say, that there are many diverse and interesting things in the world, none of which are comparable to the might and power of the Arraxian Crown. Those who would trifle with the power of Warlocks must forever learn this fundamental truth.
--Amadseer the Cursed, Wizard of Sortilege
Amadseer is a Wizard of Sortilege, driven by Dark-compulsion to wander the land, following a string of highly humiliating Seeking Dispels (and accompanying jeers) that he successfully cast in a public duel with the Warlock Telas Vane. Now, unable to help himself, he writes of his travels wherever he goes, the creatures he encounters, and the lore with which he comes into contact. Such is the nature of his compulsion that he must publish all of his missives, and end each work with a short paragraph singing praises to the Arraxian Crown, and warning all about the follies of underestimating a Warlock.
